Who's the suspicious character strapped
with the sounds profound
Similar to rounds spit by Derringers
You're in the Terrordome like
my man Chuck D said
It's time to dethrone you clones,
and all you knuckleheads
Cause MC's have used up
extended warranties
While real MC's and DJ's are a minority
But right about now,
I use my authority
'Cause I'm like the Wizard and
you look lost like Dorothy
The horror be when I return
for my real people
Words that split wigs,
hittin' like some double Desert Eagles
Sportin' caps pulled low,
and baggy slacks
Subtractin' all the rappers who lack,
over Premier's tracks
Severe facts have brought this rap
game to near collapse
So as I have in the past, I whoop ass
Droppin' lyrics that be hotter than sex
and candle wax
And one-dimensional MC's
can't handle that
While the world's revolvin'
on it's axis
I come with mad love and plus the
illest warlike tactics
The wilderness is filled with this
So many people searching
for false bliss
I'm here with the skills
you've missed
The rejected stone is now the cornerstone
Sort of like the master builder when
I make my way home
You know my steez
"To the beat y'all"
The beat is sinister,
Primo makes you relax
I'm like the minister,
when I be lacin' the wax
I be bringin' salvation through
the way that I rap
And you know, and I know,
I'm nice like that
Work through worldly problems,
I got the healing power
When the mic's within my reach,
I'm feelin more power
Stealing at least three minutes
of every rap radio hour
It's often easier for one to give advice
Than it is for a person to run
one's own life
That's why I can't be caught
up in all the hype
I keep my soul tight and let these lines
takes flight
The apparatus gets blessed,
and suckers get put to rest
No more of the unpure I got
the cure for this mess
The wackness is spreadin' like
the plague
MC's lucked up and got paid but still
can't make the fuckin' grade
How many times are wannabes
gonna lie?
Yo they must wanna fry,
they can't touch the knowledge I personify
I travel through the darkness
carrying my torch
The illest soldier, when I'm holding down the fort
("You know my steez")
You know my steez
On the microphone you know
that I'm one of the best yet
Some punks ain't paid
all of their debts yet
Tryin' to be fly,
ridin' high on the jet-set
With With juvenile rhymes makin'
fake-ass death death threats
Big deal, like En Vogue,
here's something you can feel
Styles more tangible,
and image more real
For some time now,
I've held the scrolls and manuscripts
When it's time to go all out you be like,
"Damn he flipped"
Now I'm sick, fed up with the bullshit
Got the lyrical full clip,
giving you a verbal ass whip
Don't trip, it's the gifted prolific one
Known as Bald Head Slick,
why is the press all on my di-dick?
My My style be wilder,
than a kamikaze pilot
Don't try it, I'm about to start
more than a friggin' riot
Styles unsurpassable,
and nuccas that's suckas, yo
Them motherfuckers are harrassable
For I be speaking from my parables
and carry you beyond
The mic's either a magic wand
Or it gets tragic like the havoc
of a nuclear bomb
Then I grab your palm,
no pulse you're gone
And if you thought we'd lose our niche in this rap shit,
you way wrong
I stay up, I stay on, shine bright, like neon
Your song's, pathetic,
synthetic, like Rayon
Fat beats, they play on, want dope rhymes,
put me on
Word is bond you know my steez
Gang Starr 
