''12 Ultramagnetic MC's – Bust the Facts (1992)

A yes yes y'all, and you don't stop
You're listening to the sounds of the best MC in the world, Kool Keith!

I got a flyer in my hand, Bambaataa with Cold Crush
The place is packed, with Johnny Wa and Rayvon
Lovely ladies smelling sweet with a lot of Avon
Jazzy Jay by my side, Charlie Chase behind me
Flash and Theodore, super cuts that blind me
"Catch a Groove" is the rhythm, spinning back and forth
From the East and the Valley, swinging back up North
Towards the South Bronx, to Cedar Park and Webster
The speakers are pumping, power bass is thumping
With the Ultra mega amp, keeping pep up jumping
From side to side, the double meters have peaked
They had some good MC's, a lot of them they was weak
They had no style with no metaphor, no voice to speak
Melle Mel had the best rhymes, ranking with Caz
Kool Moe tried to get down, but I made him sit down
With that metaphor quickness, you bite and you bit this
Stop and go turn, see the flame and go burn
To ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Seven years later toy you still crusty crust
Your old rhymes are rust, very dirty and dusty
And under your arms you're kicking power and musty
Get out of my way, and let the rhythm path roll
Let me run up the charts, freak a rhyme turn gold
While you're listening, I throw a buzz in your ear
Bust the facts!

Now swing a partner around, dosey-dosey
Like musical chairs and ring around the rosie
The party you pay see, Kool Herc with Jay Cee
The Herculoids battle, The Disco Twins
Funky rhymes with breakbeats, the DJ spins
 For the L Brothers, stepping right in the scene
Mean Gene was maxing, Rockin' Rob went to work
While the tables would turn, the old needles used to jerk
With the belt drive, Technics and B-1's
With the orange light shining, the red on D-1's
Direct drive and Nova, I'm chilling with G.L.O.B.E.
Mr. Biggs and Pow-Wow, Monk and Superman
Pulling out that Olde E, that funky funky 40 ounce
Ikey C from Cosmic, the bass bottom bounce
Red Alert in the booth, the T-Connection to mix
Silly rabbit.. you know my style has tricks
To go on, to the next line, to the break of dawn
While I move up step, to the early early morn
With a hip-hop drink and some rhyme popcorn
Never smoking or sniffing or ever joking or riffing
Because it's time to plex more, and rhyme fantastic
Dota-Rock and Whipper Whip, neither rapper was plastic
Back in the days, you had to be so sarcastic
To stretch out a rhyme, and make it double elastic
You learn new jack, step back and be wack
You know what time it is boy, and every mic I smoke
Bust the facts!

Later on at the Boys Club, while time excel
I got a name for your brain that surely rings a bell
Patti Duke had the nice hands, swift with Billy Boy
Playing James Brown records, you stupid you silly boy
Bongo Rocking, hard where the rhythm go
You fake and pass, Busy Bee give and go
To the AJ Skratch, a funky beat that matched
With a two-second break, that was hard to catch
DST was mixing, slicing with his elbows
Freaking the wheels, looping rhymes, here we go
To the master faster, speed up and go faster
Turn my JVC to mega power and blast
The Mario tape, yes The Disco King
Where the beats had the funky drums, no new jack swing
Happy rappers with polka dots, were bound to get stuck
You had the Zulus the Nine Crew, you're pushing your luck
The Casanovas was maxing all scheming to duck
You had The Black Spades, plus The Savage Skulls
Gangbanging was over, neither crews exist
They got a job and a wife, a pretty woman to kiss
So on the rhymes kept rolling, straight up into disco
Eddie Cheeba with Sweet G, and back up to Cisco
Afrika Islam, with the Great Love Squids
Spinning high-top beats, can you check it, you dig
Kool Keith out smoking, my lyrics are hot
Bust the facts!