Yo, yeah, uhhhh   Yo whattup?   Yo, it's the lyrical lexicon   The matador of metaphor   Mista Keith Murray   Chillin with my nigga Funk Flex   Word up   Got the Squadron, word up   Word up, check it out, check   Now, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo      It's the return of the lyrical lunatic, still kickin rough shit   What you say? I slap your stink ass, bitch   I shape and build my skill like an architect   Teflon style, rhymes be Gortex   I'm the highest exalted ruler on the mic with props   All this over hippin the hop bullshit gon' stop   It beez Keith not Bill, Murray not Sweat   Your politics be politically incorrect   We keep it hot like sauce, flows be definite like well OF COURSE   Def Squad cough a rough course   You weak wack niggaz can't do me none   Five hundred, radiant height I run with the sun   Apparently, you need to check my pedigree   And do the knowledge to the S-C-I-E-N-C-E   Fake ones fear it, real ones cheer it   Cause they all feel me from the womb of the human spirit   With logic and reasons I justify my means   See you on the scene, fuck you up like Tyson did to Mitch Greene   In fact black yeah it beez like that   If you kill my dog I'ma slay your cat   The supersonical genitonical astrochronical   Splatter crews, all you hear is ahhs and oohs   Time to face the music bring you down to Earth like Papa Smurf   I'm World Wide like on the Web, in your turf   With full fledged raps packed with anxiety attacks   for those who thought I wouldn't be back   With that bone chillin horror, killin all ongoin drama   Save the rah rah for your mama   Bragga-tocious, prone to static   Come through the studio, wreck the mic by force of habit   Tantalizing, make you feel good like crying   I can't be dissed, so you can stop trying   And Keith Murray will prevail   And you can eat a shit sandwich and go to hell