[Part I]

[Intro: Wildchild & Guru]
Mmm, haha ("Wi— Wildchi— child")
("The— the rhyme")
Yeah ("The— the— the rhyme constructor")
("Wildchi— child")
Lootpack in the place for the 1998 to the year 2000
("The— the— the rhyme constructor")
("Wi— Wildchi— child")
Yo, yo ("The— the rhyme constructor")
Stones Throw ("Up steps the wi— wild child")

[Chorus: Wildchild]
You, your crew and we
We're forced to break you down 'til your eyes can't see
'Til the day comes when you feel that sonic drum
Your dogs can't speak, cause the cat got your tongue
(C'mon, c'mon) You, your crew and we
We're forced to break you down 'til your eyes can't see
'Til the day comes when you feel that sonic drum
Your dogs can't speak, cause the cat got your tongue
(LP)

[Verse 1: Wildchild]
Bust up your cerebellum at a hella rate, tell 'em wait (What)
You're not gonna see me kick thirty freestyle lines and watch your ass regenerate (What)
Lines I rejuvenate, jack elevates (Uh-hmm)
My level's so thick and so you can't even tell your fate (What-what)
When my freestyle rhyme starts to accelerate
I'll step back in the b-boy stance, style will stop innovating (What)
All 75% of signed n***as who can't participate
Waiting for the right time to rain on n***as, come and precipitate
Damn, I hate two-faced brothers always agitate (Yeah)
First thought, place your head on the mantle and watch it decapitate
I rhyme early like Laverne and Shirley, you're rapping late (Yeah)
Sport a L on my chest, can your elegant-ness rapulate when jack infiltrates?
On all you wack n***as who manipulate
Brothers irritate (Word), watch a liquid emcee step up and irrigate (Hmm)
Still I wait for the right time, when Wildchild's feelin' great (Word)
Hungry, cause I got the munchies, and my rhyme style still ain't ate
L's in the airs, sisters yellin' Loot to the Pack
Closin' up and open, searchin' brothers go right to the back (Word)
Before my rap attacks (Word), your wack style 'cause you lack (Huh)
And all ya' hear from the crowd is "We wanna' hear Cracker Jack!"
I'll kick a freestyle, brothers know I don't come wack (C'mon)
Your already clappin' at, a dope-ass Madlib track
Matter of fact, Wildchild known to pick up the slack (Word)
Known to pick up a wack emcee straight by the nap
Askin' him why he rap, 'cause I might tightly strap you in a seat
Take you on a trip straight to the Boombap
[Bridge: Marley Marl]
"My rhyme— my— my rhyme— my rhyme—
My rhyme starts the flow so I simply must brag
About my—"

[Outro: Wildchild, Quasimoto, Madlib & Quasimoto]
Style, if it wasn't for the style
It would be hard for me to show my culture profile
What about the crew? If it wasn't for the crew
It would be, only lonely me, payin' dues
Don't forget the flow, if it wasn't for the flow
Possibly, how could I suppose I could rock the shows
What about the beats? The beats
The beats, the beats, the beats, the beats
The beats, the beats

[Part II]

[Intro: Quasimoto & Madlib]
Quasimoto
It's Madlib, the bad kid
Wildchild, DJ Romes, Peanut Butter Wolf
From this Stones Throw era
You know we bringin' it, West Coast
How we do
Madlib!
[Verse 2: Madlib, Quasimoto, Mablib, Quasimoto & Melvin Van Peebles]
We drop shit like some architects
Spark and get, lit to make some underground hits
Madlib, the bad kid, we drop original
Precise, conceptual, house of wood, innovation nine thousand
We keep in business like Erick and Parrish
Have you hype like '89 like we buggin' on Terrence
Sometimes on the low-pro, your style's like a no show
We comin' from the "O", what we do? Lord Quas
Representin' Quasimoto, Peanut Butter's on the drum set
I grab the mic to run rec, I'll have you hype like illegal gun sets
Plus the Beat Conductor got my back, attack
Whenever, whoever, you wanna test me? Be bold and don't cry
The bad character you see up on the screen
We keep it clean, like a diamond ring or dirty like a one-night fling
You gots to let us do our ting (Ting)
We droppin' loops with static cling, while we steppin' on the scene
Yo, it's the Loop Digga, man, it's the Loop Digga
My n***a (My n***a) Yo, it's the Loop Digga
Lord Quas and the Pack and it's peace like Greece
For fried chicken (Two million) or for Astro black sticken'
N***as talkin' shit, yo, watch the plot thicken
I'll leave y'all suckas wit yo' auditory sicken
("Put a curse on you") Like Wild man fisher
If it's trouble in the West, we'll bring back the juice like we're Bishop
I'll smack yo' bitch up, like a pimp
And it's low-high, your whole zoo could get ripped up, that's no lie
Quasimoto and the Pack, we keep it raw like sex (Sex)
On mic check, on the sets (Sets)
[Outro: Madlib, Nas & Big Pin]
"Madlib— Madlib—
Madlib invade your face like blah—
Mad— Mad— Mad—
Madlib" "Invasion— invasion"
"Who want— who— who want—
Who want te— te— test the real— real sca-scandalous?"
"Who want— who— who— who want—
Who want te— te–test the real scandalous?"
"Who— who— who— who-who
Who want te— te— te-test the real scandalous?"
"Who— who— who want— who want—
Who want te— test the real-real scandalous?"
"Te— test the real— the real scan–scandalous?"
"Test the real— the real— the real scandalous?"
"Test— test— test the real scandalous?"
"Who want— who want—
Who want test-test the real scandalous?"