Goons stand up, hands up, get amped up if your man's drunk, stand your man up if you're in handcuffs stand up come on yall, give it up for some damn nuts Malkovich shit, Los Angeles shit talking that and this but can't hang with this shit so simple, high-hats, cymbals and shining high in the sky, the GBLX symbol I dribble syllables, a serial skiller, top biller, Godzilla prime minister of this shit here, another hit for the too legit throw a fit, who you rollin with, this is it no fear, we're in control here, in this whole sphere, we got no fear whether rolling on 20s, or rolling on empty, just recognize some real emcees.

Here we are, big bad W West Coast, and we came here to fuck with you Death Row to Project Blowed, SFO to Fresno to Mexico it's BLX, set to blow like Texaco, flow Testaro, watch the engine go nothing less than BLXceptional, so when the bomb drops on the dancefloor, back up when the bomb drop on the back row, back up we study like doctors, train like boxers to be the number one mic rocker, rhyme opera running with a rapping schematic and everybody in the spot aware we're here to do damage I'm the man that'll manage, my mindstate is manic the science is static, and the music is magic Crag Malkovich, fully automatic rap shit.

Moving in like Peyton with the penetration heads rotating like twenty-inch Daytons they say Malkovich, his style is so amazing them GBLX boys, they ain't playing the escapist, I break out of steel cages all they say was swinging doors and metal shavings I radiate wind, send planes in a tailspin got it raining limbs and people's life savings lets separate mature from amateur raw from manicured, big scores from liquor stores yall Stans get a plan, I just got the call from MOLMan in Japan, our shit's on program solid, hypnotic, yeah the kid got it so throw my new CD on and skip college rap's a gamble and we're the pit bosses so raise your gin tonics for the Gershwin Symphonic.

ring bell, inhale, the flag pops out the toy gun, it's Merry Melodies Roger's quiet, with a name like a World War 1 figher pilot Victorian wigs and extra-long cigs, at the bar taking big swigs Porky Pig, looking like a side of ribs thought bubble, if he starts trouble. double back watch him double back in them huddled stacks of open mousetraps four rooms, go ahead, name your tune water in my ear since I was six years old when I walk, I hear Romeo & Juliet by Peter Nero soundtrack to the life of a down mack with about that much tolerance for the obvious nice work, shook 'em with the Burt Reynolds sideburns squeezing outta automatic CD players, nobody dirty up a rug like me. Back to work early, like 7:30 crazed look and some red jelly on my jersey urgency emergency, nursery to gurney to surgery to eternity thirty-three thirty-three thirty-free leaves one, and there gotta be a reason ease up, blood vessels in my temples seized up for a U.S. visa I'll thumb-wrestle Jesus caught 'em with the three-second rule... freedom! a Godzilla truck flying flying over speedbumps yall cats dissing me did OK... C+ calm down, hold your microphone right, breathe some you got a new CD? I'll give you three bucks off the deep end, this is how we spend our weekend the three-men ESPN off the weed blend attack like violent monkeys swinging from trees Crag and the Vinyl Junkies.

Blowing out the back, coat flapping like a cloak Trouble Man from Iran, bringing action in bulk hard-ass stance like I'm backing down the Hulk line 'em between the eyes, smash 'em down to pulp don't sulk, be an adult Charles Schultz drawing these kids up like Peanuts or pre-nups sound hand with the fountain pen, beat's like the shoulder lane, I weave out and in ask around, I'm the Bout It Man, if I say it's gonna happen, don't doubt it my outfit shrouded in shadows, sharpening arrows, jumping out manholes with that Rambo handflow spot like Hoboken, NJ on body day, one got away, it's ok, you got a day posted up, working on my next million Malkovich shit, leave the chain on your chest jingling.

