[Verse 1: Masta Artisan]
It’s the brotha with such dope verses, but no curses
Whose sole purpose is revealin’ somethin’ that gives you a feelin’ to put your hands to the ceilin’
But don't [?], there’s no need to clutch your purses
Its the Masta, spittin' rhymes with lethal precision
Its so dope, ya’ think ya’ need a needle to stick it
But the rapper who tests me will need a physician
To get the bozo out of the fetal position
Yeah
Its like a wallop when they play my single
And my style gets all up in your face like wrinkles
Yet my rhymes are beyond nice
‘Cause they couldn’t catch me slippin’ if they saw me trippin’ on ice
‘Cause every day, new rhymes get thought up by my cranium
But I only spit the ones that go harder than titanium
To be known as the kid who wove words the nicest
Make rhymes connect like Rube Goldberg devices
With the impact of Mack Trucks, in fact
You should back up if you feel your neck convulse
And if I don’t rip the mic with the type of spit you like, that gets you hype
Then you might have to check your pulse
Or you might be a person who likes to be contrarian, right?
Well, if you feel like my rhymes are ordinary, then I suggest you wait for the people to applaud it
And for your friends to keep asking you, “why haven’t you bought it?”
Then you finally do
Stand back in amazement as these joints drop so hard they leave a crack in your pavement
And when you hear those who try to, in fact, bite the flow
Take some drama lessons and act like you know whose the Masta
[Chorus: (?)]
Oh, yeah, its about that time
To break out those amazing rhymes
And the beats that make your body rock
And if you’re sleepin’ on me, that’s your alarm clock
So, wake up and give up the [?]
And respect that I tell the truth
‘Cause the one time I’ll say you’re better than me
Is the one time I’ll be quotin’ you, ay yo
[Verse 2: Masta Artisan]
These fake rappers claimin’ that they somethin’ wicked
Its such a big stretch a yarn should come with it
Enough of this tedium comin’ out of my medium
If you’re wack, cut the vocals, call it EDM
‘Cause I could easily prepare a list of rappers who are exercisin’ my patience like a physical therapist
‘Cause they spit raps that are so simplistic
You’d think weak rhymes make them more authentic, huh
No, homie, you're just stale and embarrassin’
Think you’re blacker than me, but ya’ pale in comparison
‘Cause I represent African Americans who realize the strength of intelligence
And its time to put the game in a mean grapple
And watch dumb rappers get bitter, like green apples
‘Cause they hear the name and think its pretentious, but let me break it down for the ones who just don’t get this
The “Artisan” stands for what I’m hopin’ you see
A craftsman who happens to be rappin’ over a beat
And its [?] by makin’ this rap, an art form you have to respect, so there’s no– no–
Option for stop until I’m locked in a coffin, and placed high in ya top ten
Often enough that emcees run when they see my silhouette
And if you ask him for a match, you better be tryin’ to light a cigarette
Now, I know a lot of y’all had never heard a style so raw before
They’re still slick as grease on marble floors
Due to the fact that ya’ new to the rap style I gotcha in
‘Cause most of whatcha lost up in is composed of thug posturin’
Imagine if they’d never see me, like I was oxygen
So they get caught up and gossip about the Artisan know it
All of them opposin’ me end up beneath my feet like an ottoman
So kick back with me, and as I rip-rap quickly
Make sure you can catch what I’m throwin’ like a passed frisbee
So when you hear somethin’: spectacular vernacular smackin’ up on wack rapper who thinks he’s bad enough
And they askin’ ya’, “who was the challenga" who made that made that favorite rapper wanna quit writin’ longer than JD Salinger?”
Point out the guy droppin’ jewels like a fallen treasure chest
Tell ‘em to check a rhyme, and take a clever guess
‘Cause…
[Bridge: Masta Artisan]
The Masta’s in control (that’s right, you [?] if you come)
After know your [?] ([?] ‘cause I’m)
Masta’s in control (that’s right, you [?] if you come)
After know your [?] ([?])
[Chorus: (?)]
Oh, yeah, its about that time
To break out those amazing rhymes
And the beats that make your body rock
And if you’re sleepin’ on me, that’s your alarm clock
So, wake up and give up the [?]
And respect that I tell the truth
‘Cause the one time I’ll say you’re better than me
Is the one time I’ll be quotin’ you, ay yo
Oh, yeah, its about that time
To break out those amazing rhymes
And the beats that make your body rock
And if you’re sleepin’ on me, that’s your alarm clock
