(Watch out for it, it’s far beyond anything yr mind could ever conceive!)

Who’s in charge of thee charging rhino? I know Who's in charge of the charging rhino? I know [Math]: I know for truth, but how sure are you/That you can muster thee will to continue pursuit? & Not shoot ‘n’ then sleep, yr eyes show deceit/Thee enemy prowls while you sit on yr feet Yr claims of justice are as hard to trust as/Cowards who are flustered, lying not to get busted More offensive than cuss words when I bust words/I’m not allowing you in my defensive third Call me a pensive nerd, cos I devise plans with my pen/Revising ‘n’ reediting before I hand it in A mandolin, a beatbox, throw it on thee mix Cos if yr beats ain’t hip to thee dip it don’t matter if you rap quick (For once there is weakness, they will exploit it, they will take me out, they will decapitate me, they will chop me into bits & pieces; I’m dead) [DJBMarth]: Look at all these MCs getting over-righteous/Rappin’ about hos, money, & cars till I might just Turn this form around even if I have to fight ya/While yr buddies dip out ‘n’ come to our live shows Everyone’s a liar, situation looks dire You got hot beats? Same drums are yr cargo/I rap over +Drum+, thee one by Hugo Largo Yer preaching to thee choir as you play thee town crier/We know thee state of rap ‘n’ we’re just as tired Trust us, we originated Fi-Lo/Yer asking who’s in charge? I know [Math]: You can tell from thee Jump Street, from thee way I pump beats This is real ‘n’ raw, ain’t trying to sell chumps sweets Cos we got no need for sugar like we’re non-Diabetic/Our noise tells a story while yer non-diagetic (Your eyes) Oh no, Big Martha! What did you hear? A lame pop rapper damaging my ear Oh no, Big Martha! What did you see? Another lame, whack sucka duck MC Oh no, Big Martha! What did you do? Demonstrate thee sound of No Sunlite crew Oh no, Big Martha! What happened next? Sucka walked around, scratched his head, he’s perplexed Hey, Big Martha, do you know what I know? No Sunlite’s in charge of thee charging rhino

[L!Z]: So thee clock tells me I’m almost out of time/Seconds run down, prepare for me to blow yr mind Cos you talk about stuff you don’t comprehend/No Sunlite’s haters want this album to end But their brains are drained like thee Cookie Jar/Stealing someone’s creation won’t take you that far Basement beats ‘n’ homegrown talent/We surpass yr poppy sounds in every extent In Tha Studio is where qualities at/Yr radio won’t find our tunes easy to combat NSFTM don’t need no awards/Just love, spread, embrace these DUNGEON RECORDS [Math]: $Oh! No! It’s getting to that time… They’re going to ask you a Question$ “Why do you break yr legs?” Every time I break my legs people ask me “Why do you break yr legs?” Legs are breaking, no injury faking/Crutches are making yr mouth gaping Asking thee same query I hear each time/Is conversation so bleary that I must reply? All thee more reason to gossip about me/“Oh! Poor boy, yr bike ran into a tree Oh my, oh dear me, I’m sorry, Golly Gee!/Skip-diddly-flip-flee-blip-blahzey-blee” Can you speak to me intelligently?/Oh I doubt ‘n’ next time I break ‘em I know what you’ll ask about (Blah, blah, blah, blah, blahblahblahblahblah…) “WHY DO YOU BREAK YR LEGS?”/(blahblah…) You don’t even know that I know that you don’t know You don’t even know I know…

I rise from my slumber ‘n’ put on my socks & welcome a brand new day Shaking thee dust from my waking brain & taking thee hair from my face…in thee morning Thee sun ascends ‘n’ thee prism light bends & splits into a thousand colors Hope is drawn from thee advent of dawn As I sit back at thee table…in thee morning Food for thought, food for my soul I delve into thee Word of m’Lord Thinking of my life ‘n’ what I’ll do today & how it’s all so good…in thee morning [Whistling Verse]…in thee morning

North to south front to back round ‘n’ round we go/Go we round ‘n’ round back to front south to north Vanity of vanities, all things are vanity All the toils under the sun: One generation passes ‘n’ another comes Vanity of vanities, all things are vanity Again let me consider as this knowledge I deliver/Why I’m here my dear brother beaten down by the weather The sun under which all oppressions unfold/All these victims grow old & toil racks their soul, takes its toll So I ask my God, “Why” I was born at this time/When unborn peace was mine Even STILLBORN I’D BE FINE Cos at least I’d get a chance to rest from the chase/& pace of this life which could end any night So I question again ‘n’ again my purpose to be sent/& again I say, “Why?” Why I pretend? Why time be spent like it’s some passing trend?/& the friendship of men, is that all there is left? No, it just doesn’t make sense, so I’ll scream “Why” again W H Y ? I guess I’m getting ahead, now is no time to be dead/That just seems less than fair – balance to every affair But a time to laugh then weep? Peace ‘n’ then war?/Love ‘n’ then hate? My God can’t make mistakes But for what do I work? No chance do I take/Only questing for truth does my mind find real proof That things are for real --- a time to kill or heal?/Only study does he get me to see the Peace I seek But then why is this fool’s end as mind tho he’s Blind?/& my sight is turned towards what is right, is it spite? This yearning inside to be contented ‘n’ fine ‘n’ somewhere that’s away from insanity Until burning in my mind finds me somewhere divine, I know all of life – it’s just vanity

