Lyrical King Lyrics

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

Little kids get scared
I smack the shit out of a monster when I devour
That's why I shit on Austin Powers
Watch niggaz get souped up and comfortable like the Plymouth Prowler
No homerun bastards, I line up everybody like a fouler
Like they mix baking soda and pasta
Only thing these motherf*ckers touch, is Tide and soap powder
(f*ckin soap powder!) Microphone perpetration I see through
I want my vocals up louder
Bitch I write some verses with high octane curses
Popeye and Kentuck' sponsor
I turned down deals with Church's
Y'all f*cked up cause the Colonel made the purchase
I can't no longer support 50 thousand MC's, homeless and worthless
The shit 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 assholes, with club soda and lemon cake
Listen close, examine is that the star flow?
While you talkin baboon shit on the radio
I cancelled seein ducks at the magic show
I know some Mexicans that shit through, the custom sunroof
Butt-naked in Barstow
With bloodhounds on the back of the graffiti Air Force Nikes
That bark low, remember you f*ckin 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 niggaz, I been past niggaz
Test crash dummies, I know people that work with these, crash niggaz
For the last 6,008 months I've been hearin trash niggaz
With f*cked up paparazzis
That think they clownin big-head motherf*ckers
Hot vaginas under they crotch
I like when they bullshit on the mic, and play hopscotch
Touch the controls, adjust your platinum and gold
Put the coke all up in your f*ckin nose
Don't sleep you better take that No-Doz
Ain't no motherf*cker pushin kilos
Ask the motherf*cker 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 f*ckin with Jonathan Braggy
Basket of bread you grabby
Your f*ckin 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~! Motherf*ck it

[voice lowered:]
Lyrical king
You know the lyrical king when you see him
I don't have to reveal myself to motherf*ckers nowhere ever
When I walk in the room, you rip your motherf*ckin papers up
You shut the studio time down
You get that motherf*cker out the booth
You tell that nigga he's whack
You let motherf*ckers know, who's in the motherf*ckin back
You serve that coffee, you serve that tea
You let a motherf*cker know he's comin out the f*ckin teepee
f*ck you motherf*ckers, and all you whack-ass motherf*ckers
You know who the motherf*ckin lyrical, motherf*ckin king is!
Suck the dillz

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