[Hook: The Ill Rahlos]
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!

[Verse 1: Pharoahe Monch]
Monch, uh!
I even be getting more graphic than a Neo Geo thirty-two-bit
Computer chip be slipped between my lips, and then I’ll spit!
Spit it out, spit it out, go ahead, spit it out, that itty-bitty style you upchuck
Better believe I butt-fuck emcees from the rear, it appears you’re stuck-up!
It’s my terminology that strike the mind and rips this beat apart
You know the many styles I choose will bruise crews from the start
I flow, awkwardly—that’s awkwardly I flow that’s to the rhythm
Incisions are made into the brain, and then I begin to give ‘em a lobotomy
Follow me, I’m shaping your brain like pottery all over the track
Gimme the P-H, gimme the A-R, gimme the O-A, gimme the H-E, Pharoahe!
Crazy poison-tip arrows are hitting you from all directions
You cannot dodge or manage to dislodge them from the point at which they are connecting
I am se-se-selecting a ne-ne-ne-ne-new style-style fo-fo-for
Pile-piles of emcees who try to get bu-bu-buck-buckwild
F-f-f-fuck that!
When I’m in a renovative state of mind, I’m innovative
Never been afraid of rocking a microphone, I’m prone to be eliminating
Cling when I sing a song of sixpence, if it makes sense, then sing along
Cling along to my nuts if you got guts then bring it on
[Hook: The Ill Rahlos]
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!

[Verse 2: Prince Poetry]
There is no equivalent one, consider me the epitome of rhymes
Rhythm of TECs execution is parallel to them with an exception of the organisms
My telepathy cannot be dismantled, so stop sweating me
Advanced data, now watch your greater updates and raps get trampled
Fee-fi-fo steps of elevation show
That I’m ahead of your time, specifically right behind a dope rhyme
Ripping shit up at primetime, I’m Optimus Primetime material
Imperial wizard of vocabularic havoc, I eat emcees like cereal
That’s soggy, milky skills like Mister Miyagi
When it’s foggy, I release globby spits of remains of rappers in a lobby as a hobby
I’ll rip your knit, shit gets thick quick, get your crew
Before I do something gory to your quite futile styles
Miniature raps get waxed, simonized
Into the fifth dimension of your centrifugal, never typical—stand attention, I’m
Mystical, rip shit ‘til the power blows
Those chose to compete, we delete ‘em—observe defeat
Descending down from above to get cha, hit cha, split cha, ditch cha
Picture you victorious? I’m gory plus your shit’s mad boring
Bring it on
[Hook: The Ill Rahlos]
Bring it on, bring it on
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!
Bring it on, bring it on
Bring it on, motherfucker, bring it on!