Language Arts

Enter the bragin, Q-Leechan from the providence of hip-hop

Do bodily damage like a combination kick-chop

Teacher Sifu Herc and Sensei Bambaatasan

Since I've studied techniques just to drop the kata bomb

With Jeet Kune flow, way of the intercepting rhyme

Battle to the last breath or till my adversary declines

I've trained in weapons, mic chucks and deadly spinning vinyl

The drunk munk breathing aerosol till I'm a krylon wino

Unorthodox over traditional I may condone it

Respectfully bow but never take your eyes off your opponent

Square off as I mentally prepare in my rap stance

Defeat is a Buddah opportunity 'cause that's a fat chance

You write the white belt and flow slow like Tai Chi

I'm like Freddie Fox(xx) possessed by the dragon, y'all won't fight me

Your side kicks don't move me, and seem to have no flavor left

So I drop the flow Kashugi and have them all pray for death

Train till the sample's done. flip with weight like Samo Hung

No need to handle guns, watch and see me make this mammal run

At the end of it all, I'll retire undefeated

Live by the mountain side and write a book of Five Rings for you to read it

Training, balance

Focus, challenge

Meditate, silence

Skill, talent

Broken patterns

Have a seat and play your part

You must learn to accept defeat

"Check my language arts"

(Ha ha ha ha ha.)

We meet again young Choy

I will now take you down with the six steps of b-boy

There is no way you'll overcome my 1200 turning techniques

or take out my pen-fist punchlines, your beginner styles are too weak

My fat cap burner kicks'll go over your toy throw-ups

You have a lot of guts, I'm even suprised you showed up

but still. we'll write fight to the first strike or rhyme battle to the very end

And if I am to die, my loyal students will take the revenge

Direct confrontation with Grandmaster number seven

Push past and catch a blast from my right fist of legend

In a kombat with mortals I play the part of Lui Kang

Confuse you like Manderan slang and balance out the hip-hop like Yin Yang

Chasing fallen rap monks till they run far

Have me resort to animal instincts like Hung Gar and Flung a ninja star

Aimed at the head of an A&R white belt whose fight felt unskilled

Surrounded by a class of records execs and got them killed

Taste my own blood a lash out in a rage

My 'bo staff' is the microphone stand, my 'dojo' is the stage

It's the year of the Q, mark that on your calendar

A double clap at the end of the battle means bring on the next challenger