[Verse 1: Mazzi]
Yo, you best to focus on the epitome of dopeness
I swarm like locust on your whole crew that’s bogus
It ain’t hard to show this. It ain’t hard to tell
Make your brain cells swell when I’m breaking out my shell
And I leave you to dwell in a hip hop hell
Where DJs have no arms and MCs are tongueless
Spray cans are empty and markers are inkless
B-boys are crippled with crutches or legless
So respect this or that’ll be your situation
Predicament you’re facing. I’ll make your reality
Change drastically, batter glee rapidly
Bring it to you and your faculty. I’d rather be
Chilling ever after, living happily. Instead, I see
Suckers with more front than backbone
They perpetrate, I elevate to crack domes with fat poems
Now recognize I wreck your eyes
So don’t sleep or fantasize, daydreamers

[Verse 2: L.I.F.E. Long]
I take my position in the form of lotus
When I focus my optics to see through the bogus
And [?] present, but misrepresent
And can’t perform on sets like impotence in the act of sex
But what do you expect when your knowledge and intellect don’t connect?
That’s why, to sum, I be complex, leaving heads vexed
So they can’t understand the structure of my cerebral cortex
That roll with force like a vortex unraveling
Secret weapons when I’m battling
Those who be babbling, leaving them in trouble with us paddling
These snakes be rattling, try to poison me with venom
But I sever with sharp tactics that point like cactus
Knocking you off your axis of constant rotation on stations
Global extermination for these insects that be faking and wasting time and energy
Cats be coming with similar similes like the dress code at assemblies
That’s why I assemble these rhymes in order to verbally manslaughter
Those who can’t fit in my poetical quota, it’s over
[Interlude: Pumpkinhead]
It’s over, haha. It’s over, yeah

[Hook: Mr. Metaphor]
This goes out to my mans and my mellows
Who walk the streets with snakes and armadillos
Puffing trees, lighting up weeping willows
MCs are soft like pillows—they marshmallows
This goes out to my fellows and amigos
Who rocking crowds and bruising mics like egos
To all my peoples, to all my Don Dadas
Who blow the spot up and smoke the pot up and push the product

[Verse 3: Pumpkinhead]
Through the angle I see things, these self-proclaimed kings of the ring
Are like a one-night fling, so I bring the static like cling
Merciless like Ming
I don’t sing—my flock rocks it, got it locked like the bing
From Rikers to Elmira, my crew breathes hellfire
Methane gas inhaled fast—catch a brain blast
See more colors than a stained glass window
Original Blunted cats who love indo, rub elbows with black widows
Beat anacondas like congas
Went to Africa and joined a headhunting tribe of Rwanda
[?] lie to bull-ock/Bullock like Sandra
To get high, I start brushfires in a huge crop of ganja
I rhyme ill, sharp like porcupine quills, give you spine chills
Don’t get it twisted. Pumpkinhead ain’t dead—just my lines kill
Hip hop is a full-time job—you weren’t assigned skills
You stink like landfills, follow me like entrails (Ha)
[Verse 4: Mr. Metaphor]
I’m stalking tracks like celery, stomping on the melody
With clarity, I cause assault and battery
I got a rhyme gallery that’s bigger than the galaxy
I’ll burn your faculty and your cavalry happily
You need first aid kits
I’m scarring up your platelets. It’s out-fucking-rageous how I state this
I’m greater than the Greatest Dane and when you state his name
I flow longer than the greatest rain in the Serengeti plains
Storming cats and dogs, then the dialogues are pouring
MCs be more boring than Imus in the Morning
I just finished touring foreign lands, crossed the shores
Stand baked and dance. Now I’m blasting out your TASCAMs
With verbal backhands that’s putting heads through CAT scans
When I crash-lands a line and tap dance on your mind

[Verse 5: Abnormal]
Flip the vernaculars, inclined to set it off with every line
Equivocating every rhyme at every drop of a dime
Don’t procrastinate ‘cause I’ve got the faster blade
In a task to castrate before you rappers masturbate
Cast a plague over you cats who masquerade
Fascinate and elevate disaster raids
Past the gates of heaven with a spliff and roller skates
Leave the diamond-studded MCs on golden tapes
Hold the weight, control the soul of all the fake
Roll on stage and dislocate your shoulder blade
My rehearsal of words is like the dispersal of bird
The lyrical third degree black belt with metaphors and verbs
Swinging a sword, bringing down the overlord
Stabbing metaphors, pour peroxide on open sores
I take rappers by the fours, serve the first three subliminally
Alter the mind of the last MC ever so passionately
It’d be my name that he calls
While he goes back to his crib and starts playing with his balls
It’s like that, yo
[Hook: Mr. Metaphor] (x2)
This goes out to my mans and my mellows
Who walk the streets with snakes and armadillos
Puffing trees, lighting up weeping willows
MCs are soft like pillows—they marshmallows
This goes out to my fellows and amigos
Who rocking crowds and bruising mics like egos
To all my peoples, to all my Don Dadas
Who blow the spot up and smoke the pot up and push the product