Critical Beatdown - Ultramagnetic MC's

Well I’m the equalizer, known to be graphic

I clear static, breakin up traffic

Move, while I enter the groove

I’m on top, and happy to prove

to wack MC’s who claim to be better than

No way I’m frankly more clever than

all of you, each and every one, my son

Pay close attention

I take your brain to another dimension

Hold it, mold it, shape it You got a knife, yes I wanna scrape it up and down, sideways, any way I can

be rude to you

But I’ll rap and be crude to you

And eat up, toy ducks I beat up I am the oven your brains I wanna heat up Mega, supersonic degrees

I come around, roastin MC’s

with fire, to burn the toy liar

Raw meat, turn the flame higher

Cook it, like a fish I’ll hook it For any beat, it’s time that I took it right, correctly to the top

with the rhythm and as your head bop

I’m hype, for the critical beatdown!

I’m attacking them, my job is stacking them

For every rapper, must I be smacking them

once, or twice in the face

With rough beats, producin the bass

that blow out, cause power to go out

Inner spark, I’m ready to blow out

like this, altitude level

Reachin forth, stompin every devil

in sight, you might just wanna bite

My illusions, mental confusions

You’re a mark, skulls I’ve been abusin

Losin, any rapper who follow me Your girl loves me, now she wanna swallow me Back up, move on to the rear

When I’m on the stage should be clear

Speakin, goin ear to ear

Places far, ducks would appear

for the countdown, so you wait to rhyme

and twist, stuttering, uttering

Parkay, margerine, everything butter

and another thing, you shoulda been a Muppet

A toy boy, a fake scream puppet

I’m takin titles, and punks better up it to me, Ced Gee on the mic, and I’m hype

for the critical beatdown!

Here’s the K, combined the double-O

Swing in the L, I’m ready to go as Keith, Rap General Chief Executive

plus exquisitive

Mandatory, capital statements

I am the teacher, preaching what makes sense

Class, you wasn’t able to pass

For any germ or lice who come last

I’m boric, high computing acid

Get off the mic and won’t you please pass it to me, for a one-two check

Give me a pound and lots of respect

No hands, you dissapointing my fans

You on reverb, and talking to cans

Hello — how are you doing?

I come to wreck, and parties I’ll ruin

with rhymes, pumpin up smoke

Diesel advances makin them choke

and cough up, the hard-headed I’ll soften

spongee, then after that drink a?

Roll the sess, the buddha with the ganji

Puff up, while I make tough stuff up

I’m Kool Keith, cold rippin MC’s

I’m hype — for the critical beatdown!