Since you're my special friend, come closer for a special treat  (Uh)  I'm going to let you touch me in a special place  (But I don't want to touch you there)    It is never ok to touch someone else's private parts  Your mom and dad will tell you so    Verse One: Bigg Jus    Yo' eyes get, blind like Tupac gettin shot in the lobby  Most MC's styles is robbery of my freestyles as a hobby  I pick apart monkey brains and spread disease through hot zones  My cameos on promos seem strange like someone's not home  Bigg Jus the outsider rain on your dream field  With styles so freaking wet niggas need maxi panty shields  Expose more moles out the closet that lead paint on your tenement  Got more Black Thought to my Roots than most niggaz got in their pigment  It's the baby-faced lieutenant with the Luck like Luciano  Hardcore like Kool G Rap music made for concert piano  So dust off the candelabra, hip hop's version of the super Don Dada   with the license to give more ass whippings than Father  You couldn't see me with binoculars, way ahead of myself like telepathy   Make most crews disappear like blackheads on Oxy creme  Under the lights I fuck up mics with my uncanny ability to heat seek   Through brain facilities with the science of microchemistry  This history of my hip hop is too deep to be dissected  Bitch recollect don't even half step or try to test it black  Bigg Jus, I drop so much shit my anus needs an ice pack   In fact I'm all that, El-P yo bring the horns back    (Yes)  Right through the center of your focus picture a long silver needle  (You are correct sir)  Piercing the outer lens of your eyesight    [El-P]  And once again   In one verse we have proven  That we can rip all these signed big budget motherfuckers  (89.9)  Peace to Stretch and Bobbito  (Bob-bi-to!)    Verse Two: El-P    Ye olde lyrics of fire  Surface bombs from X-wing fighters, stance to B-boy actors fracture  Negative thirty below wind chill factor  The counteraction is just a helpless action of the hapless flinching  My supersonics leave you mute like Maggie Simpson  Taxidermist El-P I defy translation  Instigate and set in crates(?) throughout your whole situation  Practice exposing perfection like Ricki Like exposes white trash  My shit is strange X-file number 2-6-7 whiplash  Triple felon emcee minus the melanin  When I bomb it the type of shit to make Baby Jessica jump in the well again  Sunshines or rain acid, El-P the battle master  Lactose breaking down your fucking fractals till you're flaccid  I'm leaving Las Vegas like a hundred flying Elvises  Raid, spot my prey, swoop down and cross their pelvises  Rat nerve like David grill smoke bitch  Catch my frozen frame suspended  You couldn't even fuck with my idle fidget  My birthright I'm pulling swords from stones high tone beam  Phonetically abort it try to distort it and catch a silent scream, fetus  The raw daddy tactics prove Krush Groove unstoppable  Testing luck it's like sucking on lead pink popsicles  The enigma, no one can fuck with me yet but I'm not signed  (You wanna battle?)  It's better to look in the  (mirror)  Say Candyman five times    Candyman (whispered 5x)    Just a promo  Understand  (Candyman)  To be the man you gots to beat the man  (It's so clear now)  Me and Bigg Jus  (The beautiful light)  Company Flow clan  (I can touch it)  Mr. Len, 'sup?  89.9  Hit me with that shit some time    Bigg Jus, Lune TNS  The almighty El-P  The imperial DJ Mr. Len  Company Flow swinging it to you live for '95