Danger

Intro: It's gonna be that, it's gonna be that shit Hook: Lounge homeboy you in the danger zone (x8) Verse 1: Keith Murray is this mic psychosis I break your best rapper off thousands of pieces I'm on some other shit, splittin' wigs with my penmanship Kickin' flows harder then the music So feel in your head and chest then pass it to the next They give it 5 mic checks and all due respect So please fill it up and check the antifreeze Cause this nigga Keith drop mad degrees I launch tomahawk missiles when I talk With promiscuous intelligence like Mr. Roarke From New York into the world over I walk MC's like Jesus walked on water As my airy frequency reigns through the galaxy I easily gets busy in phase 3 I'm the nicest MC on this side of the peninsula Stalkin' the perimeter like a ninja Hook Verse 2: The Def Squad MC's is shitters On your neuro transmitters None quitters, none forgetters Runnin' deep like rivers (word 'em up) what is My delivers, which is, givin' crews the shivers I'm like a mad scientist with this son I concoct some shit that'll bust the sun I got the stunky funky illest funk flow For the glamorous scandalous world of radio So how you want it, head crack, trips or ceelo? I gets root deep like cavity creeps Rockin' motherfuckers directly to sleep A tybarrious rebel without a pause For the cause and no clause, style is the son of noise Peace to the hardcore, the outlaw raw Bug, young blood thugs, smoke a ounce a day to 64 ounce jugs In the realms of the danger Hook Verse 3: Bust the contrast and how I forecast Supersonic hyper phonic goin' on that ass paragraph With the million dollar bionic metaphorical lyrical math Generating off the chronic By cooling in the dark path and the drug wrath of the ath And the ill shit that I craft It's labeled as sick logic to the critics on the didicks But they don't know the half of the half The apparatus status of my madness is I conjure up a new style puffin' ganja, over the hook Causin' more trauma with my mouth then the stealth bomber Killing every style in the book Like it's goin' outta style tomorrow My style is coming from down south and cross yonder I drop the dope shit for masses of non-believers Like spiral passes to butter finger wide receivers As my photo type sound gays leis and hoes my style probe To the farthest reaches of the globe Payin' dues got me cockin' tools, you fuckin' fools I'm rippin' crew and no exception to the the god damn rules This is danger Hook