Yeah, yeah,
9, 10, 11, 12,
Yo, usually,
We do it like this,
The Suspects
Scapegoat Wax
Uh, coming through like a T-Rex,
Check, check,
Yo yo

MCs smack their heads on brick
And publicly pelt themselves with rocks
And put their feet on dry ice blocks
This one's the knock, knock knocking
On your nose bridge
Poking at your eyelids
With the soul kids from where I live
Everybody's smiling big as Regis
And time froze like fetus
A guitarist took a time machine and cloned baby Jesus
And made an MC like me (what, what?)
Who came to conquer everything
Within the breeze, man, woman, disease - please,
You looking at me in a dumb and funny way
But come to find out your crew
Was some 12-year-old runaways
Mentally I am of the 23rd Century
Technically microphones and drums are my specialty
Cloud 9 to catch the scent of my rhymes
I'm stomping through the streets rapping (Ooh, ah, ooh, ah)
While you're marching for dimes
It's like a lemon to a lime, a lime to a lemon
Sports trivia: Who's head coach is Bobby Cremins?
Georgia Tech Yellowjackets
Iller by the millisecond
I be kicking like Tekken
Check out my record collection
It's kind of fat
This is why I rap like that
I be oozing out the funk
Like a case of the clap

CHORUS:
{Here is something you can't run from
So stop look and listen
You take your position
We do it like this son
The illest prescription
A lyric incision
Into you eardrum} -- X2

THE SUSPECTS:
Natural mystic blowing through the air
Hey is you smoking something there?
Contraire, mon frere
Cause in my verbal contract to give niggas instant convulsions
Experience eternal