ThE HeIsT by MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER} Lyrics
MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER} - “ThE HeIsT”
[Emcee(s): MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER}]
[Producer(s): Supreme Scientist 7 (of The Deity Complex) [Original Instrumental from The Deity Complex ft. De La Soul - “Stakes Is High (Villainy RMX)”]]
[Verse 1: MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER}]
Heavier than hydraulic shocks
To loop chops that are accurate like atomic clocks
Creating panic like falling stocks
Last show I rocked, half the audience called the cops
We’re out to take it with the law’s long arm
Reap what I didn’t sow like I worked the wrong farm
(“Check on that”) What you expect from a city dude?
In a silly mood with more beef than Philly food?
Yo, son, that is done, the red meat
I abuse kids on the mic over a dead beat
In a dead heat with myself for first place
Add me to any scenario and it’s worst-case
Birth place: Chi Town—that’s what they claim it is
Even though I was born speaking alien languages
What they mistook for baby chatter
Really was the data I had gathered on dark matter
The heat from his re-entry left him in disbelief
Way worse the turbulence caused by heeding your sheath
Read ‘em and weep: I’m here and I ain’t leaving soon
Even built a gas chamber for the extra breathing room
(“Prepare for surgery”) with a sense of urgency
Like ransacking a trap doing a burglary
That’s how MOok get busy certainly
To the third degree to murder beef verbally
Hah, that’s why I’ve never been convicted
Evidence be shorter than a midget on a snippet
And even though I got a case pending
I’m here to save the game like I pitch the eighth inning
I hate winning (“Give the credit to Andy Pettitte”)
Officer, I said it, reproduction the final edit
Medic, my heart bleeds internally
Hip hop now is in a state of emergency
[Verse 2: MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER}]
The frequency of every idiosyncrasy
Will freakishly frequently keep me out of delinquency
Hah, that’s how I stay on my vaino
Rather on the mic or cheffing an UNKstrumental
Plain and simple, no matter what I’m saying
It’s mental, designed to confuse the average layman
I ain’t playing like a cable-less TV
A scratched-up CD or Brian Scalabrine
Believe me, my work ethic is staggering
Way worse than any rapper could imagine it
So cancel it. It ain’t the way to handle it
Skills that I use to build don’t even dismantle him
Accurate while you’re sucking on your cancer stick
I’m hitting the buzzer ‘cause I come up with the answer quick
And ain’t shit you could tell him
Like he got the Google app imprinted on his cerebellum
Or better yet, uploaded on his frontal lobe
Speak to you in code ‘cause it keep the mic in murder mode
(Yeah) To avoid incarceration
When UNK MOok strike, ain’t no room for arbitration (Nah)
Break the beat down to the last denomination
You can lose your life at the end of this conversation
Then call RZA to resurrect ya
If he won’t, I’ll just remember where you’re left
My third eye similar to a satellite
My jacket’s fully metal and it’s linked to the battle mic (“Go left”)
I eat emcees without appetite if your track
Sucks or you schmucks just ain’t rapping right
He ain’t acting right. Adjust the medication
I suggest sedation for the duration of a standing ovation
(“My heart”) My heart bleeds internally
Hip hop now is in a state of
Emergency
We’re in this bitch like a burglary!
[Emcee(s): MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER}]
[Producer(s): Supreme Scientist 7 (of The Deity Complex) [Original Instrumental from The Deity Complex ft. De La Soul - “Stakes Is High (Villainy RMX)”]]
[Verse 1: MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER}]
Heavier than hydraulic shocks
To loop chops that are accurate like atomic clocks
Creating panic like falling stocks
Last show I rocked, half the audience called the cops
We’re out to take it with the law’s long arm
Reap what I didn’t sow like I worked the wrong farm
(“Check on that”) What you expect from a city dude?
In a silly mood with more beef than Philly food?
Yo, son, that is done, the red meat
I abuse kids on the mic over a dead beat
In a dead heat with myself for first place
Add me to any scenario and it’s worst-case
Birth place: Chi Town—that’s what they claim it is
Even though I was born speaking alien languages
What they mistook for baby chatter
Really was the data I had gathered on dark matter
The heat from his re-entry left him in disbelief
Way worse the turbulence caused by heeding your sheath
Read ‘em and weep: I’m here and I ain’t leaving soon
Even built a gas chamber for the extra breathing room
(“Prepare for surgery”) with a sense of urgency
Like ransacking a trap doing a burglary
That’s how MOok get busy certainly
To the third degree to murder beef verbally
Hah, that’s why I’ve never been convicted
Evidence be shorter than a midget on a snippet
And even though I got a case pending
I’m here to save the game like I pitch the eighth inning
I hate winning (“Give the credit to Andy Pettitte”)
Officer, I said it, reproduction the final edit
Medic, my heart bleeds internally
Hip hop now is in a state of emergency
[Verse 2: MOokneto {ANTI-RAPPER}]
The frequency of every idiosyncrasy
Will freakishly frequently keep me out of delinquency
Hah, that’s how I stay on my vaino
Rather on the mic or cheffing an UNKstrumental
Plain and simple, no matter what I’m saying
It’s mental, designed to confuse the average layman
I ain’t playing like a cable-less TV
A scratched-up CD or Brian Scalabrine
Believe me, my work ethic is staggering
Way worse than any rapper could imagine it
So cancel it. It ain’t the way to handle it
Skills that I use to build don’t even dismantle him
Accurate while you’re sucking on your cancer stick
I’m hitting the buzzer ‘cause I come up with the answer quick
And ain’t shit you could tell him
Like he got the Google app imprinted on his cerebellum
Or better yet, uploaded on his frontal lobe
Speak to you in code ‘cause it keep the mic in murder mode
(Yeah) To avoid incarceration
When UNK MOok strike, ain’t no room for arbitration (Nah)
Break the beat down to the last denomination
You can lose your life at the end of this conversation
Then call RZA to resurrect ya
If he won’t, I’ll just remember where you’re left
My third eye similar to a satellite
My jacket’s fully metal and it’s linked to the battle mic (“Go left”)
I eat emcees without appetite if your track
Sucks or you schmucks just ain’t rapping right
He ain’t acting right. Adjust the medication
I suggest sedation for the duration of a standing ovation
(“My heart”) My heart bleeds internally
Hip hop now is in a state of
Emergency
We’re in this bitch like a burglary!