Ultimate Rush

Hi, Alcatraz, who dat? Some call him Rock, yup
One shot'll make you jump like House of
Pain and Kriss Kross playin hopscotch
I got the mosh baby
Even when I was small, I still hit crazy hard like a three-eighty
And I hate these fakin MC's, please
Flee, 'fore your temperature drop mo' degrees
Than a bopper sinner, dressed in a young ass jacket in the winter
Boy don't end up in a casket for this rap shit

Behold the pale horse, I see death in your future
When thoughts connect, it's best to step 'fore I shoot ya
Back in the days I knew Ruck would rock
Couldn't wait that long so I jacked Michael J. Fox
Since the theft of the Delorean, I've been best performin in
Coliseums and stadiums, holdin a row for lady-em's
Ain't no funny vibe from this twenty-five year old
Ultimate MC, test me if ya bold

The, the, the Ultimate MC
The, the Ultimate MC
The, the, the Ultimate MC
The, the Ultimate MC

Demonstrate the street ruckus with my nouns and verbs
Cater to real muh'fuckers with a thirst for words
Meditate with me dude, alone in my own zone
Come and get high, my shit's homegrown
Bionic, hydroponics, I rap 'til I'm blue like Sonic
Delivery's monotonic, but my style's octophonic
I hate to say it, but you're weak and your style's prosaic
Man, if rhymin was fightin, I'd be Tyson
And all y'all niggas better think
Cause right now y'all's runnin with Sphinx
Cause you're weak, son, I take my time to teach one
Of the meek ones, and reach one
Illamatic rap addict, on some death of Caesar dramatics
It's never fluke yo, so don't panic
You could go to any other planet
In any weather, you can run but can't run forever, so whatever

The, the, the Ultimate MC
The, the Ultimate MC
The, the, the Ultimate MC
The, the Ultimate MC

I'm the motherfuckin pimp, the microphone is my bi-i-itch
And you the John I'm bout to make a nigga ri-i-ich
Now get with this funk arithmetic
If you outside, make a swi-i-itch
And step inside the abi-i-ist
Nigga come ill, don't tri-i-ip
Say it again, you the John I'm bout to make this nigga ri-i-ich
Man my finger puppet hard to resi-i-ist
Find your niche, nigga hold that
My trigger finger start to i-i-itch
(Diggin your ditch!)
I'm on the mound with a butane fireball
Better duck, the wild pi-i-itch, I'm sick with it
You are never fly, you an ostrich-ich, uhh
Be on your back like a rash, I'm the i-i-ish
Bankers make us close on my scrilla for the ni-ni-nick
Wig-wig-wig, what?

The, the, the Ultimate MC
The, the Ultimate MC
The, the, the Ultimate MC
The, the Ultimate MC