Teksty: Das Racist. Sit Down, Man.

Heems:

I'm from Cop Killer
Never killed a cop, though
More the type to burn a spliff and eat a bag of nachos
More the type to read a novel, maybe 'bout Navajos
On a sunny day I'm on the block in a poncho
Venomous, extra sick
Tell me how my bars feel
Talk shit, tell me how the floor of the bar feel
Young cocoa butter
I'm fresh as new car smell
Cynical lasagna loving cat
Call me Garfield

Graffiti those legit streets
Spray tags for soup cans
I paint Marine Green Newport packs
Now who down?
Three brown, the slim thang
I need a brand new vein
To torso they can make enough funds to send a Sudan
Spraying copyright symbols on yoga mats
Until I'm high enough
To type a bunch of rhyming words
To tell you how I'm fly and stuff
Writing racial rants
Craigslist, start the race war
Highest space dog, wildest three cage boys

Mommy Dukes never told me to go to my room
But while juvenile, she threatened to send me to Dehradun
That's in the motherland
Her lover-dad hit me with a broom
Black and blue, at school
Where white kids call me dune coon
I'm still living this shit
Something like a pigeon and pissed
Scribblin' some lip words
To a script, literal shit
Belittled, we get
Hit quick, you little dick
Kicked in, just forget it you shits

Kool A.D.:

Aright, what's up?
Papa watch me on Google Alerts, hi dad!
I'm at the Whitney with DJ Spooky, on an iPad
Shotgunning slits in a woman's can
And catching some catches
You can't keep bumps from the bug-eyed man fan
Can, can, can you do the smarty-pants can-can?
So you think you can dance?
Here is your stinking advance
Back ends, tap them, stack ends
White people, play this for you black friends
Black people, smack them
Moose spoonin' with candy flippers
Whomever the edible panties fit
Gets the candy glass brandy-snifter
Shake hands with fans that demand a picture
Like, 'Hey man, hey man,
Are you Himanshu, or Victor?'

Soul dudes, show crew, home brews, coal crew
Kool A.D., living contradictory since '83
Arkansas street, like a block from the projects
HP some more blocks from some other projects
Tally meter so we not by the projects
Now look at me, getting ass for my projects
The brother's logic is stop when you got it
But I don't, got it yet
So I'm not gonna stop it
Street freak-a-leak
Socialize with the fetally
Meek shall inherit the earth
Earth shall inherit the meek
You can stare at the street
But the street stare back at you
Top greasy, somebody take a crack at you
Act the fool, somebody finna laugh at you
Like dude
I don't like your fucking attitude

El-P:

Gangster computer god
Mindslaught's my pseudonym
Fuck anyone giddily, giggle, simply misery
Fellings whittle bitch pitches
But where the juicy tag
First to always be the great choosy Brooklyn or Lucy Brown
Harbinger of the bum rush
Plus oozin' away a ton of more
Buddy cops kiss each other
Pedo arrests, priests fuck whores
Let's set the moral compass to something a little sacrilege
I'm pyrogening this whole town
Black fraydee, I'm maggin' this
Nobody sleeps tonight
Keep your car alarm evening
Perpetual garbage track
Annoying ice cream truck jingling

(Hey odd world)
Conscious got donkey-punched by aristocrats
Maniac, brainiac, fist-fucked in a dunce cap
Looking at it from space, you can the race is just one lap
The tranquility now is just future anarchy, unhatched
I'm on a new drug plus alternate reality
Some dimensional shifting
It's hidden from all the cowardly
Gypsies read the palm and they vomit
They give me back my dollar, holler
"No guy, get out you monster!"
Mumalo covered a song and it's a running joke
My comedy is common is as greymatter (brain cells)
Converted into runny yolk
i'm not in the mood (stop)
A lot more to rue (raw)
Hot rod of intoxicants (roo!)
Gobblin' your food (gone)
Applaud to the truthiness
Truly I'm a lost boy
Half-man, half-smoke
No joke, got it on -boy
Take your little sad poopy-pants to the corner toy
I'm gonna bring a blaze, bleeder burn a bridge, burn a boy

Sit down!