Crag got the M.I.C., the M.I.C. take out the I, it's M.C. (and that's me) Call the ambulance, we got a dead man in headband Rambo, suspect seen careening south in a black Astro hat low, stalking the outback, alien plateau steel trees, lampposts, crazy bums, jackals are we hit? damn close... no time to catch your breath all hands on deck, we're battleships, the Los Angeles map's the grid F1 left my car torched, C4 crippled the power source aye aye captain, come on man.. hard to starboard This is the sound of my soul down in a hole, loud, kinda low leaving my mouth as a flow, and that sound in the background is my fuse about to blow count slow (4, 3, too late) blackout, thoughts erupting like water rushing caught, stuck in the flooding up in my mind, hype rhymes high time that you learned I never play the back burner, you got the wrong guy Crag crack heads till they see tie-dye and shit worms some hi-fi sci-fi fly shit, class of '96 It's the Incubus, incubated from eight minutes to age six in a frankly pathetic attempt to death this medical miracle videotaped interviews from Stanford to Syracuse professionals adjust their spectacles while Crag just sits amused wanted like the Pikachu, only answers to women in the nude and subsists on a strict diet of curry vindaloo we bring the news, hot off the press, who rocks the best there ain't no need to proceed, we got it hemmed now drop and give me ten.

Nimble-tongue M.D., ruckus emcee hitting tracks like a ten-speed bumping through Belize Jet Li on a jetski, skip on the water kick off the wall, flip and land on a quarter JP ladies with the neon on, and the Hawaii dimepieces looking beyond bomb used to give me the frion arm, now I go get a drink and they say "don't be gone long" but we long gone, on the next train, man mad turbulence but we all calm, maintain it's a damn shame, cats letting me on songs, I just aim then blow 'em out the frame (bang bang) ass out on tracks then pass out the wax, you get pat down for gats, we're passed out in the back got it down pat, guess who's wearing the clown hat back down cuz we're back now, out the background, like that.

Another tale to tell, I stay on the bail sipping grain on the train, I skate the rails blow smoke on a boat, I sail the swells came to make Gs, I am not taking Ls yall beaking nails, meanwhile Sum, Dex and DT on Peachtree, Adidased up, raising hell on some Run-DMC, or the Treacherous Three plus me in a Skeletons tee black high tops, I run rhymes like livestock it's my life that I'm giving you man, it's all that I got it's my shot, so I go at it white hot morning shift through to night watch and why not grab your shinebox, put your back into it one time we all had to do it representing for the worldwide travelers, curbside anglers third rock, third world, Los Angeles.

Working on the mixtape, late night time to cut another track, it's gotta be right got a Black 'n Mild in hand, freshly chiefed anybody taking a hit, just be brief Burnie got the funky beat, a stupid dope loop but it got words on it (what we gonna do, troop?) we gotta chop it up, digital mixer tried the reverb, even the filter but no matter what we do the voices won't soften fuck it... pass me some of that top ramen. Hole in my throat, rock with two mics Malk man go with the flow, it's BLX too hype for you beaucou types this is a warning, scrawled in big red letters caution when caught in the blade propellers bounce to the sounds of the BLX click, bounce to the sounds of the next shit we at the exit before breakfast, you in line at the entrance, stuck off my first sentence word benching, hundred-ton arm-curl extensions I down a cup of that power up, out the cut in a buttoned-down tux on some now what hit the club with love, shared a bitter jug, did the jitterbug then I bit her in the jugs that's hilarious, word to Larry S., BassLine Xcursionists be the Cali-est