(We’ve had to develop ‘n’ evolve all our techniques here) We develop ‘n’ evolve, don’t get enveloped ‘n’ dissolved By thee earth-shattered mind-tattered new age fellows who’re involved With convincing ‘n’ suggesting that yr wincing ‘n’ congesting Has no merit, just spare it, instead get to investing WHEN I SAY “Don’t Listen” YOU SAY “To That Dip” All that glistens is missing what is significant But I ain’t Aristotle yet I ain’t on thee bottle That aids me, won’t phase me when my beats go full throttle & light speed ‘n’ melodic, I might be a psychotic Cos I’m hauling ‘n’ mauling any MC that I spotted So I +drop thee mask+ ‘n’ let thee task hit an impasse Only one survives when thee only rule is: outlast Get Back! Oh now yer starting to get shivers No arrows in my quiver cos I’m ultra off kilter Flow changes on a dime, rearrange yr mind’s eye Bleed Little Itty Nitty Drips now you ain’t BLIND Amaurosis Fugax with neurosis contacts Yr weary, teary orbs are about to make contact With thee rhyme, thee type you ain’t never seen Cos my style is to be more Ghost than Halloween An invisible rhyme stater with no divisible denominator Give me bait, I won’t take, give me great, I’m much greater I bet you’ve never seen rapper who can do these tongue tricks Triple axle verbal lutz ‘n’ of course thee landing sticks Them other klutzes? Yeah they fall ‘n’ get banged yo OUCH! That’s Painful like Yo La Tengo But now yer in thee Court of thee Dipping King & thee +22nd Century+ Paranoid MC’s about to sing Finished with pop music cos it never seemed to satisfy Rather listen to Merzbow cos it might enlighten half of my mind Nobody likes me, I guess I’ll go eat worms

(I will perfect my own race of people, a race of atomic supermen, which will conquer the world) I should have never gone to that Dentist I should have stayed at home ‘n’ watched baseball I should have never gone to that Barber I should have stayed at home ‘n’ ate Wheaties! I should have stayed at home ‘n’ ate pastries!! I should have stayed at home ‘n’ ate goat cheese!!! I should have stayed at home ‘n’ ate green beans!!!! (That is what really destroyed him) I should have never gone to see Wilco I should have stayed at home ‘n’ jammed Wu-Tang I should have never gone to that punk show I should have stayed at home ‘n’ jammed Kwamé (or Darkthrone) (I put thee kibosh on that) Dentist/baseball

(Excuse me? When did thee Mongols rule China?) (2000 BC!) (Excellent!)

[1] Crumb cake/Clambake…my sincerest apologies Cherry Tree. Dead leaf Earth With a scratchy throat, my sincerest apologies All my money that’s what yer worth [2] Compliant→ Pliant Co-modify → Modify ($modified$) Commodity → Mod-ity Chagrin a grin ‘n’ spin ‘n’ spin ‘n’ spin [1] [Echoed Remnants of Pop’s Heyday – Math] [1] Rather bear those ills We had Than fly to others that We know not of [→ 2:Chorus] [3]+[1] [Disengaged From the Ugly – Martha] [→2:Chorus]

[Math]: So brothers be like living their lives online Viewing thee world from thee internet’s eyes With yerself in +yr space’s+ disguise So why not try to go outside? Earth to HotGirl69 Staring at that screen is what made you BLIND Believing Lies Imbeciles Nightly Die I don’t imply technology ain’t fine But when you wake up as a droid I won’t be surprised Cut thee subtext, I’ll make it explicit 2k6 minds can click quick but can’t think but thick Thoughts that are being BigBrother’d away So I’ll make it clear ‘n’ I have to say Blue screens can’t make yr matter more gray But when you turn that dip off ‘n’ pray You’ll thank God everyday that you ain’t man made UNDERGROUND NO SUNLITE FOR THE MEDIA AIDEM EHT ROF ETILNUS ON DNUORGREDNU [JWolf]: Citrus punch with Mad Math I sling thee flyest diction ‘n’ syntax You stress out, wile out while I relax As my paycheck grows I pay less tax NSFTM, hit dip flip Keep it together, get a grip Claiming thee best? That’s all Malarkey Check out thee Kwik E Mart, G Snacking on Cheerios ‘n’ Smart Start Creamy with whole milk, slim with one Claim to be a 5%er? We claim none No one, no fun, sling a fat rock Pack a gun, rubber dubber Rubber chicken, finger licking Drop thee beat cos it be dripping wet Dried, refried, untied, outside, inside, out Can’t hear thee voice above thee shout of thee crowds +Above The Clouds+ with +The Militia+ We won’t miss you, but Back to thee basics, I wear Asics Stacked on Legos, we’re built of bricks Get yr fix, lo-fi, in yr eye, sci-fi mix (Now Move Sucka!) $Turn up that bass! Too much! That’s Enough! (SUCKA!)$

I’m sorry if thee words I’m singing are wrong He told me that that wasn’t thee point of thee song That’s not thee point! I’m looking at a bird that sits in a tree I’m looking at a bird that flew right past me It’s thee same bird!!!! (All truths are half-truths, but on this day some truths aren’t truths at all) $Third Verse Same As Thee First A Whole Lot Louder & A Whole Lot Worse$ I’m sorry if they told you that we’d hit thee charts I told you that that wasn’t thee point of my art That’s not thee point!

