Yo, the artists come and go, so does the show //   So does the doe, nothing lasts forever you know //   It’s all about the experience and what you take from it //   What you learn in the process, what you make of it //   Number two in the world, at the top of the summit //   I loved it, should have packed a parachute for the plummet //   Now I’m humping these klicks crawling through mud pits //   With guns and hundreds of clips on Uncle Sam’s budget //   A hundred rifles for self //   Handcuff Burt Reynolds to Jim Brown and escape with Rachel Welch //   Isn’t my queen lovely? //   Feed her rum and raisin ice cream shower her with diamond rings and money //   Twenty three hours a day I study //   Dreaming about beautiful women, I hate you gay Teletubbies //   Dreams keep me alive, you can’t take them from me //   The battlefield is bloody, mean and ugly //   My adrenaline rushes when the enemy rushes me //   Trying to bust me because I swore I’d defend my country //   If I could choose between being lucky and having money //   Nothing negative could ever touch me //   What must be is ultimately not up to me //   But I’ll sacrifice my life for yours if you trust me //   Pin my medals upon my chest //   So I can left, right, left into certain death //   God speed and God bless //   In the end I hope God is impressed if I’m put to rest //   I did what I came to do, no time left //   Say my name out of the blue because I rhyme the best //   Mic Club dot net see me live in the flesh //   You can come and download every rhyme that I spit //   You can pay homage to Rip for one dollar a clip //   None of those rhymes is on the album bitch //   It’s a storage facility where I keep my shit //   For the students in the class that want to peep my shit //   Break a bootlegger’s leg if he leaks my shit //   If you don’t want to sign in bitch, then eat my shit //   Drink my piss, you could never compete like this //   I’mma give you an example how deep I get //   Technology not available for purchase //   My brain collects, store and converts million bar verses //   At a standoff distance at a thousand feet //   I illuminate the target and pound him to sleep //   To within one micro inch if you’re out in the street //   I could close my ears and still move my mouth to the beat //   Dial up to your network and make your files delete //   Count to three, listen to your browser beep //   Too late, foot already stepped in the feces //   Doctor Norton’s too sick to help your PC’s //   Virtually I’ll make your virtual memory freeze //   With a weapon of mass destruction, WMD //   I’m a TMC, trouble to emcees //   Destroy colonies with UCAV’s //   I’ll send in no less than twenty A-Teams //   Wipe you out before I even get to the B’s //   With my transatmospheric space based mirrors //   Can you write that out without typographical error?   Dumb fucks, I’m the best ever, whatever //   Divide eighteen by six, you get the third letter //   From the lowest earth orbit up to the heavens //   I’ll bomb ya’ll with lyrics of flechettes and pellets forever //   As a spitter I’m still tougher than leather //   I had to go underground to get over the pressure //   Battle rap from the Renaissance, multi-megawatt //   Bury you underneath the bedrock on a bed of rocks //   I could never get bored //   I’ll write about Huxley versus Wilberforce, fuck writing a killer chorus //   The Copenhagen curriculum of metaphors //   Everything from Bob Marley to Tenor Saw //   To System of a Down song number fourteen //   I see aerials in the sky when I dream //   The end is near, I wish it would hurry up //   I feel nano-bacteria burning me up //   Before I explain in detail //   You should analyze the Mars’ mineral samples under my nails //   Sometimes I wonder whose listening //   The auditory Pavlovian conditioning is so sickening //   My adenine, guanine, cytosine, and thiamine //   Is what really what makes me rhyme supreme //   As soon as I hear the beat, bada-bing //   You’ve gotta think, ‘a hundred bars? Damn that’s a lot of ink” //   Eventually all of my albums will be out of print //   There will be a clone for every style I invent //   For every line I rhyme intense //   For all the time I spent, every word I spit since nine-six //   If you can input at a hundred, I can output way above it //   If we’re in public I’ll double it //   Put this on your study list and go study bitch //   Basically quoting Hammer, “You can’t touch this” //   I’m too assertive and alert //   For what it’s worth, my best piece of work is still yearning to be birthed //   Class dismissed //   Cenior Studies from Canibus //