Skill Xtreme

I got the heart of a lion and an eagle’s pupil
I breathe the true school
Beat me? Excuse you?
As usual, I find that you fools is cuckoo
You clowns are youthful but Kawann’s a guru
I am ever sick, equipped with cleverness
Call me the mayor, y’all don’t exist like pegasus
As my six meters dismiss heaters
Tongue’s fire spits gas, get six liters
[?], bloodstream Jesus
The rest of my genetic code is Hercules’s
I can battle leeches and rhyme for seasons
Just as sure as church folk believe in the book of Ephesians
And I pledge allegiance to hip-hop believers
Who in the evenings conduct little secret meetings
You can tell what I’m reading from how I’m speaking
How you’re speaking says you don’t read anything
You think I give a damn ‘bout what MTV thinks?
No matter where I am, I’m the best in the precinct
Dynasty 3 synced with the scientists, we linked
In defiance of those who write rhymes to see mink, please
While you try to mimic Jay-Z
I lay these hands on tapes, saving break beats with [?]
None can outrace me, I’m raw as heck
I can spit words in whispers and drown out a quartet
Swallow a vortex of Drāno
Sipping lava through a steel pipe in a volcano
Because I’m able, these cats still try to [?]
But can’t overcome ‘cause I’m true like [?], can’t no
Rapper in the world survive against the forgotten son of rhyme who dines with the god and y’all
I hit your ride on a chariot
Promoting my first album in heaven to the various areas
I’m serious, my alias is also syphilis
No sickness, even rickets is not sick as this
Words ricochet from off the moon when I’m spitting this
I’m infinite forever, you will see that the kid exists
I was, and when the clock no longer ticking is
[?] wrecking this, ‘long as I’m ripping it so whiz above meters
Who jogs past cheetahs
With rhyme books that date back to the fetus
Dawg, your vocabs sounds like that of Lovita’s from the Steve Harvey Show
You some underachievers
And you wanna come see us but can’t conceive it
‘cause we spit advanced and there is a chance that you won’t leave us
I’m the mad scientist of rap, ok?
In the lab, pen and pad, penning raps all day
Always I hip-hop like Mr. Simmons
Men and women emcees, they all suck lemon
From penning the lost scriptures of [?]
[?] hidden in caves, scrolls wrapped in linen
I’m the most rugged with a low budget
I was known for it in times of no budget
You can act tough and pretend you don’t love it
But you risk being cut, if not that then head-butted
Who cares if you get hundreds, I had hundreds
As the ghost-writer leaving your studio’s haunted
Dogonit my style’s hot with sauce on it
Even with the beat on mute, I can manage to talk on it
Y’all cornered, RAHM Nation, we all on it
My point is doing this is practically pointless
I coined the phrase, “Let Him be praised”
For my inventions on the earth I can never be paid
Everyday I breathe in a down mood
‘bout how shrewd foul dudes killed Jesus in the Talmud
While y’all fools is caught up in soap operas
Rappers can grow pop’lar not having to flow proper
But no, not the O ‘cause the O is a showstopper
And yo, I can flow for hours, who can stop us?
None of you emcees is seeing me never
O-h-e-n-e leather, corny emcees pleather
I’m just too clever so forget the endeavor
I’ve been to the future, you ain’t gettin’ no better
Whatever I say’s baffling, clashing and [?] Catholic crooks who took my rap books to the Vatican
More African than a Senegalese living in Congo
Beating a bongo, spitting in Twi
Now you getting intrigued from how I switch the lingo like
(*non-English language rapping*)
Over in Ghana, they call me Ohene [?], yes me
These jesters never impress me
Let’s be perfectly honest, we know what the time is
I’m as dangerous as Osama’s partner Saddam is
Or so they say when these rappers get blown away
When I’m old and gray, here’s the torch to my protege
But I still got more to say, the code is gray
Rappers is wack so to say, most of ‘em overpaid
Beats aside, cats see me as god
Whenever I rhyme, I’m only further deified
So I push the limit, that’s why the limit is timid
Pen it in a minute, ignorant rappers like “I ain’t gettin’ it”
Y’all ain’t listening, I’m quick to take and manipulate vowels
No rapper with a better spit today, how?
You imitate, I demonstrate switching fates of the tight bars that tends to dissimilate
And drop these morons, they oxymorons is it
‘cause after that, they ain’t got anymore rhymes
And y’all ain’t believe the Christ had arisen
Instead of trippin’, you better listen to this rhetorician