[B-Marth]: Are you a carbon copy of thee rap equivalent Of an old jalopy? Lyrical doors dented Totaled beyond any recognizability Sucka MCs, I come swift with agility STABILITY, I keep my rhymes balanced Step to me, I’m the rap +Prince Valiant+ [SiD]: You throw a wrench in my lyrical gears I hear leers blaring distractions in my ears So I concentrate, lock it in, block you out Step into a rhyme battle ‘n’ soon it’s a rhyme rout Come now, let’s analyze our priorities Yrs are ca$h ‘n’ fame, but mine are more than these How can you have such a one track mind? Throw away lyrics got you in such a bind Belly of thee industry beast- WARN IT! That NSFTM be stinging like a hornet [Math]: WHAT does it mean to be NSFTMedia? It means we get speedier as suckers get greedier Rugged raw flows, small budget no budget Unpaid bros, but those pros fake a show ‘n’ fudge it But when we bomb a set thee moms all fret Cos it sounds like nothing that they’ve been exposed to yet “That don’t sound a THANG like the Sugarhill GANG” “& thee vocals? DANG! That ain’t how Lennon SANG!” Add our Dip-slang ‘n’ our silkscreen fashion & all thee scene-sters crash into each other when they’re dashing To escape cos they can’t take what is real WHOA WHOA We upset thee status quo to a thorough degree Basically No Sunlite for the Media means I’m free to be me, so Throw off thee restraints I’m intent to state that pop we ain’t. SO POP WE AIN’T. [Hook; J-Bandana]: Demons spew disposable styles Video hos show posable smiles That way’s wrong we stay strong Play thee real Hop Hip all thee day long [J-Wolf]: They drain real artists of their skills & put them on thee market in thee form of pills No Sunlite for the Media tends to thrill Killing whack labels with thee work of our quills Sneak a peak when we break thee barrier They think they’re bad ‘n’ they think they’re scarier But thee RECORD Industry got nothing on NSFTM Some go in thee back but we bust thru thee front Kicking with thee real ‘n’ stabbing with thee blunt Rhymes ‘n’ our rappers coming with thee Rapture Spitting from Tha Dungeon where thee dope verse is captured [SiD]: Chilling in a log cabin I’m burning wick Coming up with raw vocal approaches don’t blink Scouring my cranium for thee rhythm link Fire my verse at yrs – watch yr submarine sink [(big) MARTHA]: I could form yr flow from a ball of blue Play-Doh Factory made like thee trash on thee radio NSFTM’s deeper than thee underground tho Turn up thee volume let us help yr rap knowledge grow & we got Josh, Jack, Martha, Math, Jana with thee hook So verses from Tha Dungeon never rhyme in slow mo. [Hook] [J-Bandana]: All you skinny, skanky honies working to be Playboy bunnies Teaching all thee little girlies to be phony Mattel Barbies No more lies, don’t deny You pervert boys minds on advertising signs With long bare thighs, thee flooding of their eyes No more waiting for dating before mating? Liberating? No that’s woman hating! [Hook] No Sunlite can flow for a while Respect protect the Unborn Child The world’s wrong we stay strong Play thee real Hop Hip all thee day long

(I do believe in angels) (Where do they come from?) [Math]: Much more problematic than feedback or static Flows that are erratic ‘n’ samples that don’t match it Are those automatic Souls with none of It Who bluff it then muffle it with tons of whackness So altho Math supplies lo-fi aesthetics Do not be surprised that my mind is so in it It might not provide sugar fix, can’t convert it But it sticks to those who will not be perverted With Faith enough to Hope to Love to save brain cells All those Demons do is help belief in Angels

