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Mic-nificient Lyrics


Sittin' on chrome, sittin' on low pro twenty inch firestones,
grippin the road with the wickedest flow.

'Bis is a pro. I zig-zag through a sly loam, accelerate and decelerate in and out the cones.

Poisonous poems travel through walkman headphones into your dome, osteoperosis your bones.

Who's the nicest nigga you know in the year two triple oh? Spit turn to icicles in the mid air and slit your throat.

Drain your carcass dry. Rip out your heart bitch, I write rhymes using your blood for my ink cartridges.

Paleoanthropologists polish the bones of rap artists, after I dip in my hydrochloric waters.

Canibus, with the seams burstin', perfect. Everyday the earth spins, I write verses.

My soul purpose as a verbalist, is to make my words twist and connect 'em like letters when they're in cursive.
I prey on 'em, I spray on 'em,
First nigga to violate I regulate without warning.
I prey on 'em, I spray on 'em,
First nigga to violate I regulate without warning.
I prey on 'em, I spray on 'em,
First nigga to violate I regulate without warning.
I prey on 'em, I spray on 'em,
First nigga to violate I regulate without warning.

Yo, yo,
I'm faster than leopards running across the vast desert in twenty-two yards per second to catch me to daily delicatessen.

With thirty minutes to eat 'em, forty minutes to digest 'em, and fifty minutes from there to pass through my intestines.

So ask yourself a question. Can the Canibus rhyme? Is a fuckin porcupine half swine?

No time to make up your mind, you wanna run or die? Clip you while you're running by, trip you up from behind.

My rhymes, confuse niggas like somebody try to gang-bang, wearin' a blue shirt and red pants,
throwin' up signs with their left hand, standin' out on the corner of wetlands with a confederate flag for a headband.

God damn eggplants, niggas gettin' me vexxed man, 'cause I'm surrounded by garbage like Fred Sav,

and I can't seem to get away from it, I dreamt that I stabbed Leviathan through the stomach and ate from it.

In my past life I slayed hundreds, and the life before that, I played trumpets to warn you that I was comin'.

There's one billion ways to die, and I already tried nine-hundred million nine hundred and ninety nine.

When I aim and fire my rhymes, like a hundred cannon balls flyin', striking you one at a time in a parallel line.

While the art of MCin' is steady dyin', that nigga Canibus is still in his prime. Bust a rhyme.


Club Dodge, I wrecked that.

Limelight, cursed that.

Envy, I murdered that.

Club SoHo, never heard of that.

Wetlands, dried it up.

Cheaters, decided to club, fired up, looking for a chicken to tie 'er up.

Club New York, I heard it's hot there, beats be rocking there, too many niggas be getting stabbed and shot there.

Speed, I slowed it down.

The Tunnel, they hold it down, home of the underground, why they always close it down?

Century Club, the hot shit.

House of Blues, I rocked it.

One twelve ATL, that's the Dirty South bomb shit.

Synagogue, yeah I be there.

Caribbean City, roll deep there.

Lyricist Lounge, they be some real MCs there.
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Submitted on
Jun 11, 2001
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