Text: Erick Sermon. Now Whut's Up.

Yo, now when you hear the name Keith Murray, don't think violence
That's nonsense, me and Meth put that to silence
I'm a product of the streets, master of the breaks and beats
Lyrically headstrong and can't be beat

Triple minded, mentally combineded underground pirate
Microphone tyrant, always comin' sideways
And Topsy turvy, lyrical crash-up derby
Come, Filthy McNasty, pretty gritty dirty

Lyrical sayin' MC slayin', 'Hip Hop Quotable'
Unquotable, sociable thirty-eight caliber style swayin'
Open your mind to visualize what I'm sayin'
The products of the streets don't be playin'

It's a bloody ambush like a dirty douche in ya tush
When I push, push up in ya bush
Superstar status, break off beats, the baddest
Style's the baddest, bring extra clips to stop the madness

Yo, we in the place
(Now whut's up?)
DJ, pick up the pace
(Now whut's up?)
Gyrate, feel the bass
(Now whut's up?)
What the deal, huh?
(Now whut's up?)

Aiyyo we ain't playin' fair no more, there's somethin' new in store
A Hot Boy but not from the 504
New technique to rock the mic
Lyrical 'Blade' sharp like Wesley and N'Bushe Wright

Soundbombin' could be a catastrophe
When NASA blast off, Flex blast off me
E-vincible, rap round your left ventricle
So let's be sensible

E temperamental, quick to dismember you
Wyclef that 'November' you
They wish they can do what I can do
If you could switch brains, you would, wouldn't you?

My style is Mike, Vince, Earvin
Jordan, Carter, Julius, servin'
MC's at will, I'm trickery, Lou ain't stickin' me
A curve ball, Mark ain't hittin' me

Yo, we in the place
(Now whut's up?)
DJ, pick up the pace
(Now whut's up?)
Gyrate, feel the bass
(Now whut's up?)
Yo, what the deal, huh?
(Now whut's up?)

Yo, rapid gunfire destroy ya boys and unemploy some
Put the headphones on your kid like Castor Troy's son
Darts'll damage ya dogs where the U-Haul in my truck
The camera installed, hand upon my balls

Call the morgue, I'm killin' 'em, even Kyle is not feelin' 'em
When I drill 'em with skills of ten Eminems
You feminine, don't even call my name
I stay locked down walkin' with a ball and chain

Put the mac where you tongue at, I done that
These young cats'll get thumbtacked and sent where Big Pun at
Smoke so much, the doc asked where my lung at
I took it out to stash my gun, son run that

Pop mega shit, I pop mega clips
Fuck a system, I keep the heat where your Sega sit
Then I bang the controller 'til the game say, "Over"
In the Bricks, we'll stick ya when ya plane lays over

Yo, we in the place
(Now whut's up?)
DJ, pick up the pace
(Now whut's up?)
Gyrate, feel the bass
(Now whut's up?)
What the deal, huh?
(Now whut's up?)

Yo, y'all know me, maniacs and addicts add it, at it
Venomous addict snake biter, I the, at it
'Cause I'm a little odder at it
In the Ac' with the aircraft and then leave inactive

My alter-ego make niggaz alter their egos
I flow and turn the East coast to one big creep show
South premisy, Filthy-delphia pistol bangers
Pistol changin', pistol bangin'

I lift metal like Lithuanians
Two thousand nail me Sy Scott rap's new insanian
It's humane, punish ya mayn
'Til no skeletal remains remain remain mainly main

To bitten man made disease that's made by man
Crackin' the DNA code to see how God made man
I storm the mainland, scare MC's like slave hands
Put microchips in they wristbands and make 'em rain dance

Lay hands like Mike Strahand
Puttin' ya face and hands in Ace bands
Tryin' to lift more than ya waistband

I travel every shinin' sea, sea and land to finally see
When niggaz land in the error era wherever, forever no error
Easily cut niggaz careers down like ever
Ever forever and ever, don't you ever
Fuck with Sy, Khi and Erick when we come together, what?