Little Boy Grew, come throw yr thorn. Grow up, Boy

[Math]: $Corrupt/Kurupt-Thee Whole Music Scene is Korrupt Erupt- No Sunlite for the Media is about to Erupt Here comes thee Xplosion$ Awww Heck! You didn’t expect me to flow over hi-fi beats did you? Nawww! No Sunlite’s known to reject thee tricks ‘n’ thee treats Yet we get respect ‘n’ those in thee know go, “Yo this mix is so sweet!” So continue to inspect cos no-fi style runs in my mind so deep So if it don’t compete on +Radio, well I can live without that+ But every goon ‘n’ weirdo who learns to dispense with thee whack Will find Tha Dungeon’s RAWness to be FLAWless, Examines thee preponderance of evidence that suggests that thee best have been repressed & relevance ain’t dictated by copies sold, but souls not copied We ain’t trying to revise, but let’s revive old school hip hoppy While yer flip-flyp-flapping – FLOPPY LIKE A DISK Thee Medians know this dip is so hip no hype can ever kill it [MC-SiD]: I’m thee planet destroyer, thee android employer Exploring thee galaxy as if I’m Tom Sawyer Jamming at thee thrusters on thee KONTROL PANEL Get some Crop Dusters on Tha Distress Channel (Help me No Sunlite for the Media, yer my only hope! Aliens! Everywhere!) I put down my Tetris put thee engines in gear Load my blaster for thee agricultural disaster Land near farmers with their garments in tatters Thee offenders flee when they see who I Be GUARDIAN OF THA KROPS=SiD [DJ Big]: Chex me out with thee 3-D eyes Lookin’ like +The Fly+, but I ain’t Vincent Price I’m in 1 dimension, multiple divisions Steppin’ on cracks, screw superstition. Call me “DJ B to thee I-G Martha” Ride around in Death Stars, so they call me Darth, uh Vader, Nintendo player, see you later, Krack that bass, blast thee beat, slide thee fader [JWolf]: +Circle circle, bolts ‘n’ nuts+ I feed yr young Martian guts Cyborg droids ‘n’ robot infantry My plasma blasted I make ya’ll history My Gamma Ray +brings all thee boys to thee yard+ & they’re like (I AM SITTING IN A ROOM) So step off, my phaser’s charged So step off, I’m feeling hard Not Snake Man Spider Man Aqua Man Mega Man Shadow Man Super Man Snail Man Quail Man Batman Pacman Jackisonattackman Turn ya’ll to Scat Man, shorten yr life span Michelin Man, changing my tires As phony MC’s lose their POWERS [L!Z]: CANNIBALS EAT YR FLESH TASTES SO GLORIOUS COS IT’S FRESH C’MON IN ‘n’ TAKE A TEAR IF YOU EAT HER THEY WON’T KARE! MAMMOTH TUSKS AS OUR PRIZE WATCH THAT UGLY BEAST DIE… [Math]: & Thee Major Labels do thee same “Cannibalism” in thee Rap Game Eaten alive, none survive Chew you thru like They did the Wu Best Intentions turn to Primal Ways All who enter never stay .5 Machines ½ Beasts Tha Wolf Within is now unleashed Now they surround ‘n’ there’s no way out!

Woe Betide Nebo

(Today it’s time to stop singin’ ‘n’ start swingin’) [Math]: While I emerge thru vapors in spaces unexamined I am constantly focused on others’ mental famine Perchance you will leave me alone, busy noise man Or am I at risk for sounding like a No Blood for Oil man? ☹ Is my own misinterpretation of myself more correct than yrs? :| Is my slim fit body more suited for health food stores? ☺ Strolling aisles of liquids that play “Hit Me Baby One More Time” Are just reassembled parts of failed nursery rhymes But then why must it bite my head off every year It’s getting tough to find a seamstress who can stomach reattaching ears My Frankenstein appearance lacks certain experience “Hold on, Math, I’m picking up some interference” Mayday, Big Martha! Thee good ship FollyPop is sunk! “Better let emo on board, next up hardcore punk” We will never follow them, we have our souls riding on this [BMartha]: I was born essentially thee same as my sisters And every time I talk to them we’re speaking like bullfrogs Throats bloated out, full of Filipino fruit flies & backwards Bolivian bowties On Sunday nights I meet with thee ladies on Roberts Road To bake assorted pies & we discuss their late husbands ‘n’ misogynist lies Or rather, they discuss while I feign feminist Yelling “He deserved it!” ‘n’ raising a fist Is this how indigenous we’ve turned That men & women get burned, babies no longer get churned & nothing we’ve learned is so far past how we’ve been normed Into a soy-fiber-turned society of neo-hippie wonders Who vote No! or vote Yes!, but think less than they should & who test to place higher, round cycles like a dryer or thee wheel [Math]: It’s invigorating slogging thru this swampland Finding half a soul, while halfway drowned in quicksand Corporations ‘n’ discorporations color this discolored skin Is it cancerous or just malignant? Either way thee doctors win Smog-scented tombstones decorated with strips of Christmas lights Am I too young, mommy? No, tonight’s a fine time to die, alright & one for thee little missy with thee urge to find true love God didn’t make her that way, Captain, one false hope is enough (So we’re trapped, trapped, double-trapped, triple-trapped, trapped) [BMartha]: Invented, or discovered? By a man or a thing? Should I rap, speak, shout, or is it more pleasant to hear me sing? & like A New England Nun, my canon is unsuited For that which you accept as yr own Is it obnoxious that I keep sweeping behind you with this hand-broom Or is it just that I’ve locked you in this room with me? I’m sorry did you say something politely? Why aren’t you shouting? Why haven’t you left? I will be deaf ‘n’ most certainly bereft of any real sense 1st, 2nd, 5th, or 6th, before the bite-sized guillotine falls upon this [Math]: Covers are over my head, but my conscience has escaped I’ll dub you a copy of my personality from a second generation bootleg tape Kill me with Motorhead ‘n’ Napalm Death CD-R’s It’s hard to get you more obnoxious than you already are Cos Annandale is no different from Cairo, is no different from Rome People laugh ‘n’ smell like Civilization Sweet Home & on Halloween, after the kids have eaten too much of their candy We slip Occam’s Razor in their Skittles ‘n’ sip on our sweet tea [BMartha]: Pay attention, you wheat germ, Morning Star btlegger Mixing barrels of the stuff in yr underground illegal cellar & to yr mother, thee fortune teller, worshipping thee heart of Helen Keller While shifting so thee see-thru ball shatters on thee ground Futures, destinies, deaths, ‘n’ sins pl around yr ankles & thee whole time, I am stocking up on multi-vitamins So when thee fish supply runs out I won’t be searching for a sinking boat to go climbing in & like other men, I like a gd shower & getting healthy amounts of sleep Food if it’s free ‘n’ a freshly-washed fitted sheet & a new pair of soccer cleats [Math]: Who voted for who ‘n’ you couldn’t believe 4 aces fell out you wiped snot on yr sleeve 123 dream team got you in a tractor beam Ichi ni san shi Sim City Ski Free Go roku shichi hachi may the force be with you As you herd yr sheep into thee same place I herd my wolves into Thee china shop, but be careful thee price is no joke Thee gold digging shopkeeper ain’t messing with no +broke broke+ Louie Louie plays on in a jukebox, in my mind In my stereo all thee time, 3 chords just fine Electric guitar A-D-E structure 1-4-5 Richard Berry prepared me to meet my demise (And thee white liberals who have been posing as No Sunlite for the Media have failed us)

