Beasts From the East Songtext
von Lost Boyz

The forecast: showers heavy at times with occasional thunderstorms today, and a high of 89 degrees. Partial clearing tonight with a low of 74.

(Word up. The cop said to me, "Yo kid! Damn!")

Yo, we come through like Bulls, see niggas takin two pulls and pass
Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass
I pack a .380 in my stash for protection
Family deranged, the world is acting crazed
I never thought I′d make it, it was hectic when I scrambled
On point like a knife I'm takin life as a gamble
Livin in the rotten apple, ayo where every core is rotten
All my niggas rest in peace you see you gone but not forgotten
Now my main wifey, dead as shady chicks
Official Lost Boy since the year of ′86
And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill 'em with the passion
At times I feel like slashing in Jamaica Queens fashion
You think, you can fuck around, but kid you just thinking
It's over when I′m sober, imagine when I′m drinking
Without blinking man, I'll tear your crew like pages
I′ll rip you from the backyards, puff chants in stages


A+ the lyrically superb one
Spittin rhymes off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drum
Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out
Knockin niggas three time my size out
The crowd loves me, so when I ain't around they ask for me
I buckle up and catch wreck like a crash dummy
For the fast money, I get up in that ass money
The fact you tryin′ to test me kinda bugs me
I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryna get up
Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets
I blow up the spot when it's time to rock
I speak out my voice box′ll peak out at a hundred watts
Who wanna cipha? I get dumb
Word to my mother, the Father, the Holy Ghost and Rev. Run
When it's all said and done, I end the service
Get cocked in the type ofs average emcees worship


Yo yo yo, yo big dog turn the track up
(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get peeled)
Yo fake emcees step to the rear
Real emcees bring this shit up north
(Fuck how you feel, fuck with the lyrical skills and get.)
My style is Milk of Magnesia, clutch defies speeding bus
The more the merrier, secure the area
My life familiar, is ultimate superior
We don't jack cars, we jack for aircraft carriers
I bounce like trampolines, when I be blowing the fiends to pieces
Hem ′em like sewing machines and Jesus
When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my boy Camaro
I get punished like pharaoh for splittin′
You better off singing Christmas carols for Christmas
because I'm on point like bow and arrow, equipment
The president of chicken head conventions
I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynchin′
I got a headache from the, stress success not wearing a vest
5-11 for being dirty, quartz at 9: 30
Yo, Mr.Cheeks, I made this bitch call police
She tried swallowing the nine piece
but got a warranty on false teeth
I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirellis
Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready
Sharp as machetes
Matter of fact I slap from cognac and keep the beef heavy

The Canibus brings the sickest drama
Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor
I smack bitches for tryin to suck dick through a condom
Playing with the mic is something I won't do
My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you
I smoke you and whoever you standing close to
and make every man in your crew deny that he knows you
Defeating, niggas like Segal Steven
Putting emcees in, positions to prevent ′em from breathing
I'll make you question any and everything you′ve ever believed in
by peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers
What's the matter with y'all, I splatter y′all
against the motherfucking wall with these raw lyrics I catapult
None of y′all got the balls big enough to battle
I go On & On like Erykah Badu
A hundred times nicer than the best there's
Twice as African as KRS is, who wanna test this?
Fuck y′all you don't impress me and no one can test me
A emcee so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me
All that shit you popping′ll stop, when I put you in a headlock
and apply pressure 'til I crush your motherfucking noggin
I grab mics and push niggas to the left
so fast they hearts end up on the right sides of your chests
My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this
lyrical genius, I got it sewn like a seamstress
But if you want to battle, I′m down
If you got nine lives, I'll take eight of them off your hands right now
Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear
If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard
I'm the illest from Queens to the New Jerusalem Briddicks
Anyone who ain′t feeling my shidick can suck my didick
You need to quit it, if you ain′t spitting
more than 50 bars per minute cause you ain't in lyrical fitness
Kicking boring raps with metaphors that′s wack
All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack
to get ya weight up, fucking with Canibus you get ate up
Beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up
Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age
Back in the days before Bob Marley was rocking a fade
Before Honest Abe signed the paper that freed slaves
Before Neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves
I existed, in the Garden of Eden and getting lifted
Sticking dick to Eve before she was Adam′s mistress
Before Christ created Christmas, I been in lyrical fitness
The Canibus is spitting 'til he′s spitless
50 bars of total sickness, you won't forget this
I'm putting every wack emcee alive on my shit list
Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted
Took you a minute, to exhibit that I′m sick wit it
Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit
Going once, going twice, sold! to that nigga named Canibus
Me and Mr.Cheeks, A+, and Funk Doctor
hopping out the Huey helicopter to suey chop ya

Group Home and Def Squad
9-7 nigga