[Kool Keith:]
(Everybody know that) the lyrical king
(Everybody know that) lyrical king

(Everybody know that %#@!) the lyrical king
(Everybody know that) lyrical king
(Everybody know that)


Little kids get scared
I smack the %#@! out of a monster when I devour

That's why I %#@! on Austin Powers
Watch ^!$$%z get souped up and comfortable like the Plymouth Prowler
No homerun !@$(s, I line up everybody like a fouler

Like they mix baking soda and pasta
Only thing these mother$#&@ers touch, is Tide and soap powder
($#&@in soap powder!) Microphone perpetration I see through

I want my vocals up louder
(*##$ I write some verses with high octane curses
Popeye and Kentuck' sponsor

I turned down deals with Church's
Y'all $#&@ed up cause the Colonel made the purchase
I can't no longer support 50 thousand MC's, homeless and worthless

The %#@! department, I thought you was a delivery
Packagin, I put you in charge, alright supervisin piss
My messages get across state to state when I shift doo-doo

out on freight, I take a break
Laugh at you $$#holes, with club soda and lemon cake
Listen close, examine is that the star flow?

While you talkin baboon %#@! on the radio
I cancelled seein ducks at the magic show
I know some Mexicans that %#@! through, the custom sunroof

Butt-naked in Barstow
With bloodhounds on the back of the graffiti Air Force Nikes
That bark low, remember you $#&@in with somebody pro

I shake the piss off my dick, on your album intro
Next time you tell the engineer to bring it in slow
Toy-ass ^!$$%z, I been past ^!$$%z

Test crash dummies, I know people that work with these, crash ^!$$%z
For the last 6,008 months I've been hearin trash ^!$$%z
With $#&@ed up paparazzis

That think they clownin big-head mother$#&@ers
Hot ##&*%$s under they crotch
I like when they bull%#@! on the mic, and play hopscotch

Touch the controls, adjust your platinum and gold
Put the !@%!e all up in your $#&@in nose
Don't sleep you better take that No-Doz

Ain't no mother$#&@er pushin kilos
Ask the mother$#&@er next to you, he knows
Raggy-aggy, wear your pants baggy

In front of your used Jaggy
You ain't 24 track you still macky
Opposite dress that's tacky

Y'all $#&@in with Jonathan Braggy
Basket of bread you grabby
Your $#&@in sides are overweight, can't come in here lookin stupid and flabby


LYRICAL KING~! (lyrical king)
LYRICAL KING~! (y'all know, lyrical king)

LYRICAL KING~! Mother$#&@ it

[voice lowered:]

Lyrical king
You know the lyrical king when you see him
I don't have to reveal myself to mother$#&@ers nowhere ever

When I walk in the room, you rip your mother$#&@in papers up
You shut the studio time down
You get that mother$#&@er out the booth

You tell that ^!$$% he's whack
You let mother$#&@ers know, who's in the mother$#&@in back
You serve that coffee, you serve that tea

You let a mother$#&@er know he's comin out the $#&@in teepee
$#&@ you mother$#&@ers, and all you whack-ass mother$#&@ers
You know who the mother$#&@in lyrical, mother$#&@in king is!

Suck the dillz