Lyrics:

Doctor C.

I plan to build myself a facility before I'm 40
A molecular archeogenetic laboratory
That can analyse complex poetry data for me
Even if it was recorded poorly, how extraordinary
I frog-leap over awkward beats
Then I separate rappers by their Carbon 14s
To determine the age of anything that remains
Regardless of how the outside surface has changed
I'll put a curse on your name, bombard your brain
With gamma X-rays until you burst into flames
With my scientifically quantifiable megalo-maniacal viable style
It's like trying to ride a bull
Let's have a dictionary duel after school
Check me into a nice Cedars-Sinai room
So I can get sick as the flu, spitting the truth
If you ain't got this album, you're missing the proof
Prepare for your doom, my nuclear rocket plumes
Glow against the pale background of the moon
Toxic fumes spoil complete stocks of fruits and foods
Burning flammable boxes of booze
Got in the groove, even though I'm not in the mood
Motherfucker you didn't win, because I can't lose
Give the fans a chance to choose? Fuck you
Who's the illest? Who's it really up to?
Rapid fire, you better run for the pacifier
Tie you up and drag you in the saliva quagmire
'Til your oxygen expires and your lungs dry up
'Cause you said Bis ain't dope, you're a damn liar
Assassin for hire over beats by Payas, flow like the Tigris
Euphrates with the eye of the tiger in my iris
Canibus is a fighter, motherfucker my great grandfather was Irish
Let's roll the dices, I'll break you like young Tyson
Give me the mic, man, I don't need no hype men
Put a thousand on me, put one on him
I'll tear off his limbs, throw him in and tell him to swim
Yo, I'll soak that sugar coated shit in soy sauce
Tell the FCC boss, 'Turn that noise off'
Call Detroit's Mafia boss, tell him
'Yo, I've got a job for you, I want you to bust his balls
Drop him off by Niagara Falls
Write my name on a banana and put the banana between his jaws'
Nobody disrespects lyrical law
I'm the best there ever is and the best there ever was
Train like a grunt face down in the mud
With blood, sweat and tears sucking it up
Yo, you wonder where I am right now
I'm probably somewhere on the microphone fucking it up
Dead or alive, Canibus will live through the rhyme
To be the illest on the mic is a mission of mine
Spitting divine, you can't get it twisted this time
Vocal with a mirror to make sure my lips align
Doctor C, Ph.D., graduated from UMG
Bright as the LCD display on a new MP
Prototype of a true MC
With 3-D topography maps you can't see
The butcher on Broad Street wrapping CD's
In butcher paper, doing artwork with Sharpies
If you don't like the quality, then talk to me
What the fuck you on a website for, you creep?
Punching the keys, remember that sound
That's exactly what it sounds like when I'm punching your teeth
Kick a rap, bitch, if you've got the gumption to speak
Stand next to me I might put a lump in your meat
Diss you and your man, double the beef
To tell you the truth I thought your rebuttal was weak
'Round the Outside' blah blah, etc., etc.
The body of my literature is bigger than South America
Nigga, look, this is all I've got to say
Suck my P-H-D-I-C-K!