(Swing right side/left side 123…right side/left side 123)
(Inside Outside) (Inside ‘n’ Outside)
[Math]: It’s not just that whack rappers lack thee skill but the motivation to MC like Math/Risk-free trial-guarantee: send beavers back/Cos my quality assurance says you never need to ask/Get my MC trading card ‘n’ you check the stats/I drop a fat rap with each at-bat/Pop strikes out I hop hip the upper deck/Just how clueless are they exact?/With a flamethrower at a train yard you couldn’t make a hot track g-get back/They made no honest resolution/Where’s the promised revolution?/Are you astonished that the monastery harnesses solutions?/With the connoisseur intrusion - I prefer seclusion/Institutions dare to say that electrocutions an improvement
While I scream MERCI BEAUCOUP DE’TAT/I’ll let Martha drop Haiku on you
5 syllables son
7 syllables stored up
5 more ‘n’ I’m done
(word up)
[J-Bandana]: We regulate the outside, delegate the inside/Relegate the beavers to the dollarbinside
Dominate the inside moderate the outside/Cast suckas off to the doubtside
(Who’s That?) (What’s the Commotion?)

[Big Martha]: Qui est ce, et qui est li/The dastardly MC that they call me
Si tu ne me comprend/Peut-etre you should have headphones on
[Math/Martha]: Cos we’re stereophonic supersonic
Bite my bait get hooked on my phonics
Cos Martha’s on the left Math’s on the right/Not monaural but an aural delight/We stand apart from hip hoppers alienated from those whose styles can be ripped off easily perforated/How can you rip a mic if you can’t even rip a paper?/While we sublimate the microphone turn it into vapor/You couldn’t fill a hefty bag with the trash you spit/& the cash you get it ain’t legitimate/I’m sick of it so we’re kicking it/Better than the hits what a predicament for the suckas – who can’t get with this
Cos their minds are in shackles, pop snap crackle/There ain’t a subject that we can’t tackle
But what’s the point of drugs sex ‘n’ guns/When you already got it so overdone?

[Math]: What’s the commotion? A bunch of critics doting on crews that deserve exposing for excessive posing
But no one’s willing to think for themselves/Oh but I guess it’s just as well
Cos while you scratch each other’s backs I give yr shoulder a tip tip tap
You turn around find a note attached/“You don’t own all of us” scrawled in black
Oops it was me who expresses dissent I refuse yr money grubbing intent
So I stand in the basement filled with wires ‘n’ cobwebs, yelling to my tapedeck “hip hop is not dead” Cos I can’t bemoan unless I’m in the zone ‘n’ my modus operandi is self realizing/Too many suckas whining but what I’m finding is a light that’s shining/It’s a red light that says record ‘n’ for that little hope I thank the Lord/For these raps - a direct response to what I’ve been thru/Cos the simple tools allow the fight to continue/Like a 1up but the boss is in another dungeon/So let’s gain experience ‘n’ learn the functions
We gotta band together if we want to fight/With Math on the left ‘n’ Martha on the right
(Bounce, bounce, bounce 1-2-3 stop!)