Verbal Experiments (Lootpack)

Hah Hahahah... From the dungeons of darkness Comes God's Gift to Hip Hop Representin' with the LP We'll hit 'em hard and fast in a straight line Concentrating all firepower to their blindside at sunrise Operation sunray, UV radiation First breach their outer barriers then continue penetration To their central point, crushin' their nucleus Rushing their central brain command Planting a virus that expands Through your whole nervous system shutting down all communications To your ya bodily functions Handicapping your defenses Swiftly attacking your unit, Neutralizing MC's By ripping 'em apart before they even know what hit 'em Style blitz Jack gets pissed off, wack MC's step up and get lost The rhythmic boss, Jack spits rhymes through my teeth like floss I bust with motivation to uplift MC's with High above controlling stratus clouds, my man God's Gift Come down, assist us, wack MC's must be reminded Get a Lootpack tape, rewind it, for those closed minded To the abstract we kick, we rock all places I found out MC's aren't human cuz they got two faces They be chillin', willin', always time killin' Wack rumor spillin' while Jack be still in charge Asking me if I smoke chronic, niggas it's ironic I'm Wild Child, 80% human, 20% bionic My main occupation is to step up and rock the nation Focus up upon my jam and blow up just like inflation So if you ain't down, don't front, worry about your health Worry about your wack crew and ya wack ass self Hey yo, here comes the Master Don, here to renovate My style hits ya like marble weights so pass the dinner plate But pass up the swine like money ya rhyme lime Madlib done told ya time and time again Find the mental maze, faster ya plaster your instrumental With lyrical disaster till you scream out "Who's the master?" I flip it up rip it up to raw addict, Crate diggin' for the static when I mad beat shop Impulse down to prestige and Black Jazz 21st Century enja got mad Record labels of the old, ill loop and take 'em out I keep it secret when a nigga tries to peep shit My beat hit like a Roy Jones Jr. skit Your girl starin so now you wanna flip I rip it down to the Loot while ya yell peace While I pull out my piece, yell peace but now leave ya in pieces But at least you escaped this beast Smokin' on a cushin' leaf while ya try to bring grief Now something's shaking in the palace, can't you feel the Santa Ana Switching currents and building velocity, it got's to be God's Gift and Lootpack, mentally superior master race of lyricists Conductiong verbal experiments With open and imaginitive creativity Fathering styles from infancy to be lyrically Complete, grown and fully developed adults Trained in mastering total blitz coastal, total assaults Also we launch all out war when we tour your area First destroying your local underground spots Rocked your major clubs and plugged into your theatres Advancing as hip hop's vocabulary leaders Hostile take-overs is our main focus As the deadliest of CDP special attack forces Basically, MC's lack division is appalling Third rate styles with the nerve to say they're vocalists Out of focus, often it's the people they run with Coupled with their own wackness, they're futureless! "And keep feedin you, and feedin you..." [scratches and various talk to end]