[Intro: Keith Masters and (billy woods)]
Yeah. What? Yeah. What? We right here (Yeah). We in the woods (Woods). Yeah, yeah, bodybuilding, n***as. Where my creatine at? Where my Myoplex at? Where my Red Bull at? Pass the vodka. Pass the Henny. We ‘bout to do it, baby. Uh, uh

[Verse 1: Keith Masters]
My hand is the root penetrating through the Earth
Put up peace signs in China, negotiating nuclear
Warfare. A penniless pavilion war’s fare
For skepticals to peep the Armageddon in lawn chairs
My arm is the biological missile
My remorse is the ‘98 inspection crew
The council withdrew, the truth did too
When The Towers new, superpowers get their just due
My mind is the vortex for raw sex
To careful rubber rappers of contraceptive parent talks
Lost in my mind like driving through foreign towns
With a pocketful of bombshells, walking down the Nile
My heart pumps Chicago tunes, Southern blues
All congested with the vapors like New York City avenues
So with an electrical tick, I’ll march
To the beat of a Diff’rent Drummer like Arnold and Willis
Visualize my eyes under Iraqi skies
Wake up to exploding shrapnel with no time to improvise
Good Morning America. Smells a lot like Vietnam
All up in this shit with our full-metal jackets on

[Hook: Keith Masters]
I can feel the Earth breathing like a burden on my chest
Every day, more pressure ‘cause this world is a mess
That’s why people seek religion, bow at pews to confess
Others slap hoes and stack dough to blow sess
I can feel the Earth breathing like a burden on my chest
Every day, more pressure ‘cause this world is a mess
That’s why people seek religion, bow at pews to confess
Others stack dough, slap hoes, and blow sess
[Bridge: Keith Masters]
Well, well. “Race Matters,” says Cornel West
Reloading, mumble, still signifying, “Surely you jest”
My mouth utters rhythms of that “Ol’ Man River,” claim
“He must know something (Something). Don’t say nothing (Nothing)”

[Verse 2: billy woods]
Come on, money. How that sound? Could boys handle
Those pounds? N***a, I’ll Randall Cunningham
Your little town. Warren Moon, flip dough, number one
We bash you goons. Play your position, lay in
These tombs. If you listen, these coons will sing you
A tune or maybe not. We don’t dance no more
In case you ain’t know, in case y’all ain’t smelled the dro
He’s the one with the Osama beard and the awkward flow
Flow awful slow. “Eenie, Meenie
Miney, Moe. Catch a n***a by his toe”
I don’t think so. We on the go, high-stepping
Like Marcus Allen. Reavers repping from Monsta Island
The Dark City back to Shaolin, smiling
See me, 9-1-1 what they’re dialing
See me on the mic, you wilding. O.T. back-and-forth
Like a violin. Jacked a Porsche, now we styling
Show you how this done like Jackie Chan
Coach calling punt on third down. God damn!
Charles Barkley a fan. Bodybuilding?
Nah, fam. Only thing I lift is grams
[Verse 3: Keith Masters]
Still paint the perfect portrait while the colors forfeit
From Robeson to Robinson, splitting n***as off it. I’m
Lifting my city off the ground, working biceps
Lynch mobs creep through the night with a misconceived
Concept of height. Is it wrong? Is it right? Just
Tales from the hood, where killer cops plant crack pipes
Fuck the paperwork. I’ma lift ‘til it hurts
And my chest goes berserk. Fuck the pain away like Dirk
Saw my name in neon lights, written in cursive
Keith Masters amphibious, living submersive like
Aquaman, understand? A hundred and fifty
Penny vans and caked-up frying pans. Keep my mm, mm
Goods in Campbell Soup cans. All just
To outthink the man, outlive the plan
Bench-pressing emcees and clapping in the middle of the reps
And don’t half-step in the circle of the wreck
‘Cause I done trimmed off the fat, put some muscle on my pec
There’s no emcee alive whose mind I can’t dissect
Mental check. Let me recollect. Drifted off
In the middle of a set, middle of a set