Verse One: Tame One, El the Sensai    *reggae growl* I diss batty bwoys like Buju  Banton, rippin wan-tan destruction  Sag my pants to stop the suction plus it's quicker when I'm fuckin  Split Dutch Master faster I puff izz that causes asthma as dust  Some say from NJ, quick to give up papes    Beef'll keep it street, defeat niggaz who sleep  Or reap the concrete status kick your ass with my apparatus  Those who, oppose this, split their shit like Moses  My written tabs is rippin fags and the whole bit    I murder mics and tape decks, so check it while I wrecks it  Far from junkies keep it real because I'm hungry like the Bundy's ("Al!!")  Got more rumble than thunder crumple chumps like they was paper  Eight for keys, make G's, but One of Tame made these    Conjunction junction what's your function on the real  My mass appeal is real I swim through beats like Navy Seals  Irregular, my style, suckers competitors who think they better  I knit my skit, like my Grandma's sweater  Nuts who want to inflict, harm against the charmer  Best to rest their case because I wear medieval armor  To protect, my subjects, my style's quite hard  Never could you copy cause my style's quite odd  Select the best concepts, context to rhyme text  Plus a twenty dollar bet, niggaz flexi wit da tech    Chorus: samples of Jeru the Damaja and BizMarkie    "The tech's technique, cause he's a technician"   "One two, whatcha gonna do"  (repeat 4X)    Verse Two: El the Sensai, Tame One    I rip rhyme charts apart, I jump-start on the gunner  Arrest niggaz like Honda from the under never blunder wonder if  I get stiff, I'm bound to catch an L  Nah never that I'm down with Tame I'm MC El    Lately playin Hurricane G demos in my WalkMan  I walk and I talk and read issues of The Source and  Check out the dreadlocks in Bedrock puffin indo  By the branch like plants, and do the cypher dance  Then it's back to the set, to write raps about my eps  Takin tokes for the stress as I get flexi wit da tech    Ah, I whip the lyrics up, like batter chatters on the verge  I sink all ships and watch you crabs submerge  In depths of the boat doper ropes to distort  All sorts of brothers abuse my styles I must abort  I do jobs like miles around the necks of the title  I win it hands down and pants down cause I'm vital    The tech, might you wanna get mad, now freak the plannin  Plus I flips it skip the handscans I'm woozy when I'm splifted  Yeah still high the I'll fly, red-eye rundown a semi  Automatic Artifact with knaps causin heart attacks  To critics and honeydips, who jeered on my lyrics  And slept when I dropped that "Do You Wanna Hear It?"  Cause from sun-up to sundown, my eyes are red and rundown  I still smoke a pound if strong peeps hit the town  I'm flexible like every female Huxtable was fuckable  Impeccable, dispicable, on point like a decimal  Point twice the joint jumper nicest with the mic device  Mighty like Isis, gimme boom I rips a crisis with the stress  (with the stress) unless I'm gettin flexi wit da tech    Chorus     Shut up, you're talkin too loud, you're talkin too loud   Peace to the whole city of Newark