[Verse 1: Kool A.D.]

Yo yo yo yo...

And it go a little something like this

Kill me, I'm a loser baby

Filthy I'm a truther tasting filtered water juices

Maybe still I ought to choose a daily pill

To calm the spooky crazy ills

That cause the euthanasical

Way too amazical

Who they?

You don't want to fool with the razor, dude

Shoot like the laser do

You don't wanna see them when they swoop in the laser-blue coupe

They get paid to scoop fools who break the school rules

But still break a few, too

Which they paid to do-wait, who's paying who?

Who's paying you?

How much do they got?

Would you do the same if you were standing in they spot?

Sometimes I'm way cold

Sometimes I'm way hot

Sometimes I run down punchlines

And play Dr. Coochie Inspector

Instead of doing what is usually best

For all those mutually invested in whatever situation

Fools be getting salty for the cheddar and the bacon

Reverses, [?] what's the diff, and who's making it the business to say so

Kids sniff the payload

The answer is under your nose

The dancer, the thunder, the gold

Panther, the hunger, the cold

Cancer, the young and the old

Chance that the [?] your soul is probably the one you should keep

Yo, you started with two, dog

You don't need to lose any sleep

Nightly news can repeat

Mighty crews can retreat

Shit get foul like the Chris Lighty suicide, B

And I don't really know the half

Understand me, I'm the man behind the photograph

Sniff powders that fold my soul in half

So they can't snatch all of it

See me in the trees like how koalas get

Peep my oeuvre

You don't need to like all of it

But understand

That it's broader than the oeuvre of a lot of cats [Busdriver: Yeah]

You got all that?

[Busdriver] I gotta this

Yadadite

[Verse 2: Busdriver]

Heh... c'mon

My gun is picky

It exclusively dates blondes and accepts film roles only opposite of James Bond

I get shouted out by Raekwon all day long

[?] under the strap of a beige thong

Gunsmoke ain't supposed to smell like mocha chips

When I load them with explosive-tip rounds I kiss the butts of Russian soldier lips

They roam the [?]

What follows in Zumba class

White women, J. Crew catalogs

And a looking glass

I ain't talking rubber bullets

I'm talking Gumby bullets

Shot at dudes with ugly mullets

Straight at their [?] buttocks

Run all the way back to your mommy's stomach

I'm brandishing paper goods

Me and my gun

Canvassing neighborhoods

But my gun wants to do more humanitarian work

Delivering preemies, leaving a cesarean smirk

On the single mothers

Yet, still get chips like Pringles lovers

Instead of smoking niggas

Like a navel fucker

My gun can shoot dudes

Troll them with just a web address

In People's magazine, my gun gets voted the best dressed

My gun's leaving the Doubletree shortly

Wearing a muscle tee, looking portly [?] wax with WD-40

My gun's important

For real

[Verse 3: Beans]

Yo, it's Mr. [?] your butler to Beans

Face front

True believer, ceremony deadly ecstatic frenzy

Breakneck pace

Defy eyes

Overlord [?]

A distinction with difference

Accelerant, excellent

Scripted, encrypted

[?] where homicidal eyes

You burning lower than [?]

It's clear as day

Your skill set's no threat

Mine fantastic

Ultra-decapitor rap shit

Catch my sick hex

[?] straight lines like a funeral procession

Put you in the past easily, sufficiently

I freak an MC

While you find comfort in your [?] ability to disappoint

Nauseating how your every sentence syllable leaves sulfur

And seeps sewage

Your sentences are sluggish and move like they was sleeping

Weak beyond redemption

Prior to demise when the truth puts its pants on

Heart flutter like hummingbird from trepidation

Sobbed on the page and still wet from the piss

So desperately he reach for the razor blade

Had a situation

Look bleak, like Little Big Horn

Obliterate your cavalry

Mercilessly you and the dam burst [to flood?]

Release without hesitation

Hilariously, you outgunned

Clouds of war gathering

Prisoner of your own illusion

Sorry for the intrusion

Devour the flock

Blasteroid

The four nightmares

We the dance of death fetishists

And not every thought's gold

So let your panic unfold

[Sample]

There is no one way to approach this

There is no system or method

And there can't be, because we're- we're working with someone's um, individual creative process

And when you do that, if you have a pre-set method, or a system, that you know about, that's separate from that

It won't work

The best thing that you can get is someone who can, uh, give back to you... the material that you have given to them

But that's not spontaneous improvisation

I should say that... spontaneous improvisation to me... means that you create music right in the split second that you're in

Spontaneously, that is, you let it come from what you hear and feel, rather than from what your brain is telling you

Like you're not playing the suggestions and ideas that your brain can give you

You are getting away from that, and letting the music stream out of your, um, creating mind

Um, the thinking mind can only be an impediment, actually

You have to- one of the things you have to learn is to um, develop the ability to- to- let your creating mind have the entire moment, and all the music will be coming from that part of your mind