[Intro]
Yo, wassup?
(Oh, E! Yo, whattup, oh sh-
Yo, what you been up to, man?)
Yo, chillin' man, nothin' man
(Oh, yo, so what's goin' on?)
Yo, MC's, they suck man, they ain't doin' none of their homework
(What do you mean man? Yeah, yeah I can feel that)
Yo, they gotta practice more of their syllables
But yo, I'ma show you how I put them shits together
Right about now!

[Verse 1]
The renegade radical, demonstrates battle drill
Efficiency and dedication through placement
Of syllable swords directly where umbilical cords were chopped when
Little kids were put up for adoption
Torture the orphan, I'll toss the forster kid
Waterlogged monologues and cross your faucet
Tap water lyricist, receive a rap slaughter hearin this
Perceive the prince where the mirror is
Expel tears and sweat to build pyramids
Irrigate, irritated orators excel
Extend ornaments to torment your tournament
Fortify five midgets in four to five mintues
Organize clinics that's sure to mortify misfits
Mystic, I'm the sort of guy with tricks
Shift with the times until the stars burn out
Until then building with iller syllable workouts
[Hook]
Syllable practice is never a chore, never a bore
Immature literature litters the floor
I figured you for a bigot before
But don't be bitter and sore
Just spit and record meticulous thoughts
Syllable practice is never a task
Clever attacks left competitors waxed, steady get lax
So I fed em a fax, tellin em facts, propellin repetitive tracks
And feminine raps to the kennel for snacks

[Verse 2]
The potent practitioner opens rap listeners
Broke the facsimile, focus activities
Folks collapse, quotes who slap enemies
Who pretend to be essentially assembling a semblance
Of ambiance that's seminal to confidence
I lend it all to consonants that tenderize your counterfeits
The pendulum is bound to flip
You're tremblin' and doubtin' if
Adrenaline amounts to dick
When petty methodists attack your semi-definite
Tackle any deficit, rap mentally effortless
Backpeddling pessimist with venomous predicates
Benefit the nemesis with red-cent percentages of sentences
The anarchist enters the vortex of unexplored text
Forestep, surgically deconstruct, verbally decompose
Listen when the deacon flows, even so
Syllables are only half the battle
The river I deliver's metaphoric so you never have to paddle
[Hook]
Syllable practice is never a task
Clever attacks left competitors waxed, steady get lax
So I fed em a fax, tellin' em facts, propellin' repetitive tracks
And feminine raps to the kennel for snacks
Syllable practice is never a chore, never a bore
Immature literature litters the floor
I figured you for a biggot before
But don't be bitter and sore
Just spit and record meticulous thoughts

[Outro]
And this one goes out
To all the past masters of lyrical construction
And that includes people such as
The one and only Kool G Rap
Percee P
T La Rock
Rakim
Slick Rick
KRS, whoever you are
Kool Moe Dee and The Treacherous Three
Tragedy, you know, aka Percy Chapman
Yo, the list goes on and on and on and on and on
So, I'ma end it off like that and right about now I'd to say peace to anybody that loves writing lyrics, aight?
Yo, I'm out