Where was Matthew when the lights went out? He was down in the cellar eating sauerkraut Sauerkraut, sauerkraut Down in the cellar eating sauerkraut You mention anything, I can make a song out of it My mother used to say when I said “Tell me a story” “I’ll tell you a story about Jackanory And now my story’s begun I’ll tell you another about his brother And now my story is done”

Scruffy my little puppy likes to play all day. He’s here to stay. Scruffy likes to play freeze tag. When he is “it”, he will tag you. Scruffy my little puppy likes to play all day. He’s here to stay.

[Math]: Thee game is to say new things with old words Then why does it seem grey terms are preferred I’d rather make my vocal utterances absurd To assure that thee creativity +I do is not interred With my bones+, but rather out thee microphone A new series of slangs, yelps, ‘n’ warbly moans I’m in thee Mode Zone, let me enumerate A list of techniques that Math is known to demonstrate DIP, that’s thee pattern of thee voice Lo to hi Lo-Fi, it’s my choice Beavers, you’ve heard me talk on them Some call them suckers, but they’ve got less going for them Their number one profession is gnawing until they kill If biting were a skill, well then beavers would be ill If they would try to write lyrics, well they’d just be miffed Cos they’re same type of rappers that they would want to diss (No Sunlite in Northern Virginia) Another explosive style that you’ve seen nowhere It’s thee Thrunjubar, be patient, I’ll share It’s thee phrase that means my hands are going in thee air I rock counter to thee rhythm, so thee suckers stare & I’m shouting lyrics loud like I’m hearing impaired Make you wonder if my mind’s all there Oh yes! There, there! It’s just thee Thrunjubar, don’t y’all be scared Yet to sucker MCs, two words if you dare Like my man Lugosi said, +Bevare, Bevare+ Cos getting in my way when the Thrunj comes out Means knocked out, blocked out, I just want to rock out It’s my alter ego, my crazy half There’s thee Mister Hyde, & then there’s zany Dr. Math So either way you’ll get a goofy display How come other MCs don’t rock this way? Cos they never learned how to entertain To put thee Thrunjubar back into insane You never know when I step onto thee scene Whether you’ll hear me rap or maybe I’ll just scream Back on point, +it’s the joint+ that my DJ spins Going round in circles again My mouth blaster moves faster so the crowd’s loving Make them +dance to death+ like the Rite of Spring Cos they can’t stop moving, they can’t slow down It’s thee rhythm, it’s thee freshest sound In hip hop since ’86, no one since then has progressed like this So they ask us where did we get our inspiration from? Ah, but nonetheless, take an educated guess I’m stressed so I’m about to get this off my chest These labels are putting their +swine before pearls+ They overshadow thee music with thee Big Butt Girls I’m pure double P +Rapp+ like my man +Tom+ Getting all thee birds ‘n’ butterflies to rap along

[L!Z]: Hello, all you listeners! Yer in for a treat! I’m tha L!Z, Big Martha’s on thee beat Music glory, funky story, hunky dory, pump yr stereos Pour a glass of milk, go dipping with Oreos You see I’m L!Z, no phonies in here Cos we kick fresh raps that are truly sincere [J Wolf]: Slow down yr roll clown While I give thee low down NSFTM coming straight from thee Underground Don’t be curmudgeon’d, were blasting from thee Dungeon Eating Beaver MC’s like at a luncheon Breathing, no forcing, life into thee Game Erasing ‘n’ eradicating those that are lame Lights, camera, satisfaction, we create action While you live life as a reaction To thee lackluster, latest drama We narrate ‘n’ dictate yr lousy karma I don’t believe that all is well ‘n’ fine But thee source of our rhymes is just short of divine Stop! Rewind! Now Stop! Rehearse! Check thee locale of our rhyme force Jack, Liz, Math, ‘n’ don’t forget Josh When mixing on thee 202, Martha be +Boss+ (It would be unfair at this time to show you anymore of what went on in that laboratory where a man actually dared to play God…) [MC Math]: Back to 8 track after my summer lull Return to thee real world ‘n’ find that rap’s still as dull I guess not every rapper feels thee way we do But I do so until things improve we’ll have to go thru $aren’t you being redundant?$ Yeah, but with rap so repugnant It’s our Dungeon that produces dip worthy of consumption So until Majors desist ‘n’ cease, Math will persist ‘n’ Increase thee scope of my technique, even if I must resist thee tease Of thee sick lifestyle MTV is selling to us & those flashy, phony, fleshy images thee world puts thru us To stay pure – my brother, it’s hard No $ellout *:><<< means nothing until yer battle-scarred Test our pH, come on, it reads a healthy 7.0 That means thee water’s fine so go with our flow These others are either far too acidic Quick to burn yr skin but praised by thee critics OR Their number may be high, but that just means they’re basic As you increase 2 levels, +100 times yr concentration is wasted+ We’re raw, undiluted, H20 not polluted Ripoff rappers rep thee old school but their skills are ill-suited So their MP3s get booted off thee playlists Greedy Majors fuel this ‘n’ don’t care if RAW exists Our fans promote ‘n’ gloat ‘n’ vivisect thee so called GOAT Greatest Of All Time, this must be a joke (I Ain’t No Joke) As anyone who’s heard Lungless Beavers can attest No more does pop rap attract now that their ears have been impressed With a sound that’s uncompromisable Fronting on that dip – that’s unadvisable

