[Intro]
Yo, it’s Can-I-Bus the illest emcee
Get slapped in the face with Murder Mixtape Part 3
Aight, keep it locked y’all
Stretch Armstrong and Whoo Kid

[Chorus: Canibus]
Live and direct, live in the flesh
Mixtape 2000, Whoo Kid and Stretch
Live and direct, live in the flesh
Mixtape 2000, Whoo Kid and Stretch

[Verse 1: Canibus]
Who got the streets jumping off with the force
To short-circuit motherboards and melt rubber chords plugged in the wall
I’m a thousand metaphors ahead of y’all
Drink a bottle of Irish Moss and outrun a horse by twenty yards
Faster than turbo-charged race cars with double carbs
Stronger than the sway bars that be on muscle cars
Think my sophomore album is soft? You got it wrong
Stretch knew all along Bis was the bomb
A 100 Bar monster thirsty for blood like piranhas
Arms bigger than pythons, legs like anacondas

[Verse 2: Journalist]
*need to be transcribed*
[Verse 3: Canibus]
Observe how the rhyme blurs, twists and turns
Shifts and curves, the most disturbed n***a on Earth
Fuck layman’s terms, if you can’t listen and learn
You get burned then submerged in the ocean of words
Last year I know for a fact
I put a lot of rappers on Prozac and only got a gold plaque
Bringing the pain since I’ve been in this game
Crushing n***as like a ball and chain connected to a swinging crane
Lyrically the hip-hop Statue of Liberty
Could flatten New York City with seismic activity
Got rap artists putting out restraining orders
Scared to death I’ma run up on them at their live performance
With a sharp object, assassinate them at their live concert
And take the audience for hostage
Torture the whole front row in the process
Leave 'em slaughtered and sacrifice them on the turntable altars

[Verse 4: Journalist]
*awaiting transcription*

[Chorus: Canibus]
Live and direct, live in the flesh
Mixtape 2000, Whoo Kid and Stretch
Live and direct, live in the flesh
Mixtape 2000, Whoo Kid and Stretch
[Verse 5: Canibus]
Mixtape 2000 A.D. - After Disaster
Flies buzz around a million rappers’ cadavers
Never been the type to talk
My ice-grill’s like looking down the wide jaws of a white shark
‘Bout to rip off your arms like perforated paper
A hundred times more sharper than stainless-steel razors
Shock you with an electrically-charged taser
Till you turn blue in the face and die from asphyxiation
The stench of a thousand ounces
Grab you by the throat and blow my secondhand weed smoke down it
Don’t give a fuck what month you dropping in
I’ll be on the radio hollering, “Fuck you and your cult following”
You cum-swallowing transsexual fag
With crabs and breasts that sag, dressed in drag
Running full-page ads in a porno mag
With pictures of you with a dick in your mouth and a dick in your ass