The Illest

[Canibus]
I grind, I scramble, I put them both together and gramble
Bag up the gram, separate the samples
The goddamn truth this ain't nothing to dance to
My lyrics lynch you, give you something to hang to
Your fans mourn, mumbling your song
While the Son of Sam prepares for war
My hands form ram horns
Daddy ain't to shabby he rarely rhymes badly
Sadly he's not too punchy, but still jabby
Stick and move keep stepping, follow my reflection
Demolition any nigga disrespecting the profession
Better holster that weapon when you walk in this direction
Is there ever enough protection? The quintessential question
Unroll your maps I'ma show you where we at
Pull a rhyme out the burlap and murder your raps
You heard of that, my sandbag leak worser than that
The cowboy going to church with a curve in his hat