| Verse 1： | |
| Yo, Yo, Aye Yo! | |
| I stand outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, selling reefer | |
| Puffing a challice with the Beefeaters | |
| Gettin so high that whenever I drop shit | |
| It'll land on the window of your airplane cockpit | |
| Canibus with the hot shit, 'Crazy I. Click' | |
| Niggas is bloody idiots thinkin that they can stop this | |
| I'll increase my strength, to a super human extent | |
| Nigga your rhyme ain't worth sixpence | |
| And if you can hear, smell, see, touch, and taste.... | |
| Then you don't need six senses to feel me punch you in the face | |
| From Princeton, to Clapham Common | |
| my lyrics invade Europe like Joseph Stalin | |
| and murder niggaz for rhymin, spittin fire | |
| With gasoline filled saliva, drunk as Lady Diana's driver | |
| with reporters behind her, alcohol in the hands of | |
| a minor - I got you panicking like bombs, with 30 second timers | |
| Clear the building, evacuate women and children | |
| Fuck what you feelin nigga I came here to kill em | |
| Straight shittin', from New York to Great Britain, | |
| And when we do shows we make the Queen pay admission | |
| What! | |
| Chorus: | |
| Canibus: When I say 'Can-I' you say 'Bus' | |
| Canibus: Can-I | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: Can-I | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: When I say 'Can-I' you say 'Bus' | |
| Canibus: Can-I | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: Can-I | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Yo, yo | |
| Prepare for the worst, this next verse is the face of death | |
| Me without lyrics is like a porn flick without sex | |
| Illmatic, my lyrical skills are Jurassic | |
| With more flavor then skittles when not digitally mastered | |
| I go off like a cannon, and blow up the planet with 'No Fear' | |
| Like them clothes white boys be wearing | |
| I'm tougher than denim, lethal like venomous snake bites | |
| The marijuana makes my eyes bright red like brake lights | |
| There ain't a party I couldn't rock, believe that | |
| There ain't a microphone brave enough to give me feedback | |
| I'm strong my word is 'Bond' like James | |
| Niggas be tryin' to test but they 'week' like 7 days | |
| MC's run away when I kick it, they act so chicken | |
| They should come with a large drink and a biscuit | |
| My styles radioactive, massive atomic, I plan to push the Earth | |
| In Front of Halley's comet. Breaking the 'Facts Of Life' down | |
| Like Tudy, I'm raw like sushi, with more vocab, then | |
| Three fucking Fugees. So recognize or be hospitalized | |
| Because lyrically on a scale of 1-10 I'm 25! | |
| Chorus | |
| Yo, yo, a little bit of weed and some Henessey | |
| Got me ready to set it with kinetic energy | |
| See I need much more energy then my enemies | |
| If I wanna make more Bill's then Bellamy | |
| So I could be on MTV, with women constantly telling me | |
| I resemble Billy D. I make fly rhymes to get my name on the scene | |
| And when I'm on the scene I do shows to get the green | |
| Then I take the green by a automobile machine, for | |
| That thing on page 43, in Jet Magazine | |
| Canibus is the ultimate executioner's dream | |
| Swinging the guillotine | |
| Cause whenever the head is severed from the human body | |
| With a sharp enough weapon, the brain remains conscious for 10 seconds | |
| Long enough for me to give you one last message | |
| And when you get to hell you can tell Lucifer I said it | |
| Don't ever get it confused, fuckin with Canibus | |
| the human Rubix Cube like you got something to prove | |
| Yo, whoever grabs the mic after me'll get booed, and get everything | |
| In the club thrown at you and your crew | |
| From moette bottles to bar stools, fruits and foods | |
| If you got a album, out you get hit with your CD too | |
| Runnin' outside, lying, crying, denying that you ain't | |
| The Gay Rapper, but you got fucked by him | |
| What's the difference, ya'll niggas still ain't in lyrical fitness | |
| Too busy mixing your business, with your bitches | |
| While I be in the lab composing forbidden scriptures | |
| So wicked, I Satan ejaculating on his fingers | |
| Like Dirk Diggler, in the middle of Boogie Nights | |
| Sniffin' white livin' the hype, he ruined his life | |
| But I'm a MC of a different type, yeah that's right | |
| Make sure your shit is right, or I'm a snatch your mic | |
| Nigga! | |
| Chorus to fade |
| Verse 1: | |
| Yo, Yo, Aye Yo! | |
| I stand outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, selling reefer | |
| Puffing a challice with the Beefeaters | |
| Gettin so high that whenever I drop shit | |
| It' ll land on the window of your airplane cockpit | |
| Canibus with the hot shit, ' Crazy I. Click' | |
| Niggas is bloody idiots thinkin that they can stop this | |
| I' ll increase my strength, to a super human extent | |
| Nigga your rhyme ain' t worth sixpence | |
| And if you can hear, smell, see, touch, and taste.... | |
| Then you don' t need six senses to feel me punch you in the face | |
| From Princeton, to Clapham Common | |
| my lyrics invade Europe like Joseph Stalin | |
| and murder niggaz for rhymin, spittin fire | |
