Yo Big ups to 91.5 live from cold K-dub Just reminding all my guys in the world to stay up Never had to spray slugs so I don't play thug Or try to fit with the killers like O.J.'s glove Still cats love to see me like they own pay stubs Out to create buzz Know that S.K. can shake clubs Like car thieves or golfers Crazy compulsive Cold killer so ill I'm giving competition ulcers These fierce frenetic poetics pierce the pathetic, plagues My powerful prophetic phonetics penetrate This renegade relic raps rugged and demonstrates How to scoop honeys with nothing but that angelic face Aesthetic-based waste get shredded, I set it straight For the hapless half-wit homies that hesitate The hellagreat, elevated skills you celebrate Practice? Kid I've been this ill since seventh-grade I dedicate this to my sis and the crew And thanks for coming out but the competition is through I gets down You suckas and frauds with soft stamina don't trouble me Duck or I'll damage ya on camera publicly When I utter these subtleties Brother please I'm the biggest thing out of Canada since Pamela's double-D's Colleagues and critics all apply the accolades To aptly describe how my flyness fascinates I activate the part of me That advocates the artistry The slick, sharp tongue That could lacerate an artery Like an axe to the heart Hackin' apart cats lackin' the smarts Cuz I've mastered the art I synchronize my syndicate For rhyme syncopation Even skits that I improvise Sit in syndication Let my sinful syntax and simple grin flash Cuz dimes fall victim when my dimples impact Cats listen close for quotes or vibe to it I school dudes and make guys students of my music The dumb sound dopest with their mic lines muted While my I.Q. is so high you couldn't fly to it I get down My language is used To bruise and stick damages to Other bands and their crews 'Til all their slick managers do Is just bandage their wounds This man is just too sick for Canada's amateurs I make 'em dudes do flips like coin tosses When I rip mics like loin clothes Stripped off a groin Join the clique or get going Kid you're showing softness I cross kids like Hot Sauce does While impostors talk and jock like Bob Costas This colossus is so pompous it's preposterous I'm always jamming like Peter Tosh's rastas Getting the thoughtless tossed quicker Than The Moffats in a mosh pit, homes I gets down like acrostic poems My resources hold more forces Than the torque on 400-horse Porsches I contort, twist and torch kids With my oral orifice Til these dorks is nothing more than some scorched corpses I get down Yo, I get down It's like I'm squeezing a glock When I creep in the spot People get shot back Freeze and then flop, breathe and then stop The way I leave 'em in shock Forget radio they play my flow on "Believe It or Not!" But I still don't own the keys to the drop Leasin' to cop the beach with the yacht and don't foresee reaching the top But that's cool 'cause I'm frequently jocked from speaking this talk And plus on the streets I get props Well before I leave, peace to the blocks Where my people still beef with the cops And get beaten a lot, it needs to get taught And ask Kanye, Jesus can walk Always reach for the Roc, not the heat to get cocked Releasing the shot, ending a life No need for the pop Ya heard? Like sheep with the flock I get down I get down I get down And yo, Peace to Digs that's how I get down and yo, Peace to Vee that's how I get down and yo, And to the fam that's how I get down and yo