Teksty: Ill Harmonics. Take Two. San Jose.

[Chorus:]
we rock all the way from san jose
to the east time zone cause my microphone is worldwide
you can't hide, no matter where you reside
and it's all the same from the shores of maine
to the left coast where the sun leaves ya stained
we steady rock that doin' it , rock that do it
still bein' ill when we check one-two it

[Verse 1:]
sit back while I come and attack the similac dance track
your headphone jack is still in tact cause my nack for ripping the abstract
practical tactics, you're getting your rap fix in plastic
cellophane keeping it plain we stain ears with cheers from volunteers
who loving their raps clear and simple, but at the same complex
so I gotta open up and spit the bomb text
the conquest-idor you requested for, so what you think I was bringin out my best for
to restore the art prepare to depart, from san jo yelling land ho we flow
through the record pop I'm reckin shop and never stop
from the present back when my record dropped I copped attention
to make you sit back and listen
and bring your seat to an upright position

[Chorus]

[Verse 2:]
lean back unwind, let your spine relax
these tracks gonna take you on a magical ride
bonafide and certified 100 percent real and ill
and still reinventing the wheel.
it's a one-two punch with all the splendor
wack emcees get their tapes returned to sender
I got places to go and people to see
mics to meet, beats to freak, got knobs to tweak
so turn up the maines, lobster gettin' hot
all the way to TJ to hit a taco spot
then head north on the 5, its all the way live
from the 214, bringing Christ to your door
now the rubber hits the road like adidas hittin' stages
I compose hits upon college ruled pages
used as my treble clef and so def
jose can you see, we love to emcee

[Chorus]

[Verse 3a:]
I'm airborn till I find the place I never been
While I'm piloting my pilot ink pen
We move to new places trying to keep pushin
And if you drown in the sound your seat cushion
Can be used as a device made for flotation
tourin the nation, rocking my playstation
in the back seat while I make blake drive
going city to city just living off the vibe

[Verse 3b:]
and i'm doing my best to avoid the road rages
bumpin' sting's third LP, the soul cages
hittin' thrift shops and only clean rest stops
hoping everything's great, haven't eaten since eight
when we stopped at quizno's, I guess anything goes
left my calling card in case anybody needs tracks
selling stacks of wax out the trunk for wages
traveling to festivals to emcee on punk stages