|
What I'm about to flow on is so dope |
|
The average hip hop fiend couldn't cope |
|
Or explain my style because it's hard to define |
|
So the fiend scratch and think and nod to the rhyme |
|
That I lay down in a straight narrow path |
|
While beats are just flowin' off a modern phonograph |
|
Bass loud, high hats crisp and clear |
|
That'll never let a weak MC interfere |
|
Or bring about some technical difficulties |
|
So I got prepared and I wrote these |
|
Rhymes that just broke loose from the brain |
|
Searching for dope beats on the same plane |
|
For you to write new rhymes, it is a must |
|
But I come off with rhymes old as dust |
|
Even as a speck of dust it existed |
|
Ya got that? |
|
Forget it, ya missed it |
|
I'm slammin' |
|
The Genius is slammin' |
|
You flip me on the mic, no way |
|
That's me being played in April on the first day |
|
Now who's a fool? What do you strive for? |
|
Prime time juice on the box and fans galore |
|
Forget it, 'cause you're not hype as they want you |
|
With a maximum of two hundred, your rhymin' IQ |
|
Is ten, meaning thin, you'll never win |
|
So erase that, I'm not gonna lose friend |
|
I know you're gassed, ya charged, and kinda stuck up |
|
But I define your challenge, a total fuck up |
|
And it's critical, a crying shame |
|
How many MC's challenge me, and die in vain |
|
But you should've came with ya whole rap |
|
Community, now where's your unity |
|
'Cause what I see right now is you and I |
|
And you're too weak to stop me from doin' my |
|
Damage, you know, type of body and fender |
|
Nah! Not the same way I did Brenda |
|
But you had the audacity to step to me |
|
Thinking you was Butch Cassidy and you could do me |
|
How can you do me when you don't know me |
|
And out of the hip hop styles, ya couldn't show me |
|
One style that may have damaged me |
|
But that's something you'll never see |
|
I'm slammin' |
|
The Genius is slammin' |
|
M.C. means mic constructor I build |
|
That have suckers running like what track and field |
|
When I conduct, please don't interrupt |
|
With ya ifs or ands or buts, keep ya mouth shut |
|
The hip hop style that I own is highly known |
|
To bury MC's like a dog bury bones |
|
And in this field, yo, I'm extraordinary |
|
And in my backyard, there's a cemetary |
|
Of meek MC's who try to speak |
|
And off preak technique that's soft and very weak |
|
Yet they still have the heart to ask me to duel |
|
And like Mr. T, I pity the fool |
|
The shining chrome microphone is the device |
|
That makes me stand out like men amongst mice |
|
So respond to the stimuli then fly |
|
Straight to the sky on a natural high |
|
'Cause I'm the transmitter, buck wild and bitter |
|
Thinking about trying me, then reconsider |
|
'Cause if it sounds tempting boy, I'll double dare you |
|
And speaking of your low life, I won't spare you |
|
'Cause you're not worthy of the mercy |
|
Anyway, The Genius is just blood thirsty |
|
So take a lickin' as the plot thickens |
|
While ya head is took, ya be pumping like a chicken |
|
How can you ever say my style was played |
|
When my rhymes be chopping shit like a switchblade |
|
I'm slammin' |
|
The Genius is slammin' |
