Rhyme and cultural, style and never old

Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
I'll love your theory like the chi-chi-woo-woo-boogie-man
Whose the originator, step up infiltrator, see you in the alligator
You listen to your lyrics in chime, your Panasonic
Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
Rich rap come from the brothers in the neigborhood
Then spit the yellow man, check it to groove-to-groove site

Three, four, back she know before the track miss
I say no to spliff but my friends still smoke [Incomprehensible]

So let me re-light your viacom

[Foreign Content]
I came back with the bag 'cause that's my momma man
Boof baf, another sound of a guy
Back stabbin' traitor, tape recorder, duplicator, roughly rhymin' with
He said I bust a battle, aight, I still took a gun
Smoke I got my bullet-proof and now to send my bozack

Mind must be sharp until my holler girl, I get all in
Let me clock the block as I pull fo'-five
Rollin' with the Jones' but I different homozones
Huh, coolin' while I'm rappin'
And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic, cool

Pay the man to rhyme onto it

So what, converse man, the chicken or the hoodie
And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic, cool
Slashed the priest-fool, ooh, you're filth-swolled
No cheeba, cheeba just a Libra on a last ride
Go back to Jamaica, what's good is what's new

Black stylin', ridin', Boof'll be trappin'
A just remain yourself and be the same
All that movin' I call my nozzle you see I was an electronic
MC's must be right, when I syke from lack of freestylin'

So hear the spirits, many fear, Sir New Stosser
Five plus five you know that equals to ten

But the spot that I clock, you get shot if your numbers' about
I used to play hookie just to see how good an MC was
But yo sister, grab the mic and do damage
Some write forward, some write backward

Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
Some say boo! he's the po he used to diss Jamaicans
The head tranzlator and leave the forty to be naughty in the refrigerator
Aiyyo I used to drive a hooptie, check me down swoopie
Say gun-man, say tell me where you get your damn gun from
I'm from the island, the island I'm from is the strong island
Boof baf, another sound of a guy
You musta get it from the foreign land
I wait for them to get the cheeba-ganja then reverse yo
Stall MC's soft-put 'em up for-er-Death Row
Ay Pras, remember that song they sang, yeah
'Cause many rapper-days, say nuttin' for nuttin'
'Cause a imitator could never be greater than the creator
Get the hoodie came first then mans' then would be Nancy
If you have a rooster you must have a hen
Boof baf, never boy, duck
Bam-bam, alakazam, he grabbed the mic up the block they ran
When they come to battle champ see the shoes flappin'
So here's sut-um to take you from the am to the pm

One, two, zip me-me, check the mic I'm ready

Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
Hold the mic, hold the mic, I shoot 'em
I fuck ya when style go, to wreck this static
Down with my last one, last one, last one, last one and smoke
Said if you write with pencil you must write with pen
Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
Who used to rap on a Polaroid, here comes Father Joe
Hannibal heads, I be the kid from "Timbuktu"
Say gun-man, say tell me where you get your damn gun from
This the new thing under the sun, when I come, I come
Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try

And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic, cool

Boof baf, another sound of a guy
Boof baf, another sound of a guy

Boof baf, another sound of a guy
I waited so long that I thought I died and came back alive
And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic
Boof baf, another sound of a guy

'Cause he sees everyone with a deal with a record company
One, two, I throw a flow to catch it

Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
Boof baf, another sound of a guy
You say I'm balanced but you're Silence of the Lambs
To kill the Jesse James rough, step back, check your steps
They go home, they write a rhyme, they think they ready to battle better

The ly-ly-ly-lyricaler, the di-di-di-digital
You musta get it from the foreign land
Boof baf, never boy, duck punk, try
I'm just patrollin', move off in the block
And Hatians 'cause you thought I was American
Three, four, please the army, "Oh God", with Uzi's
We want to shoot up the old a Babylon
You want to kill your own brother man
Pras take the mic man, you know you're really critical
Boof baf, another sound of a guy
See life's got no value if I ain't got no statue
Boof baf, another sound of a guy

Coolin' it, coolin' it, coolin' it, somebody chuck me-who the who'd you think?

Boof baf, another sound of a guy
With a verse that's worse than the last one
Well I'm on fire, fire, fire
But now we move off with Uncle's with a trail-crate of cooler
And when I call your name I say Candyman, Candyman, Candyman
So don't get caught on the fast lane, the fast lane

Boof baf, I cut the block with gat-stops