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.