"Kick it over here baby pop!"

[Chorus: Murray, Sermon, others]


[KM] Swing it over here!
[all] Yo swing it over here!

[KM] Swing it over here!
[all] C'mon swing it over here!
[KM] Y'all swing it over here!

[all] Yo swing it over here!
[KM] Come swing it over here!
[Red] Yo, swing it over there!


[Verse One: Keith Murray]


My rap style is swift like boom bips
so come get a whip, and a bump, it's rough
Crews couldn't hold it in handcuffs

The ordeal is that I'm raw ill on the mic
Switchin my styles up like a transvestite (word)
I think of competition as ?? and

Keith Murray is the vocabulary champ
?Come in against deep notable to breach lines?
I'll make you make the same mistake twice three or four times

and nobody got a style like this
You could say, I got my thinking cap on backwards
I'll demolish the !@$!ed smartest rap artists

regardless, tryin to scream the hardest
I $#&@ your head up like amphetamines with L.O.D.
Then bend you out of shape like a master Yogi

I put my head through your chest, just to see
who's next in line, just to get wrecked
I makes contact, bust the interlude

I take my skills to another level like qualudes
And you couldn't hear me out; cause the type of %#@!
I converse about'll drag your brain in the slaughterhouse


[Chorus: change to all throughout]


[Verse Two: Erick Sermon]

Cling cling, somebody tell me something

Why I got more props than Don King without bouncing boxing rings?
*ding ding* I be the flyest guy you ever sawr on the microphone
Rip the %#@! to pieces, so leave me alone

Check me out, the way I freak the mode
The active half flippin %#@! so split 'fore I explode - BOOM!
So umm, pay attention, before I put you and your crew on suspension

for being closed minded to my invention
Yo, I rock on reel when I record oh my lord
The world full of jackers so I keep my %#@! stored

When I rock the microphone I rock it right
and keep it hardcore and more blacker than Wesley Snipes
To my crew there's no match

You want more funk then here's another batch, yo I

[Chorus: all throughout]


[EPMD's 'Headbanger'] "The Redman that's what they call me" [x3]
[ED] Oh no, here comes the Funkadelic Redman


[Verse Three: Redman]


Aoowwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness! Could this be
the funk that I was stretching out my lungs
Funkadelic sums up *nasal inhale* I clear the mucus

Stick tissue up my nose to stop the snot from makin spots
To be or not I still give ^!$$%z polka dots for plots
Now Richard Dawson had a survey sayin that I was awesome

Throw on your Walkmans while I pour the funk sauce in your coffins
WAKE UP! While the blunt's laced up just to pick the pace up
My style's freaky, nasty like ?Seka? #~!!@ papers

when I raped her, you don't know check the four-uno-uno you know
That funk mixture that gets your body, holy like scriptures
Now right about now I'm settin off a bomb to blow the Empire

to ashes -- cause my %#@!'s more raw than ^!$$%z stashes
Massive funk, swingin bangin bent up while I $#&@ed ya
I'm rough enough ta, $#&@ up another white man's trucker
Redman's evil like the board of ouiji, ^!$$%z could smoke
a whole pound of weed and couldn't see me off the TV!