Back from Iran with a big ol' gut and a Persian chick with a big ol' butt West LA's in the house keeping shit legit like fat cats rocking moneyclips so we slid on home so I could hit it smiling all the way, knew she'd get the didick but that's all a part of showbiz.. homeboy, tell 'em what your name is... Crag, the time zone hopper, full off pasta, so come gimme my propers raps I can throw 'em back with the best one no test run, who want it? come and get some slow motion, how I remember it all yes yes yall, high school halls, banging the walls now I'm just going for mine checked my tires, ate my Wheaties and got all of my lifelines unlike a lotta suckers who claim they're getting busy knowing damn well they work for the city you need to stop running off the mouth, sit your ass down and figure out how to get your music out it's not difficult, in fact it's kind of simple to get your name known without looking pitiful you need to stay on your J.O.B., rhyme hard, keep your nose clean, and don't fuck with me. This is portable, something to clean out your ears B. and Crag will appear when the coast is clear to fuck it up like we always do and that's the trick saying some shit to make the ladies wanna have our kids but it's an everyday thing, communicating to yall with the LA slang Pudge mic'ing shit lovely in the apartment and B. with beers fresh from the corner market showtime, so keep the rhymes tight, you can drink all night, just no fucking up, aiiight I got a brew in my hand with a hell of a grip, a grown man and you can't tell me shit bad chick in a black Denali with two friends, a perfect time to bring the show to an end cuz if you're a fly lady then I'ma hang with ya, and if you're with your man then I'm ten bucks richer Two B. and Malkovich emcee, BLX, Halifax and the VJC

Falling off the brink, note on the fridge "I flew the Pinto to hell and dinner's thawing in the sink" gelatin monsters take over planet Earth front page update, right underneath the recipe for a broccoli souffle (touche) I stabbed the mad Frenchman and his henchmen left him yelling like Venkman on the seventh floor, yelling like he just saw Skeletor yelling like he slammed his hands in four foot metal doors I drop metaphors and females feel 'em like menopause, life-changing quite strange and at the same time it's lovely it's like game but it ain't game, it's just me much steez so bust these, hit the club musty with a plus three, just me and my trustees.

OK, without a doubt, the man known to turn it out I go from Hammertime to Millertime from a long line of smalltimers that grind till we aught fire real shit, we selling low, buy up. get 'em hooked then bump the shit right up missed the call, was with babydoll, kinda tied up yin-yang off this rapping thing, one-man orchestra orchestrate the big bang, I'm on my shit man I crash a flow like Feds crashing through the window creep like thieves, tiptoeing slow black plimsoles like it's Gitmo, Guantanamo we wanna git mo' so we trot the globe Jack Kerouac, on the road for that pot of gold for a chance to advance I do the impossible Dr. No on tracks and it's like that millennium emcees, the empire strikes back.

So where were you when Miles Davis made hits floating in my daddy's balls, just waiting to be created straight missed ancient Rome, the Great Wall showed up along with payphones and a-bombs last month I was a toddler, rocking a Tonka Willy Wonka and breaking outta my walker four days later I was a fourth-grader wide-eyed, still bugging off of elevator rides on the 16th floor, and now I'm 16, trying to figure out what shit means and it seems this life thing is more than a one-night fling from 19 jumped five six years in an eyeblink mid-twenties and yeah the shit's heavy time's flying and it's more than a little bit scary.

This is failsafe, on some West Coast shit with a hella flow spit and an extra-pro click I lay waste to a paleface, catch me on the railways chilling like the sleeper seat 303, Cinema Paradiso boy from the old world sticks on his promise, vaunts modern economics foreign policies to become the next Hollis, Queens success story except the West bore me Travolta ponytails, get shorty, check shorty all in the sarong, she hella saucy approach genuine, like a gentleman, tell her in this time of life I'm a player, I'm leveling they call me Bugsy, I don't respect money if you're not from the heart, not a word you get from me rep lovely on the track, Sicksteens quarterback the millennium dream team, now who wanna rap...

