Here are the correct lyrics: Beyond Belief, man! Aha, beyond your reach, man! Yeah! K-Salaam, Beatnick, Yo! Remain very still, legendary skill, ’till the day I’m dead and buried, I’ll be very ill. Son Keri Hill, and I will kill when I feel it necessary for a petty thrill, Colder than a February chill, with the wind chill, I’ve got the street talking, non-stop, with you It’s like their lips have been sealed, wisdom instilled! I turn heads like a spinning windmill That’s a fitted pinwheel That’s a new era, true terror! I’m about whatever, whenever you want it, I’ll give it to whoever New get up, new leather, new shoes, new sweater, Do get up on your YouTube views, whose better than I? Reppin’ NY, Sarah Lee salary stacking Entenmanns pies Cake are the words piling Benjamins high So don’t give me three thou’, give me three stacks of Andres And these cats are entrees, I should give rappers the beats, But I’ll leave that to Kanye, Bombay Sapphire-fueled Rap satire, spat by a, rap sire, smack fire out’cha In my all black attire…talkin all that smack, fall back Or watch all that back fire Back by ya popular demand Rappers couldn’t see me with an ocular exam or binoculars Hot phlegm from my esophagus Top ten recording from the Rock to Metropolis. Blunt lit, dutch filled, chock full of chocolates Got me feeling mellow, but I’m normally the opposite. Nice like Jigga but I’m born to be the novelist, Christ-like figure, bring the dawn of the Apocalypse! School of Hard Knocks I got a scholarship, Top of my class, I got a doctorate, ya dig? Call me Jehovahs cause my name rings bell, You fly, well I hope your fucking plane wings fail Your skinny jeans bust by the lining in your crotch And the diamonds in your watch and your chainlink melts You lames thinkin everything’s swell All right, let me catch the owner of that blog site in a bar fight You dudes with the usernames are the hugest lames Writing on your forum, I’m writing something for them Lighting up the bong, writing up a storm Y’all are in some shit like you’re piping up the wrong hole raw with the wrong hoe Don’t get it twisted like a cornrow Kill combo, K Sallam let the song go! Beatnick! I, I got the street I, I got the street I, I got the street Talking, non-stop! With you it’s like their lips have been sealed! (x4)