Verbal Experiments

Hah Hahahah... 
From the dungeons of darkness 
Comes God's Gift to Hip Hop 
Representin' with the LP 

We'll hit 'em hard and fast in a straight line 
Concentrating all firepower to their blindside at sunrise 
Operation sunray  UV radiation 
First breach their outer barriers then continue penetration 
To their central point  crushin' their nucleus 
Rushing their central brain command 
Planting a virus that expands 
Through your whole nervous system shutting down all communications 
To your ya bodily functions Handicapping your defenses 
Swiftly attacking your unit, Neutralizing MC's 
By ripping 'em apart before they even know what hit 'em 
Style blitz 

Jack gets pissed off, wack MC's step up and get lost 
The rhythmic boss, Jack spits rhymes through my teeth like floss 
I bust with motivation to uplift MC's with 
High above controlling stratus clouds, my man God's Gift 
Come down, assist us, wack MC's must be reminded 
Get a Lootpack tape, rewind it, for those closed minded 
To the abstract we kick, we rock all places 
I found out MC's aren't human 'cause they got two faces 
They be chillin', willin', always time killin' 
Wack rumor spillin' while Jack be still in charge 
Asking me if I smoke chronic, niggas it's ironic 
I'm Wild Child, 80% human, 20% bionic 
My main occupation is to step up and rock the nation 
Focus up upon my jam and blow up just like inflation 
So if you ain't down, don't front, worry about your health 
Worry about your wack crew and ya wack ass self 

Ay yo, here comes the Master Don, here to renovate 
My style hits ya like marble weights so pass the dinner plate 
But pass up the swine like money ya rhyme lime 
Madlib done told ya time and time again 
Find the mental maze, faster ya plaster your instrumental 
With lyrical disaster till you scream out "Who's the master?" 
I flip it up rip it up to raw addict, 
Crate diggin' for the static when I mad beat shop 
Impulse down to prestige and Black Jazz 
21st Century enja got mad 
Record labels of the old, ill loop and take 'em out 
I keep it secret when a nigga tries to peep shit 
My beat hit like a Roy Jones Jr. skit 
Your girl starin so now you want to flip 
I rip it down to the Loot while ya yell peace 
While I pull out my piece, yell peace but now leave ya in pieces 
But at least you escaped this beast 
Smokin' on a cushin' leaf while ya try to bring grief 

Now something's shaking in the palace, can't you feel the Santa Ana 
Switching currents and building velocity, it got's to be 
God's Gift and Lootpack, mentally superior master race of lyricists 
Conductiong verbal experiments 
With open and imaginitive creativity 
Fathering styles from infancy to be lyrically 
Complete, grown and fully developed adults 
Trained in mastering total blitz coastal, total assaults 
Also we launch all out war when we tour your area 
First destroying your local underground spots 
Rocked your major clubs and plugged into your theatres 
Advancing as hip hop's vocabulary leaders 
Hostile take-overs is our main focus 
As the deadliest of CDP special attack forces 
Basically, MC's lack division is appalling 
Third rate styles with the nerve to say they're vocalists 
Out of focus, often it's the people they run with 
Coupled with their own wackness, they're futureless! 

"And keep feedin' you, and feedin' you..."