[Verse 1: Pharoahe Monch]
I even be gettin more graphic than a Neo-Geo, thirty-two bit computer chip
Be slipped between my lips and then I'll spit!
Spit it out, spit it out, go ahead spit out, that itty bitty style you upchuck
Betta believe I buttfukk MC's from the rear it appears ya stuck up!
It's my termi-nology that strikes the mind and rips this beat apart
You know the many styles I choose will bruise crews from the start
I flow awk-wardly that's awk-wardly I flow that's to the rhythm
Incisions are made into the brain and then I begin to give em
A lobotomy, follow me!
I'm shapin your br-ayi-yi-ya-in... li-li-li-li-like... pot-der-der-der-ery
(ALL OVER THE TRACK!)
Gimme the P-H, gimme the A-R