[tamika jones]
"yo, what's up i'm tamika jones from 'keep it real' magazine, and i'm
about to enter the minds of two of the most controversial rappers of
one of the most underrated rap groups of all time, the ultramagnetic
mc's. first, kool keith, why in your songs do you always refer to the
words anal and rectum? and why do you always use the words doo-doo and
pee-pee?"
[kool keith]
"because that's what the whole fucking rap industry is.
besides, i have other words like gorilla, parakeet, giraffe,and
also.....monkey"
As i strike in your area, shut down close your shops
your crew got high blood pressure, you still bite on pork chops
your style is greasy, so what your hair is nappy peasy
i wet your brain and tie your penis to the two train
drag you down the tracks, spray paint like artifacts
with the rest of your crew, tied and smeared with dog doo-doo
you know my trash bags are packed, lick my nut sacs
emcees are still wack, on the new smell like mildew
gimmicks is your plan, strategy is stop your marketing
when you rhyme the mic steps from the socket and
you could never be classic, your rappin skill's plastic
all that hard and mean look i'll get your ass kicked
pistol whupped like a bitch, get smacked by your pimp
your steelo's undercover, corny on the real brother
keep that mop down, just like your album sound
you flop, no niggas bound to make my head bop
so save that cartoon shit for saturday
everything is booty
between your legs you sport a cootie
don't fuck with me
[tamika jones]
"holy anal catastrophe kool keith, that's fucking amazing! but i think
your fans will want to know how you'll accomplish this. can you
explain this to me?"
[kool keith]
with the a1 6600 phone detector
y'all can't tap my shit, eavesdropping in the projects
missiles dropped, your narrow hard times stories flop
i'll throw grenades and blow your rectum out your fucking block
hush town, your staircase becomes a mental town
cover your peephole, wires reach bombs in your window
your elevator stopped, your bubblegum sitting below
i thought so, your verbal shit wasn't fucking pro
go flush your toilet, crack the bowl, see the fucking bomb
three seconds flat your fucking chest splatters in your palm
iranian arab with muslim bells on my face
skeleton bones, i stash bazookas in the chicken place
my helmet's from haiti, infrared's at my house
uptown bronx with cheese traps for you fucking mouse
federal tax bullshit i light your real estate
raw in to stop (?), your asshole's tied to a milk crate
suck my nuts with dual tube night vision goggles
biological agents blew waco texas
dynamite's packed in trunks, alarms on your lexus
suck my dick for real, my 44 mag is steel
i'll catch you out there, your crew'll have grey hair
[singing]
"super luv, super luv, baby, super luv, superman, superman luv, lois
lane, superman luv, superman."