Lyrics:

This is a little tale I like to tell,
everybody...about...me, when i finally meet my match, on the battle scene.
Check it out, yo,

Now I was strollin' down the block blessin my mind with freestyle scriptures,
In battles I emerge triumphant, within my mental pictures, Then theres a tap on my shoulder, a ciph' appears from thin air, Crews form circular roots on blocks to shock the cyclops Illogic, me. Cats gave daps and formal introduction of rap names, as I made my way to the center i heard this kid bustin', he flipped, dope syllables and colloquialisms, line after line. Rhyme Style was undefined, but it reminded me of mine as i listened more intently. He didn't offend my cause, son was kinda fresh, but, when it comes to illogic's style illogic does it best. So I, stepped closer to the center, yo, do my eyes deceive me? For this next line, most of you cats wont believe me. He reflected my identity, perfectly to a tee. I was sick. I couldn't move just cause of the sheer amazement of the symmetry between me and he, an exact replica. In one line he said his name was illogic, so you know i had to step to tha imposter.

yo wha-what? you think you me? whats this? yo-you aint illogic, you aint the dopest emcee in the universe punk! yo, we-we gotta settle this by battlin'.

Me:
The sight of this imitation has me squeamish,
Soon to excavate lunch from my sto-mach,
you couldn't attempt to burn me cause your no match.

Myself:
Yo, hold that cat, your wack, so bein you'se not an option.
Cause i rock ya, so my superiority stays clear like fiber optics,
So stop this treasonous behavior.
You better call your savior if you think defeatin me is worth a try.
As i'll speed up the process of your life to die, the ciph' and I are one and the same.
Another one in the flame I'm toastin,
In life Hip-Hop's a parasite and its obvious I'm hostin.

Me:
Yeah, its obvious your roastin in my presence.
As I heat up the spot with my explosive effervescence.
This lesson's in identity, bein me's impossible,
To be you, you strained.

Myself:
Yea right I'm you, with the height of my IQ, you'll think i'm off the brain.
I'll run a sane emcee out the realm of sanity.
You're not even worth the oxygen i blessed you with,
So as i live, i've been given the gift to concentrate and make the fake illogic levitate off the face of the earth.
For what it's worth i'll abort your mom's face from birth, to nullify your existence.

Me:
What? Whatever you're not even clever enough.
I'll spit verses at you in 3d,
With lyrics as complex as pyramids or simplistic as teepees.
You wanna be me so bad, you taste it,
So out your mouth I slap the taste.
My tongues the pencil, and the wack has been erased.

Myself:
You crazy chasin dreams, word and chance chasin cold (?)
You're already feminine, so when it's that time of the month you cant even come with a flow.
That shows your lack of skill, you're wack at will,
So i guess you will it off,
Even thought the lady got nothin else to say Ill is still the coffin punk! What!