[Speaking:]
It's 2005
I'm 'bout to blow some heads off, man

I got so much %#@! 'bout to hit these dudes, man
Feast (?) classic, Juju Mob classic, y'know I mean?
My team is comin', Good Hands


[Verse 1:]
Yo, I give it to you straight, never speak fakely

Shareef T lace it, they say he's crazy
I'm only Lost Cauze when I got the .380
This is my costume, no moniker to make you eat daisies

None needed, son weeded
For some reason, on the mic I become some demon
Other emcees eat they lungs even

You think not? Come see 'em
From the stage you will run fleein'
I need more cowbell, throw in your towels

You make the crowd swell with bottles
Thrown at you, I'm the grave robber, throne snatcher
Don't matter, I attack like throat cancer

You can't rap, but you's a dope dancer
A hype man, go adjust my mic stand
I roll with ???, who love to make your life stop

You've been dismissed, go home and get your shine box

[Chorus:]

[Echo:] It's the Cauze, it's the Cauze...
[Scratch: KRS-One] Emcees act like they don't know
[Scratch: 50 Cent] I'm the underground king, and I ain't been crowned

[Scratch: Styles P] Mother$#&@ers hit your knees and just pray to the Lord

[Verse 2:]

No pimp cup, no gators (?)
No trucker hat, no blazer
I'm from the city that spawned Joe Frasier

Bernard Hopkins, stay the $#&@ out of my zone, haters
Now I'm no Messiah, I'm no savior
But when the mic's in my clutch there's no greater

It's like a vato loco with no razor
A black man's Kool Aid with no flavor
ESPN with no Raiders

Or the Lost Cauze out for sale with no takers
That movie +Tron+ with no lasers
An episode of +Oz+ with no rapers

The X Games with no skaters
You get the gist; my only exercise is sit and twist
I'm just as quick as Michael Vick

Cuz I'm getting' blitzed like a three-four defense
Won't be tackled in the Three Four Precinct


[Chorus]

[Verse 3:]

I'm the omen in rhyme form
You soft as nylon
I spit hot fire like Dilawn, Dilawn, Dilawn

Mind gone from buds 's big as pine cones
The Lost Cauze is a mother$#&@ing cyclone
Get caught in my path, and I divide homes

You don't want to die, homes
I talk with my nine chrome
He's highly upset

Rush the stage with pure rage if you deny me a set
I ain't playin', dog
This is beast music, this is Reef music

Treat your face like bongos, this the beat movement
Daddy-yo the beat bruiser, leave your teeth looser
You'll be foolish to not cop that +Feast+, stupid

Cuz this a banger-banger, @@#! the thing and bang ya
Danger, danger, one remains in the chamber
Hot wire hanger, bash your face in

Now go $#&@ yourself like masturbation
The father of this !@$( nation
I'm hard like chemistry and math equations

Leave your face full of holes like the mask of Jason
I'm past the waitin', getting at these !@$(s hatin'
I'm sicker than a !@$)got Hatian filling his veins with H hits
My gun plastic like some fake tits (^!$$%!)
I don't make hits, I just crap classics that make you want to break %#@!

you fake (*##$!

Bleh! Bleh! Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!

[Talking]


White Boy 1: Everybody's always talking about the legends, they talking
about Biggie and Pac (White Boy 2: Yeah, $#&@ those two) and Pun and Big L
No one's talking about the real legends (WB2: Hell yeah)
The guys on top right now (WB2: Hell yeah)

I'm talking about the Sages (WB2: Sage? Sage is down with the Klan!)
The Aesops, ??? Combustion right here, are you kidding me?
[WB3:] (Old school rap is doo doo, dude, it's garbage)
He's the next big thing, listen to him
[WB3:] I need, like, beats that don't even sound like beats

[WB1:] Yeah, exactly, they should be like ?ERr Err err err?
[WB3:] Who wants to dance anymore anyways?
[WB2:] It's the blacks
[WB3:] Yo, yo, rip that %#@! Combustion

[Combustion: Rapping]


Yo, yo, yo, yo
My rhyme style you can't even measure
Cuz I flow like Helium (WB2: Mmm) at 40 times atmospheric pressure (WB2:
Here he goes)
I'm super fluid nice, can't rap but I can almost write (WB2: Uh ha)
Can't fight but I can almost bite

Hate Bush cuz he's stealing my rights
Actually I just like to gripe (WB2: West Hartford, what!) because my skin is
white
I hate my dad, see, cuz he don't like
Paying for me to sit on my $$# and smoke this pipe (WB2: Go John)
That's what I do because I'm so bored
Got this super silver haze weed that you can't afford (WB2: Connecticut!)

And I'm crazy fly like the Wright Brothers
Nerd rapper of the yo, yo, yo man like Tom and Dick's mothers
Might be ??? ugly, but I'm ?Mister Lover Lover?

[Black A&R:]
Man, that %#@! is corny, man. Ok?
Let me tell you somethin'

My artist Corleone Capone from Big Dog Entertainment (Barks)
He gon' eat yo' %#@!...
Ay, Corleone, tells these ^!$$%z how the street, hood, y'know'm sayin'
Rich, big time, killa crack ^!$$%z do it

[Corleone:]
Yo, yo this young Corleone Capone a force of AKA Real Clinton

y'feel what I'm sayin'?
[Rapping:] Yo, I cop the !@%!e, pop the toast
Keep a bottle of Cris to pop and toast
Cook the crack, cut the crack, I sell the crack
I love the crack! Then I mix and I got crack, ^!$$%
Keep a gat that'll put it in your back, ^!$$%
Four shots you'll be layin' out flat, ^!$$%, OH!

Pop the top, drop the top
Cop a grip, chop the block
About to cop the block, the block is hot
The block is a block that block the blocks, OH! Feel me?!
I rock the rocks, that rock the rocks
Then drop the drop, cop the shot, the pop...
I got shots for tops, ^!$$%z!

[Talking: with A&R talking %#@! in the background]
Young Corleone Capone a force of AKA Real Clinton, y'know'm sayin'?
JFK Jr. of this rap %#@!, y'know'm sayin'?
I got bricks comin' out my $$#, ^!$$%, y'know'm sayin'?
I sleep bricks, ^!$$%, y'know'm sayin'?
I got cocaine everywhere, ^!$$%, yea!