Ain't U Da Masta

Here come the jams, yo punks, guard your domes

It's the man with the mad new styles and funky poems

So strike one, strike two, strike three, you're out

Of luck, jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout

(ain't you the masta?) yep, i've always been

And then, i'm a stab a fucking critic with his pen

So write that, put that in your magazine and stick it

I'm wicked, just like a witch when i kick it

So break out your charts and scales and try to rate me

Give me a one, son, yep i hope you hate me

Cause i'm a keep on bringing it, i'm swinging it

Sharp like glass til your punk ass is swinging it

Riff-raff, your whole damn staff i have to cut up

I drop bombs, i'm fatter than your moms, so what up?

I come from the planet of raps on, oh yeah

Beam me up steady, there's no skills down here

So there, you little punk sitting in your chair

Soon you're gonna know the score kids, i swear

(ain't you the masta?) yep, i'm the masta (repeat 4x)

I hits you hard kids, you're barred from the mic and

Rhymes kick like pele, rough like a dyke and

Praise me, masta, off beat, the healer

Rap style's deisel like an 18-wheeler

So get that weak style out of my path

I'm turbo, i drop lines long like nostran ave.

So danger, i'm burning from monday to sunday

I'm hot like some niggas 10 deep in a hyndai

So make way, i drop mad heavy like the fridge

I'm sacking, you're wack and you're over like the bridge

This little rabbit tried to diss me, but fuck it

I got duckets, one day that rabbit kicks the bucket

You know (i know) you know (i know)

You know, you know, well yo follow where i go

Jane, stop this crazy thing if i sing

Some love shit and dress mad fly, i'd be the king

And be seen on the covers of like 27 books

But i'm too proud to beg, so suck this, you crooks

You're only as good as your last jam, it's true

Your shit's new, everybody wants an interview

But then, oh how quick they forget

With no hit, they like "who's that?" they full of shit

And straight up, my patience is starting to wear short

I'm gonna land blows like your head was an airport

Say cheese you theif, let me see your teeth

Cause i'm ultra-magnetic, magnetic like kool keith

So abra, cadabra, presto and change-o

The off-beat, on-beat style is kinda strange yo

It dops here, it drops there, it's off then it's on

To the breaka, to the breaka, to the breaka of umm dawn

Here i come with bones by the sack for

Spraypaint, i tage my f-ing name on your back, punk

(ain't you the masta?) yep, i'm the masta (repeat 4x)