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[Kool Keith:] (Everybody know that) the lyrical king (Everybody know that) lyrical king (Everybody know that shit) the lyrical king (Everybody know that) lyrical king (Everybody know that) Little kids get scared I smack the shit out of a monster when I devour That's why I shit on Austin Powers Watch niggaz get souped up and comfortable like the Plymouth Prowler No homerun bastards, I line up everybody like a fouler Like they mix baking soda and pasta Only thing these motherfuckers touch, is Tide and soap powder (Fuckin soap powder!) Microphone perpetration I see through I want my vocals up louder Bitch I write some verses with high octane curses Popeye and Kentuck' sponsor I turned down deals with Church's Y'all fucked up cause the Colonel made the purchase I can't no longer support 50 thousand MC's, homeless and worthless The shit department, I thought you was a delivery Packagin, I put you in charge, alright supervisin piss My messages get across state to state when I shift doo-doo out on freight, I take a break Laugh at you assholes, with club soda and lemon cake SongtexteListen close, examine is that the star flow? While you talkin baboon shit on the radio I cancelled seein ducks at the magic show I know some Mexicans that shit through, the custom sunroof Butt-naked in Barstow With bloodhounds on the back of the graffiti Air Force Nikes That bark low, remember you fuckin with somebody pro I shake the piss off my dick, on your album intro Next time you tell the engineer to bring it in slow Toy-ass niggaz, I been past niggaz Test crash dummies, I know people that work with these, crash niggaz For the last 6,008 months I've been hearin trash niggaz With fucked up paparazzis That think they clownin big-head motherfuckers Hot vaginas under they crotch I like when they bullshit on the mic, and play hopscotch Touch the controls, adjust your platinum and gold Put the coke all up in your fuckin nose Don't sleep you better take that No-Doz Ain't no motherfucker pushin kilos Ask the motherfucker next to you, he knows Raggy-aggy, wear your pants baggy In front of your used Jaggy You ain't 24 track you still macky Opposite dress that's tacky Y'all fuckin with Jonathan Braggy Basket of bread you grabby Your fuckin sides are overweight, can't come in here lookin stupid and flabby LYRICAL KING~! (lyrical king) LYRICAL KING~! (y'all know, lyrical king) LYRICAL KING~! Motherfuck it [voice lowered:] Lyrical king You know the lyrical king when you see him I don't have to reveal myself to motherfuckers nowhere ever When I walk in the room, you rip your motherfuckin papers up You shut the studio time down You get that motherfucker out the booth You tell that nigga he's whack You let motherfuckers know, who's in the motherfuckin back You serve that coffee, you serve that tea You let a motherfucker know he's comin out the fuckin teepee Fuck you motherfuckers, and all you whack-ass motherfuckers You know who the motherfuckin lyrical, motherfuckin king is! Suck the dillz Aus Songtexte Mania