(Today it’s no coincidence to see men in Aztec finery performing traditional dances over their ancient city) (I always thought it was so strange cos that’s usually thee woman’s role!)

I don’t have to go to bed I don’t have to do anything that you said That tricky god walked by us twice His cap painted half red, thee other half white I was on his left, you were on his right It was red it was red you must be losing yr sight Curses be upon yr whole family Then again thee other way he passed, what did I see It was white it was white, I’m so sorry You say it’s red now, don’t patronize me

(Medical Emergency) Millions of years ago God made the Earth A Billion years later dinos made their birth Trust me I keep thee house hippy-hippy-hot Cos I got more rhymes than Great’s got Scott When you see me driving up yr driveway walk Lyrics more fresh than a celery stalk Sport pink parachute pants ‘n’ a zacket Pump thee bass so I don’t have to crack it Crack? Who? What? Where? Rain? Fire? Wind? Smack you back on yr chinny-chinny chin Blow as hard as you want on my dizzy-dizzy door It don’t take a club beat for me to pack thee floor Computer manufactured fractured state Of rap sells well – ohhh great… Loosely based rhymes about booty in yr face Less sense than Ecclesiastes 5:8 Call me “King of the Arable” I sing a parable No Sunlite’s at thee battle? So unfairable! Real hip hop’s been BLAOWBLIP blown to bits Every station playing out rehashed hits Lyrics so censored grills like dentures What rap needs is a mentor We lace up thee traces of emaciated realness You better brace yerself cos yr body’s gonna feel this Woo woo! Get in thee groove! You flew when our flow went right thru thee roof (Medical Emergency) We’re the only ones in thee room who can boast Step into thee battle arena ‘n’ yer toast Cos yer going up against 3 killer flows Writing lyrics with the power of the Holy Ghost & we are known to bring it on No Sunlite til thee break of dawn $No Sunlite until thee break of dawn$ (Medical Emergency) (Then comes the major surgery; the removal of the Whack ‘n’ the formation of the Science) En Garde! No you can’t try my hop hip style To keep big freight moving mile after mile It’s a Medical Emergency of thee worst kind A Beaver MC that has got no spine (Spineless, Mindless, Can I Get A Witness?) To get him in shape is going to take more than fitness (Medical Emergency) Medical Emergency or pedestal toppling? Hop hip flips thee style improbably But nothing is impossible with a genre wobbly It needs an overhaul from our raw vocabulary So we’re dropping loud beats, intensity, sound Not +In A Silent Way+ Not Miles but now How to make a Beaver feel +Kind of Blue+ Make him find a crew with a mind unglued From their TV sets ‘n’ Pitchfork trends NSFTM ‘n’ it never ends (If you are experiencing a Medical Emergency, please hang up ‘n’ dial 1-800-CREAM)

(Because tha System was whack, so I had to scream) You need a haircut/Yer not my Boyfriend Yer pretty Punk Rock/Yer not my Girlfriend Yer not Punk Rock (System)

