Verse One: Tame One, El the Sensai

*reggae growl* I diss batty bwoys like Buju

Banton, rippin wan-tan destruction

Sag my pants to stop the suction plus it's quicker when I'm fuckin

Split Dutch Master faster I puff izz that causes asthma as dust

Some say from NJ, quick to give up papes

Beef'll keep it street, defeat niggaz who sleep

or reap the concrete status kick your ass with my apparatus

Those who, oppose this, split their shit like Moses

My written tabs is rippin fags and the whole bit

I murder mics and tape decks, so check it while I wrecks it

far from junkies keep it real because I'm hungry like the Bundy's

("Al!!")

Got more rumble than thunder crumple chumps like they was paper

Eight for keys, make G's, but One of Tame made these

Conjunction junction what's your function on the real

My mass appeal is real I swim through beats like Navy Seals

Irregular, my style, suckers competitors who think they better

I knit my skit, like my Grandma's sweater

Nuts who want to inflict, harm against the charmer

Best to rest their case because I wear medieval armor

To protect, my subjects, my style's quite hard

Never could you copy cause my style's quite odd

Select the best concepts, context to rhyme text

Plus a twenty dollar bet, niggaz flexi wit da tech

Chorus: samples of Jeru the Damaja and BizMarkie

"The tech's technique, cause he's a technician"

"One two, whatcha gonna do"

(repeat 4X)

Verse Two: El the Sensai, Tame One

I rip rhyme charts apart, I jump-start on the gunner

Arrest niggaz like Honda from the under never blunder wonder if

I get stiff, I'm bound to catch an L

Nah never that I'm down with Tame I'm MC El

Lately playin Hurricane G demos in my WalkMan

I walk and I talk and read issues of The Source and

check out the dreadlocks in Bedrock puffin indo

by the branch like plants, and do the cypher dance

Then it's back to the set, to write raps about my eps

Takin tokes for the stress as I get flexi wit da tech

Ah, I whip the lyrics up, like batter chatters on the verge

I sink all ships and watch you crabs submerge

in depths of the boat doper ropes to distort

All sorts of brothers abuse my styles I must abort

I do jobs like miles around the necks of the title

I win it hands down and pants down cause I'm vital

The tech, might you wanna get mad, now freak the plannin

Plus I flips it skip the handscans I'm woozy when I'm splifted

Yeah still high the ill fly, red-eye rundown a semi

Automatic Artifact with knaps causin heart attacks

to critics and honeydips, who jeered on my lyrics

And slept when I dropped that "Do You Wanna Hear It?"

Cause from sun-up to sundown, my eyes are red and rundown

I still smoke a pound if strong peeps hit the town

I'm flexible like every female Huxtable was fuckable

Impeccable, dispicable, on point like a decimal

Point twice the joint jumper nicest with the mic device

Mighty like Isis, gimme boom I rips a crisis with the stress

(with the stress) unless I'm gettin flexi wit da tech

Chorus

Shut up, you're talkin too loud, you're talkin too loud

Peace to the whole city of Newark