The C-Quel

I’ll battle you on the net, I’ll battle you in the flesh //
I’ll battle you over the phone; you can call me collect //
Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted //
Took a minute to exhibit that I’m sick with it //
Have you any idea what I’ll do to crews like you? //
How many niggas in my career I’ve ran through? //
At a thousand degrees Celsius I make emcees melt //
Fuck my record label, I appear courtesy of myself //
Canibus is the type to fight for mics //
Beating niggas to death, and beating dead niggas to life //
While you niggas is babbling my lyrics is traveling //
Like a javelin to stab you in the abdomen //
The intellectual athlete accurately rapping so rapidly //
Yet he makes perfect sense mathematically //
I walk the B-lock, with the G-lock, C-ocked //
Tryin’na get the D.R.-op, on the C-ops //
The Canibus is an animal, with a mechanical mandible //
Coming to damage you, spitting understandable slang at you //
Rhymes ricochet off the inner walls of my lungs //
And go past the tongue faster than bullets come out of guns //
Whenever the head is severed from the human body with a sharp enough weapon //
The brain remains conscious for ten seconds //
What’s the matter with ya’ll? I’ll spatter ya’ll //
Against the motha fucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult //
I’ll hop into the back seat of a cab and rhyme //
Till the meter says, ‘nine, nine, nine, nine’ //
[Canibus]
Yeah, it’s the C-Quel, the C-Quel //
Yo //
I’m hardcore from the nappy follicles in my pores //
To every single pore in my skull, hard from my mouth to my jaws //
From my jaws to my torso where my organs are stored //
And from my balls in my drawers to the floor //
I pray to God they hurry up and start the Third World War //
So I can start World War Four, and murder us all //
I don’t give a fuck if you rich or you poor //
Don’t give a fuck if you got your picture in The Source or Forbes //
I don’t give a fuck who won an award //
On stage tryin’na thank God, I’ll chop they tongue off with a sword //
Let they blood pour all on the floor //
If it ain’t a cordless, they getting punched in the jaw, and hung with the cord //
I’ll leave your corpse stiff as a board //
Like frozen meat tryin’na thaw, then bury him under the morgue //
Getting in my way is like jumping in front of a car //
Breaking the sound barrier, that means the car is in front of the horn //
By the time you hear it blowing, it’s too late to respond //
By the time you feel it hit you, I’m gone //
I’ll send you to hell where you belong //
So by the time your body hits the floor, your spirit won’t be in it no more //
Who could flow for four minutes or more //
Without breaks, without mistakes, without flaws //
Got millions of styles and I’ve mastered them all //
A metaphor matador fast enough to make the bull charge and crash in the wall //
[Canibus]
Whoever grabs the mic after me will get booed //
Get everything in the club thrown at you and your crew //
I’m the illest nigga alive, watch me prove it //
I’ll snatch your crown with your head still attached to it //
I’ll battle you for the respect, I’ll battle you over a blank-check //
I’ll battle you with a gun to my neck //
Ambushing emcees, jumping out the trees like Vietnamese //
In fatigues, covered with leaves //
Next year, you’ll be walking around the ‘How Can I be Down?’ Conference //
With a laminate, that says ‘I got shitted on by Canibus’ //
Turn your head around, give me the cheddar //
I’d rather be a lion for a day than a lamb who lives forever //
Fuck ya’ll, you don’t impress me and no one can test me //
An emcee so ill I got A.I.D.S. scared to catch me //
[Canibus]
Yo, Yo, Yo //
Canibus is what the hardcore niggas is waiting on //
Debating on, what the fuck is taking so long //
Well I’m here now, verbal ass whippings ‘bout to get shared out //
Wack niggas bout to get aired out //
Faggot niggas get they ass teared out //
Grab a wise-man by his goatee, and rip his fucking beard out //
Cold beat a niggas ass like stout //
Then bust a shot in the motha fucking courtroom and watch it clear out //
A hundred-thousand mile warranty //
Metaphorically, I’ll use a hundred thousand styles and murder you orally //
Took a lion on tour with me, made him respect authority //
Smacked him in the head for tryin’na roar at me //
Lyrics got my undivided loyalty //
And there ain’t nothing on this God damn planet that’s worth more to me //
In the name of Hip-Hop, niggas could corner me //
Torture me, slice me then stitch me up like embroidery //
Way back before gold-plated male and female //
R.C.A. jacks was used for crystal clear playback //
I was tryin’na blaze a D.A.T.S., and if a nigga said my demo was wack //
I’d beat his ass and took my tape back //
’Yeah nigga’ [smack] ‘what? Yeah nigga take that’ //
Anybody get outta’ line, get they face slapped //
Quick fast, the Can-I-Bus will bust your ass //
Then I bust you with a shotgun blast //
It’s not fun so I don’t laugh //
To me this rap shit is as serious as, the death of a loved one //
You know how I be feeling sad? //
That’s how I feel when I grab the microphone, but niggas don’t understand //
Canibus is unequivocally, the illest killing machine in the industry //
For the twentieth-century //
Trapped in a max security building //
Suffering from a severe illness called brilliance //