Lyrics:

Yo, yeah, uhYo whattup?Yo, it''s the lyrical lexiconThe matador of metaphorMista Keith MurrayChillin'' with my nigga Funk FlexWord upGot the Squadron, word upWord up, check it out, checkNow, yo, yo, yo, yo, yoIt''s the return of the lyrical lunatic, still kickin rough shitWhat you say? I slap your stink ass, bitchI shape and build my skill like an architectTeflon style, rhymes be GortexI''m the highest exalted ruler on the mic with propsAll this over hippin the hop bullshit gon'' stopIt beez Keith not Bill, Murray not SweatYour politics be politically incorrectWe keep it hot like sauce, flows be definite like well OF COURSEDef Squad cough a rough courseYou weak wack niggaz can''t do me noneFive hundred, radiant height I run with the sunApparently, you need to check my pedigreeAnd do the knowledge to the S-C-I-E-N-C-EFake ones fear it, real ones cheer it''Cause they all feel me from the womb of the human spiritWith logic and reasons I justify my meansSee you on the scene, fuck you up like Tyson did to Mitch GreeneIn fact black yeah it beez like thatIf you kill my dog I''ma slay your catThe supersonical genitonical astrochronicalSplatter crews, all you hear is ahhs and oohsTime to face the music bring you down to Earth like Papa SmurfI''m World Wide like on the Web, in your turfWith full fledged raps packed with anxiety attacksFor those who thought I wouldn''t be backWith that bone chillin'' horror, killin'' all ongoin dramaSave the rah rah for your mamaBragga-tocious, prone to staticCome through the studio, wreck the mic by force of habitTantalizing, make you feel good like cryingI can''t be dissed, so you can stop tryingAnd Keith Murray will prevailAnd you can eat a shit sandwich and go to hell