Well it's the bruiser, bully on the block, track abuser put me off lock, point me at a crowd and watch me move 'em I flew in, superhuman, boosters in my shoes shooting off slugs the size of Cubans out mics cats scottching in car seats and peeling out, wheels screaming loud homeboys, we give 'em pound, fly girls we dick 'em down, man don't try to twist shit around, we been with it clown whipping through your town, drowning your surroundings in sound lounging behind enemy grounds dousing the spot in gasoline, flicking a match and bouncing my style is a cold mountain, an old house with owls in the attic and wolves in the yard howling I came up scrounging, kept my money in a brown tin pennies turned to hundreds, hundreds turned to thousands it's either live kneeling or die standing so I live crouching, waiting for my time to pounce introducing my crowning achievement, my joint takes you through the whole spectrum, we're oiling your joints lyric and business, this is the boiling point on some Luke Skywalker, I drink firewater and chase flying saucers get your mind altered, sly talker out the wine orchard, horrify straight ruck when I erupt, Molokai.

People all applaud and swiping all awards, it's ya man Malkovich and I brought catalog Black 'n Mild, half weed half tobacco style, I blow Os, crack a No-Doz, sit back and smile at a plan gone perfect, ya man gon' work it, I bust and yall hang on to every word spit rookies on the floor, yall don't wanna go to war, we by the door, hoodied up, sharpening our swords black bags round my eyes, backpack on my back carry my life on shoulderstraps, no holding back stagedive off the planet, fuck Earth you can have it, shit's much worse than we ever imagined beasts, we upsurge and burst through the granite beasts, we buck first then survey the damage the mission is religion, so sing if you with it ring finger across my heart, we married to this shit.

Saturday, Phillie Dutch, bumpin Wille Hutch Richard Pryor died, what's really up words fail me so I use them carefully clarity is a rarity, we only see what we care to see and all I see is me - I'm one man G, self-centered and I should be actually, it's policy you gotta be when hanging in the Los City and comedy's just honesty so I get over with a buncha bearhugs and a couple cold shoulders above all I love yall don't forget it but, above yall I love all, that's the lessson kids get moved off the shit that I bring through it's visual, you understand it, it's visceral speaking the language, sneak in the slang shit rhymes rough enough to leave you leaking out a bandage handprints in the sand, a bad wind if John Lennon was still alive, imagine. dreamers dream on, cuz we're gonna be the first ones beyond just keep your G strong keep calm, this is just recon relax your shoulders, soldier, breathe long

Sharpen my teeth on the side of the street lean over, leave bite marks in some white meat like peace I’m slightly out of your reach Ivy League psyche with a Ph.D in fly speech and you might queef at the sight of my fleet Sumkid, Big Pudge, Ali Baba, the elite the move unit, making mood music for your smoke sessions all day, 24-7, no question coyote, do my work all on my lonely a cold wind, I broke in the houses of the holy throwing Stoli bottles, moving on to the gin it’s like Ho Chi Minh, all hoes and heroin a block away I spot my prey and zero in just settle in boy, and take your medicine this is severance pay, your day of reckoning so call your relatives and inform your next of kin.

The dark prince, throwing sharp hints in a nard’s rib your face screw up, looking Quaalude up hot coffee, you can take two lumps big gaps in my raps, rhyming like I gave two fucks Crag Malkovich make you change crews up not to be on no empty rap rhetoric but we know emcees and they be mad delicate take a seat bro, don’t be no hero stay tuned, cuz we’re about to have a breakthrough I fly like the H2, oh, you ain’t know? If you say so, get out the way though no time to waste, throw a fist up for Kaydoe sixteen-bar all-star, trademark to Omni rolling palm trees, vibing off that Don Conti Gandhi car keys, Milx takes the sill cake Malky mixtape infiltrate your milkcrate

With a hardcore mic rock I bust the hip-hop big Crag Malkovich got shit locked Hithcock with a rhyme, kickboxer, spit lava graduated school of hard knocks with honors Inshallah, the job came dangerous we move like park rangers on mile-high blazes playing with razors, I bite down when the pain hits a pinch then one sly eyebrow raises sneaker sole on the cold concrete, I'm running for the gold, live nerve on my shoulder understand, I ain't better I'm just bolder we stand up, visual, we beat the rap like criminals and when cats show love, we act reciprocal Malk managerial, we work miracles in a six-by-two, working on a room with a view.