[Verse 1]
I think fast, switch fast, quick fast, quick as
Immigrants say, "No habla ingles", at border-patrol fences
Messin' with Canibus is senseless
Divide my senses by six and you'll end up with triple sixes

And triple the digits mean triple the spirits
My light body to the third power will triple my lyrics
I'm triple the threat, I'm triple my physical flesh
I'm telling you, put your money on me, then triple your bet
‘Cause I won't be satisfied 'til I'm set
'Til I got a triplex out in Tribeca with the skyline effect
Rhyming is the nine-to-five that I manipulate best
Eight hours of writing and memorizing a manuscript
Called "The Biography of Canibus," subtitled "The Ultimate Guide for Teaching Modern Man How to Spit"
How to tongue-twist, how to enunciate certain shit
How to control your breath, how to make your syllables spit

Y'all niggas ain't listen to Bis, I kill ‘em with shit
I'm wicked with this, I should be selling tickets to this
Paparazzi should probably be taking pictures of this
My fans in the street with signs tryin' to picket for this
Saying, "We want ‘Bis! We want ‘Bis!
We want the rapper with the illest lyrics!"

My dedication and my commitment's beginning-less
I can go four quarters or nine innings for this
Go twelve rounds, play two days of cricket for this
Lead crusades across Europe, like the Christians for this
The notion I'm dedicated is an understatement

My rhymes are out of this world like the Russian space-station
Sneak-attack rappers, grab 'em and slash 'em
Chop their heads off with claws sharper than velociraptors
Hunt 'em, like Jurassic Park actors
But spare Samuel Jackson's life
‘Cause he was the only black one
Action-packed like Shaft, the black assassin
Blastin' the .753 backwards Magnum

Follow me down the road to Damascus
Do not follow these madmen, poppin' ecstasy pills like aspirin
I and I come fe manifest the most high
Drink a gallon of cyanide and still cannot die

Niggas want to lock the ‘Chronicles of Canibus' away forever
And put my book of rhymes through a shredder
Never, I'm way too clever the way I manoeuvre
Beat your ass, like Lennox Lewis did to David Tua
In front of a hundred-million pay-per-viewers
Your career is ruined
Your face will be swollen, like the Benihana Buddha
Bring it to ya, prove you're a loser
Beyond the length of this rhyme you have no future
Pounce upon you, like a puma or some wild cougars
In the jungle with my adrenaline juices flowing through 'em
I'ma reprogram everything that you're doin'
Hypnotize the audience you perform in front of to start booin'
You're stupid, you and your whole crew are extremely foolish
I can't cipher with you, ‘cause your breath is too putrid
Put your mic down and step away from it!
Shut your motherfucking mouth and don't say nothin'!

You have the right to remain silent
Sentenced to life on Rikers Island for terrible freestylin' [Verse 2]
I heard a rumor English women make love the best
Is that true?
‘Cause I ain't had no justice yet
A lot of clowns keep arguing on who the best is
Bite the style but can't digest it
'Til they get karate-kicked in the mouth
And their teeth get ejected
Told you to watch who you beef with on the last record

Platinum teeth? I sell them for a thousand pounds a piece
You buy one back and you get one free

Put it down in the East, put it down in the West
Put it down on paper, put the paper down on the desk
In the studio is where I put it down to the test
It's nothing but skull-crushing pressure down at them depths
Throw a rough mix down, download it to disk
Give a copy to everybody that's down with Bis

Since '96, the Dogg Pound Remix
First time anybody put me down to spit
It's like Pac Man, don't stop, 'til I hear my voice
Banging up and down the block in a Magnavox
With a hundred watts
Creating ripples in the water, like aquanauts
Breathing through their oxygen-box

I belong on top of the pops, not on the bottom with rocks
I mean, honest to God, I'm shocked
I thought the album was hot

I guess you can't write an infinite rhyme with a finite mind
That's why rhymes like mine mystify mankind
A lot of rappers are ahead of their time
But when it comes to rhymes like mine
The word "time" doesn't apply

You see, rhyming is the art
The microphone is the paintbrush
Responsible for getting the point across
The canvas is the street, where the Master of the Ceremony paints the picture for everybody to see
Nobody could rhyme this fluent
Nobody ever did what I'm doin'
Nobody ever spit what I'm spewin'
I'm the illest alive and I'ma prove it, plus I've got to show the people that I've got mad love for Rap music
I bury MC's with rosary beads
A picture of their wife and their seeds and a picture of me

I'm as graceful as the left hand of Rembrandt
Put some instrumentals on
And ask my pen to dance; I'm such a gentleman
Pull out chairs, open doors, never offend my fans

Unless they offend me and I lose my temper, man

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