[Verse One: Casual]
I'm most strictly spectacular
Spit rhyme vernacular
But first read the verse I'mma back it up with
Not necessarily your best bet
No sense of clarity
Hopeless, losing focus
Apparently a parody
I'm still saucy, boss-style be real flossy
Not these artsy cats with Bill Cosby raps
I'm with a skeezer
She overseas on a visa
A hip hop chick
Yo spit wannabeeza
Street corner teach a feminine perimeter
Breach her, leave her stuck in a smile like a Mona Lisa
Dope fiend, I'm on protein
Three hundred grams a day
Smockin' out to Santa Fe
With Sidney and Savannah Ray
Hey, your man is major
You're minor like a B-flat
Cats can see that
But when addressin' Casual or Prince Ali on the set
It's Lieutenant Major General for you cadet
Cats is major....
[Verse Two: Prince Ali aka Mahershala Ali]
Heaven help the relevant, I pitch straight from the hip
Bullpen brigadier, peddle with other merchants
Sandblast your catamaran right out the dry dock
Jack London ferry boat stops, soakin' your iPod
Fortune teller speak
As he split as hey matches Cyclops
Ducks is ...archery, fine arts
Louisville Sluggers
They're swinging, I'm throwin' side-arm
Rollie Fingers knuckle-baller
Home plate Argonauts
Talkin' like you're holding your stirrups up when I walk
Fanatics in the dugout get booted back to the bleachers
Colossus coliseum caressin' pedigree peoples
Poppin' off at the lip pretending like you can beat me
Bat a box of jawbreakers, throwing knowledge at heathens
Sayin' they're keepin' it real, players faking a femur
Need to hang up the cleats, this is big league Adidas

[Verse Three: Planet Asia]
Yo, London accent
Tango crew, Jamaican fashion
Section 8 dimes gold chain champions
The MC mascot, corporate cash crop
Is back from where I left off, getting that cash, Pops
Finally, GCM, we got distro
Fine wine, if we ain't got signing we gon' sip slow
Stop the tomfoolery I'm seeing too much coonin'
Looks like a job for the god to drop jewelry
Box session Part Two
I came to add on to the legacy of hip hop's elite top dudes
La Schmoove, and I ain't got nothin' to prove
You're fuckin' with who?
Your food ain't nothing to chew
What it do?
I'm like hard liquor and brew
Boilermaker revenue
And now I got your burnin' in my stew
You talkin' words in your verse but it ain't true
You lie and you suck
I rhyme for the bucks, you rhyme for your crew, what?
[Verse Four: Keith Murray]
Keith Murray
Casual thug, holding no grudge
Showing you love, look at the judge
Don't even budge
Tell 'em, "Your honor: take it in blood."
You put your hands on me, you're gonna draw back a nub
I G with the Def Squad and the L.O.D
Plus I follow Mohammed like my man Ali
I'm an MC, I don't even gotta touch ya
To break down your whole molecular structure
Keith Murray's flow is always timeless
Now your head is hanging low like your named Imus
From New York down to the Bay Area
My flow makes MCs feel inferior
I'm an illustrious funk rhyme sayer
Swish and stack chips 'cause the flow's major
Attack chicks with big lips like Fantasia
You're all in the mix and don't deserve to be a player
Buck-fifty, hater....