作词 : Sermon
"Kick it over here baby pop!" [Chorus: Murray, Sermon, others] [KM] 
Swing it over here! [all] 
Yo swing it over here! [KM] 
Swing it over here! [all] 
C'mon swing it over here! [KM] 
Y'all swing it over here! [all] 
Yo swing it over here! [KM] 
Come swing it over here! [Red] 
Yo, swing it over there! [Verse One: Keith Murray] 
My rap style is swift like boom bips so come get a whip, and a bump, it's rough 
Crews couldn't hold it in handcuffs 
The ordeal is that 
I'm raw ill on the mic 
Switchin my styles up like a transvestite (word) 
I think of competition as ?? and 
Keith Murray is the vocabulary champ ?
Come in against deep notable to breach lines? 
I'll make you make the same mistake twice three or four times and nobody got a style like this 
You could say, 
I got my thinking cap on backwards 
I'll demolish the retarded smartest rap artists regardless, tryin to scream the hardest 
I **** your head up like amphetamines with 
L.O.D. Then bend you out of shape like a master 
Yogi I put my head through your chest, just to see who's next in line, just to get wrecked 
I makes contact, bust the interlude 
I take my skills to another level like qualudes 
And you couldn't hear me out; cause the type of shit 
I converse about'll drag your brain in the slaughterhouse [Chorus: change to all throughout] [Verse Two: Erick Sermon] 
Cling cling, somebody tell me something 
Why I got more props than 
Don King without bouncing boxing rings? *ding ding* 
I be the flyest guy you ever sawr on the microphone 
Rip the shit to pieces, so leave me alone 
Check me out, the way 
I freak the mode 
The active half flippin shit so split 'fore 
I explode - 
BOOM! So umm, pay attention, before 
I put you and your crew on suspension for being closed minded to my invention 
Yo, I rock on reel when 
I record oh my lord 
The world full of jackers so 
I keep my shit stored 
When I rock the microphone 
I rock it right and keep it hardcore and more blacker than 
Wesley Snipes 
To my crew there's no match 
You want more funk then here's another batch, yo 
I [Chorus: all throughout] [EPMD's 'Headbanger'] "The Redman that's what they call me" [x3] [ED] 
Oh no, here comes the 
Funkadelic 
Redman [Verse Three: Redman] 
Aoowwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness! 
Could this be the funk that 
I was stretching out my lungs 
Funkadelic sums up *nasal inhale* 
I clear the mucus 
Stick tissue up my nose to stop the snot from makin spots 
To be or not 
I still give niggaz polka dots for plots 
Now Richard 
Dawson had a survey sayin that 
I was awesome 
Throw on your 
Walkmans while 
I pour the funk sauce in your coffins 
WAKE UP! While the blunt's laced up just to pick the pace up 
My style's freaky, nasty like ?
Seka? pussy papers when 
I raped her, you don't know check the four-uno-uno you know 
That funk mixture that gets your body, holy like scriptures 
Now right about now 
I'm settin off a bomb to blow the 
Empire to ashes -- cause my shit's more raw than niggaz stashes 
Massive funk, swingin bangin bent up while 
I ****ed ya 
I'm rough enough ta, **** up another white man's trucker 
Redman's evil like the board of ouiji, niggaz could smoke a whole pound of weed and couldn't see me off the 
TV!