Chorus: Repeat 4X

Crush, kill, destroy, stress

Verse One: Prince Poetry

Pain, stress
My brain, can't even rest
It's hard to maintain the pressure on my chest
Excess frustration strikes!
Blood rushes my head when I come across roads
With dead mics and wack promoted shows it's hard
But with the presence of God
I'm true to the game
So I'm back black, to take charge, and recap-ture
the time, wish it could never be wack -- I'm pure
I insert my lifeline into the track, the energy
In me is a poison with no un-revealed remedy
I'm spreading, like leprosy, throughout the record label
Cause mines put me and Monch's career in jeapordy
Can you come see me in the ghetto where it's dark
Bullets are real lost peeps lurks in the heart
Lord knows it hurts, we kick the Hertz to the curb
Execute first things first, and put blunted minds to work
My herd's tight and my fans supports
So I'm a-ight, for the time being seeing peace
But taking no shorts (no shorts)

Chorus

(album version includes a short "taxi cab" skit here)

Verse Two: Pharoahe Monch

Rarrrrrgh!
You will now consider me the apocalyptic one
After this rhyme, henceforth, there is none
NO more will exist, when I emerge
From the mist in whence I was born into, scorned
Most of you can't even comprehend what I am saying
to you even in my human form the message I'm relaying
Why do you choose to mimic these wack MC's?
Why do you choose to listen to R&B?
Why must you believe somethin is fat
Just because it's played on the radio, 20 times per day?
My perception of poetical injection is ejactulation
The Immaculate Conception
The hall walker, who stalks bodies in Central Park
Soon emergency services'll outline that body in chalk
Then I begin to walk away and spit
Then when I walk away I talk shit!
Huh, a driver sprayed my face with mace
She didn't know that I enjoyed the taste of radioactive waste
When I'm in the backseat of your mid-town taxi
Don't even ask me for the cash G
The four cabs before didn't pick me up
Now ask yourself who the fuck's gonna stick me up