(Like a nuclear bomb hitting thee ground) [Math]: Slam these namby-pamby Cambrian MC’s who can’t handle me Scram! Where’s yr manners? Yes ma’ams ‘n’ excuse me please! Yr radio-phonic baloney from an era Mesozoic stayed stoic I’ve put up with it, now let me stoke it Before a Stone Age passes ‘n’ you feed thee masses An opiate ‘n’ hope that it will satiate their passions It Clashes <>--# with our longing for what’s lovely We hurriedly search while they besmirch purity smugly Stuck in thee past like thee +Dolorian+ broke down & +Doc Brown+ ain’t there to pull ‘em out now Windshield smeared too, eyes glued rearview Themes are adhered to, no new limits pierced thru BOO! It’s kizza-kinda scary isn’t it? To know weak MC’s get G’s for their forgetfulness Not knowing where rap started, thinking that they birthed it You could listen to Rocafella for a year but not a second’s worth it Ooops I blurted a quandary, conundrum How those rappers lurk Triassic ‘n’ don’t know where they come from If they don’t progress shouldn’t they know about thee old school? (yeah?) No fool, let me explain thee sole rule →Sales! Bottom Line? Sales!← Artistry fails, white affluent males Their primate attributes just barely evolved Tho I hate their question of cash is solved Format kept thee same, not a breakbeat has changed Didn’t Run use that lyric? Fossilized in their brain Classic styles won’t die but let’s move to new times Where ideas fly freely from yr brain to mine Rebellion is thinking, so why not fight? Refusal to stoop to those who TRILOBITE Words of pioneers, uh oh what’s that sound? (Like a nuclear bomb hitting thee ground) No Sunlite keeps ahead; Thee Medians won’t be misled All we ask is you won’t be fed That Weed No More → Thee Monkey Body Must Be Shed [Zoom Loco]: Someone wondering what’s going on in Chechnya? Something’s going down ‘n’ still thee bomb’s not letting up Something’s Russian so that even if yer Chechen Climate isn’t good for capital investing +Mute Frances+ totally entranced like Yoda Yer a crazy drunk? Well I’m a loco sober Skip thee hip hop yo I’m crossing over Flip some bebop or some bossanova $No twin, no star, no bling bling I like sparkle, I’m a-sing Like a diamond in thee rough, I write my rhymes off thee cuff Twinkle to become a planet, Pluto too small can’t be, can it?$ I kick, I kick, I kick, I keep kicking Vehicles rolling, I’m playing chicken It’s sickening these disgusting Beavers spouting +I play electric guitar as I climb thee mountain+ A fountain, even tho my skills yer doubting I try to +bring da ruckus+ ‘n’ despite yer shouting My draw is that I rap for thee causes My causes might be different from ya’lls I ain’t too into women’s lib Matter of fact, put this on wax that a woman’s place is in thee Crib Or by thee Crib tending to thee childrens Paying attention’s better than spending all thee cash for Ritalin Traced to thee place that’s about faces So racist wasters creates tremendous tasters & all yer still all poor, destroyers like Star Wars Yr bleeping hardcore porn, I beep-beep my car horn Listen, my onomatopoeia tricks ‘n’ My diction goes Crash Smash Blam with friction Like Nixon, thee tricky style filled with fricatives I’m not indicted, but my style’s indicative Spit Phat Battle Tracks, Hit That Daddy Mack Knick Knack Paddy Whack Give A Dog A Bone Get That Saddle Back, Skip Whack ‘Idol’ Tracks Sit Back ‘n’ Relax On Thee Microphone [Math]: My homegrown know how goes on, I execute art Shoot smart, a 4 course service/no ala cart From a true heart impart knowledge, stocked like Walmart Trapped by verbal darts, pinned down by thee Charts Chopped like Cuisinart, No Exit like Sartre +Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right BA Select Start+ Do over, redo this, reset yr cart before yr horses Redo this, do over, yr best 3 albums? Worthless! Curses! Dignity disgraced, too many verses It worsens, styles become much less earthen While I get serving, getting low like dwarf men If then, don’t send, Big Ben, Go again! [Zoom Loco]: Call me “Zoom Zoom” or call me “Zoom Loco” Warm it up +Vroom Vroom+ now turn up thee vocals Thee locals know that my tone is thee best & I zoom-zoom-loco like thee Pony Express & yes I express righteousness ‘n’ no less & thee zest doesn’t pester but leaves you impressed Unless yr nest eggs may be less than blessed By those whose flows have already coalesced Into thee ice crystal, +Pistol Gripped+ +Fistful of Steel+ For real, keep thee +potion that you spill+ & thee Gauntlet that I throw down Navigate it with my know how +Blue elf shot the food!+ Let’s go now Straight to thee exit, spiral to thee next pit Up one, one up, one world or World Cup I’m kicking like penalties thee world over GOAL! I’m a-move fast like Zoom Loco Can’t fight thee villain, less Cold ‘n’ more +Chillin’+ Know that +Top Billin’+ is held by Bob Zimmerman Winner ‘n’ sitting with incredulous gape Dealing it all with his sedulous apes I spit it raw but I won’t spit it sloppy A bit Southern drawl, it’s a style you can’t copy You need curtain calls? You can sit there ‘n’ watch me Or else let it drop to thee chorus, can’t stop me!

[Math]: So I was learning to defeat thee Devil, right? Should I tell thee story again while I’m getting set up? [MC SID]: Yeah!

(Uzi uzi uzi uzi, grab my gun, gonna kill ol’ Suzy) No one’s around to hear when tress fall in the forest But it makes a sound, go ask The Lorax Some are scared to believe, so they simply ignore us That’s why we’re non-existent to thee musical tourist Truth is feared, sure as thee surest SYLLOGISM – we’re shouting notes of thee purest LYRICISM – though no Borders adores us We’ll produce from these woods more beauty than a florist Fiends steer clear, we’ll reveal how they’re porous Do ‘em like Norris, +chuck+ suckas before us Cos those who abhor us are image distorters They’re monsters like +Boris+, following orders Intelligence shortage, goats ‘n’ sheep sorted Yer bargain bin, I’m Lithuanian imported Ain’t worth two quarters, yr fans feel shorted How long can you last? Yr genre is sordid But whence comes thee funeral, I’m smiles not morbid Another idea, you never explored it No Sunlite’s mind’s raging like bulls that just snorted No +matador+ can face this fierce Taurus They’ll floor ya! +The horror! The horror!+ Handle them like +Frederic+, no Halleluiah Chorus Don’t pack gats, but our style’s still coarse Rap till we’re hoarse, make you sound worse Not JVC, but we still got +Force+ +Cooke+ soul like +Sam+ in code like +Morse+ - . . . . .. - . - - - Legendary like Norse, my style dwarfs yrs Beavers fell asleep & they lost to thee tortoise Lose track of sources, you write puny verses Battle with me ‘n’ yer begging for mercies A bow ‘n’ a curtsy, you wish yer where we be This time it’s a freebie but next time you pay me To witness a style that’s OOP Like Cool C, King T, or Superlover Cee Not OPP, it’s not our nature to be body More than to make a sound, it’ll move yr body Yr workmanship’s shoddy, yr fanbase is rotting We’re galloping ahead while yer still trotting [J-Bandana]: Medians come gather in, watch thee real music begin Lo-fi, No-fi, Dungeon, sweeter than Sellout-FM Bringing back innocent times, where MCs were judged by their rhymes Fresh samples & new drum lines We’re leading thee way, but looking behind We don’t kick anything weak, thee sound we seek is more than unique No clichés, gangster poses, never putting anything up our noses No killing or smoking or getting boozy {That doesn’t fit like John Hurt with an uzi!} Silence is golden, but old noises turn platinum Suckers that are sold them, I’m constantly doubting them Why you wanna listen to what everyone’s touting? Like that ‘n’ uh, here’s the lyrical bout & like this ‘n’ uh Get yr linguistic pounding Eliminate thee weak ‘n’ dispose of thee rest My guess is that our worst is yr best

