West Coast Wu-Tang

[Kendrick Lamar:]
Whoo Ha!
Backpack raps with gats in it
Don't get your cap peeled by the black menace
K-Dot thoroughbred
Move like a militant soldier, on point like a pyramid
A forced to be reckoned with, fuck with the best shit
Like the strongest manure, I'm ready when you are
This is it, I'm in the lab cooking up all day
Fuck 'em up all day like a nympho
I been dope since S curl waves
Trying to convince hoes I got good hair
Knowing damn well there's chemicals there
I'm in the hood with the 17 year-olds that's on hood patrol
And they want stripes, so they shoot off bikes
And you know any moment you can lose your life
So kiss your kids and hug your wife, and what not yo
I spar with a dragon, he tried to throw a flame
But I ducked, then I stabbed him and came out the battle laughing
That's a metaphor for any rapper who wants it
I smack 'em til their nose is running
You know the hoes is coming if I'm there
And the hoes is cumming once we hit the hotel
There's no assumptions
Cool out before I move out, hop on the 105
Do about 105 before your ass gets threw out the back seat
(There's a dead guy on the freeway)
Oh, It's not Dot? Tell the medics it's okay
A beast when the beat break
You probably think I'm dope like this the realest shit I wrote
But to me, it's a throw-away
I stare at the four walls and rap like I'm mad at God
Nice enough to throw a spear at Nas
Launch at Jay, matter fact, let me take that back
See I don't fuck with real legends in rap like you do
I'm crucial, concealed by real crips and suwoo
And they shoot like photography students when beef gets to brewing

Is it real, son? Is it really real, son?
Is it really real, son? Is it really real?
Tell me how you feel, son. Tell me how you feel, son
Tell me how you feel, son. Tell me how you feel
You rappers got nothing for me when Sound-Sounwave record me
Every MC, I'm sure to rip them, I guarantee you will forgive them

[Ab-Soul:]
Come again, no introduction, you know my name
Soul brother, Dueces suck the juice from my ding-a-ling
Orangutan arms banging niggas like a set
When I speak, they fucking silent like sex for the deaf
Violence, I play it like violins in the orchestra
Treat you like vitamins then spit you back out
Like a verse I had way back before I had it mapped out
Rip a page out the Almanac then cross reference when I wreck shit
I wish jaw bone fractures on all of you rappers bumping your gums
Like the measles when the record meets the needle
Heads spinning like a twelve-inch, Smoking the best Celtic
Like I shot Larry Bird, follow my word
Big Herb, I'll with it, I need a hospital gown
You need 54 cards, deal with it
You may think I'm killing it, but I'm healing it
Like a bitch in the club, Shoe game

[Punch:]
Ay yo yo, the flow potent
Who's more focused? Kick doors open
Deliver the golden opus leave with two guns smoking
It's me, the podium closing, a poet well-spoken
The gropes is most consistent with imminent penmanship
Mind-bending, co-existing with the written
Verbal assassin, Internally smashing, Spazzing on tracks
Translation, I'm disgusting in action
A lyrical glutton busting over Sounwave productions
Y'all don't want nothing, The sum of all fears
Mercury rising, I'm summer all year
I sixteen 'em to death and wish them the best
I guess that's the gift and a curse, You see my pattering
Y'all still rapping like that's what's happening
I write rhymes with fire on stone tablets
Peep the malice, I'm a monster
Ya Boy running like William Joseph Crawford touche

[Kendrick Lamar:]
Is it real, son? Is it really real, son?
Is it really real, son? Is it really real?
Tell me how you feel, son. Tell me how you feel, son
Tell me how you feel, son. Tell me how you feel
You rappers got nothing for me when Sound-Sounwave record me
Every MC, I'm sure to rip them, I guarantee you will forgive them

Straight up, Don't get ate up
Put rappers in quicksand, Dot leaned on 'em like kickstands
I'm so hot, kids put me in their iPod
Even atheists play my shit and say, "My God, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, he's nice"
Don't compare me to them, just compare me to Mike Jordan
When I record and the verse and the chorus is ill
You can land in lab of fortune when biting my skills, playa'
Watch I lay-up bar after bar like I'm trying to build a gate up
See me on the way up like an elevator, I'mma let you take the stairs
That metaphor meaning I'm already there (Greatness)
I'm in the booth with an apron
Cooking up shit like Martha Stewart was my bitch, Amen
Stay on the curb like a spray day tan?
Blowing herb with my nigga Herb, Fuck what you niggas heard
We the new West Coast Wu Tang bitch and I'm the best
Think less, You can suck my dick
Who from the West can kill it like us? Give me their name
Now I take 'em to the house of pain, Top Dawg headquarters

Is it real, son? Is it really real, son?
Is it really real, son? Is it really real?
Tell me how you feel, son. Tell me how you feel, son
Tell me how you feel, son. Tell me how you feel
You rappers got nothing for me when Sound-Sounwave record me
Every MC, I'm sure to rip them, I guarantee you will forgive them