1…1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8 those missiles swarming around me look great 1,2,3,4,5 those missiles help us survive; they keep us surviving We’re going up, ‘n’ now we’re going back down Going down missiles are swarming around 3,4,5,6,7 I’m waiting for a missile to take me to heaven, Bread is unleavened We’re going up, going back down They’re coming in from every direction, I don’t even want to stop thee infection 36, 37 ‘n’ a half, those missiles are making me laugh ($I’m chuckling about missiles$) Going up, down ‘n’ down Poor me poor you glass of milk that thee missiles spilled Going up, going up, going up, going back down

[Math]: They say our sound’s alternative cos so few have learned of it I guess it is, but we insist, we fix that before thee curtain hits Indie got burned a bit, I’ll apply thee tourniquet  If one form is causing sin, best to lop off all of it Inform thee clique, you heard blood drip, no more worms for thee pit I assure you this, that my words ain’t sick Cos thee microphone blocks all thee germs I spit So cures are all I transmit No hit records cos these records hit Hard as dimethyl-mercury, a catalyst, I’m causing fits Tho ones sit, we sieze ‘n’ grip ‘n’ hold on to what’s still worth it You sure got miffed, KaBlamoBliff, rap ain’t in a Shape that’s Ship Pop records shot from thee gun X was murdered with [J-Bandana][Hook]: Hop hip purity slain by pop industry Paid by a majority, revolt with creativity (Stay awake) [Big Martha]: They said yer too young, you can’t make a difference But who’s got thee power, & where they sitting?  Wringing yr hands ‘n’ yr teeth yer gritting Sometimes you gotta stare down life & stop quitting What happened to thee rest in thee hip hop game? Beats got tame ‘n’ lyrics more lame +Thee system was whack+, no one rapper’s to blame Too many to name, there’s too many to name & while it might seem like what we’re doing isn’t much Thee fact that we’re trying should be more than enough In other words, strength means you question thee answers Until yr thoughts affect like malignant brain cancers Fake rappers say that they can do this But they get lost in thee music as thee noise hits (Come with me, it is the only way)

A. Intro I. [3/4] II-1. [4/4] B) Rebirth III. Running on empty, cunning ones tempt me IV. [2/4] III. Running on empty, cunning ones tempt me II-2. My well is dried Drink here, I cried Inertia reversed Stop later, drink first IV. [2/4] V-1. Turned away, parched today Refuse to be lied to VI-1. The fence of thee sun runs into my gun It melts me tonight, where is thee moonlight Continents drift, thirst cursed by it Anointed anew, rebirth without you V-2. Different now, changed somehow See truth here, heart kills fear VI-2. You can’t control VII. False ingredients VIII-1. Pies/Fake/Cakes/Fake VIII-2. Souls/Fake/Souls/Fake IX-1. Who? VII. False Ingredients IX-2. Blame VII. False ingredients X. [7/4] VII. False ingredients VIII-1. Pies/Fake/Cakes/Fake IX-1. Who? X. [7/4] VII. False ingredients IX-3. When?/Death/Am?/Sick XI. Demons or orphans & loved ones or origins Suffer them IX-4. When? XII. [6/4] C) Death XIII. Thee moist air was dark He turned to leave His shadow, his self couldn’t be persuaded Oxygen painted dollar bills Tore him from his own Presence A time void ripped that millions more would fall into XIV-1. Million dollar industry, Billion dollar industry Testosterone & estrogen, filling all thee girls & men III. Running on empty, cunning ones tempt me VII. False ingredients XIV-Estrogen. Million dollar industry, Billion dollar industry III. Running on empty, cunning ones tempt me X. [7/4] XIV-Testosterone. Million dollar industry, Billion dollar industry XV. Not us this time (Tumbling) XVI. Passover me (Thinking) XVII. Shard of a truth (Gripping) D) Outro I. [3/4] II-1. [4/4]

(Eventually, yr music will help put an end to War & Poverty. It will align the Planets ‘n’ bring Them into universal harmony, allowing meaningful contact with all forms of Life…)