| With gasoline filled saliva, drunk as Lady Diana' s driver | |
| with reporters behind her, alcohol in the hands of | |
| a minor I got you panicking like bombs, with 30 second timers | |
| Clear the building, evacuate women and children | |
| Fuck what you feelin nigga I came here to kill em | |
| Straight shittin', from New York to Great Britain, | |
| And when we do shows we make the Queen pay admission | |
| What! | |
| Chorus: | |
| Canibus: When I say ' CanI' you say ' Bus' | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: When I say ' CanI' you say ' Bus' | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Yo, yo | |
| Prepare for the worst, this next verse is the face of death | |
| Me without lyrics is like a porn flick without sex | |
| Illmatic, my lyrical skills are Jurassic | |
| With more flavor then skittles when not digitally mastered | |
| I go off like a cannon, and blow up the planet with ' No Fear' | |
| Like them clothes white boys be wearing | |
| I' m tougher than denim, lethal like venomous snake bites | |
| The marijuana makes my eyes bright red like brake lights | |
| There ain' t a party I couldn' t rock, believe that | |
| There ain' t a microphone brave enough to give me feedback | |
| I' m strong my word is ' Bond' like James | |
| Niggas be tryin' to test but they ' week' like 7 days | |
| MC' s run away when I kick it, they act so chicken | |
| They should come with a large drink and a biscuit | |
| My styles radioactive, massive atomic, I plan to push the Earth | |
| In Front of Halley' s comet. Breaking the ' Facts Of Life' down | |
| Like Tudy, I' m raw like sushi, with more vocab, then | |
| Three fucking Fugees. So recognize or be hospitalized | |
| Because lyrically on a scale of 110 I' m 25! | |
| Chorus | |
| Yo, yo, a little bit of weed and some Henessey | |
| Got me ready to set it with kinetic energy | |
| See I need much more energy then my enemies | |
| If I wanna make more Bill' s then Bellamy | |
| So I could be on MTV, with women constantly telling me | |
| I resemble Billy D. I make fly rhymes to get my name on the scene | |
| And when I' m on the scene I do shows to get the green | |
| Then I take the green by a automobile machine, for | |
| That thing on page 43, in Jet Magazine | |
| Canibus is the ultimate executioner' s dream | |
| Swinging the guillotine | |
| Cause whenever the head is severed from the human body | |
| With a sharp enough weapon, the brain remains conscious for 10 seconds | |
| Long enough for me to give you one last message | |
| And when you get to hell you can tell Lucifer I said it | |
| Don' t ever get it confused, fuckin with Canibus | |
| the human Rubix Cube like you got something to prove | |
| Yo, whoever grabs the mic after me' ll get booed, and get everything | |
| In the club thrown at you and your crew | |
| From moette bottles to bar stools, fruits and foods | |
| If you got a album, out you get hit with your CD too | |
| Runnin' outside, lying, crying, denying that you ain' t | |
| The Gay Rapper, but you got fucked by him | |
| What' s the difference, ya' ll niggas still ain' t in lyrical fitness | |
| Too busy mixing your business, with your bitches | |
| While I be in the lab composing forbidden scriptures | |
| So wicked, I Satan ejaculating on his fingers | |
| Like Dirk Diggler, in the middle of Boogie Nights | |
| Sniffin' white livin' the hype, he ruined his life | |
| But I' m a MC of a different type, yeah that' s right | |
| Make sure your shit is right, or I' m a snatch your mic | |
| Nigga! | |
| Chorus to fade |
| Verse 1: | |
| Yo, Yo, Aye Yo! | |
| I stand outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, selling reefer | |
| Puffing a challice with the Beefeaters | |
| Gettin so high that whenever I drop shit | |
| It' ll land on the window of your airplane cockpit | |
| Canibus with the hot shit, ' Crazy I. Click' | |
| Niggas is bloody idiots thinkin that they can stop this | |
| I' ll increase my strength, to a super human extent | |
| Nigga your rhyme ain' t worth sixpence | |
| And if you can hear, smell, see, touch, and taste.... | |
| Then you don' t need six senses to feel me punch you in the face | |
| From Princeton, to Clapham Common | |
| my lyrics invade Europe like Joseph Stalin | |
| and murder niggaz for rhymin, spittin fire | |
| With gasoline filled saliva, drunk as Lady Diana' s driver | |
| with reporters behind her, alcohol in the hands of | |
| a minor I got you panicking like bombs, with 30 second timers | |
| Clear the building, evacuate women and children | |
| Fuck what you feelin nigga I came here to kill em | |
| Straight shittin', from New York to Great Britain, | |
| And when we do shows we make the Queen pay admission | |
| What! | |
| Chorus: | |
| Canibus: When I say ' CanI' you say ' Bus' | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: When I say ' CanI' you say ' Bus' | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Canibus: CanI | |
| Crowd: Bus | |
| Yo, yo | |
| Prepare for the worst, this next verse is the face of death | |
| Me without lyrics is like a porn flick without sex | |
| Illmatic, my lyrical skills are Jurassic | |
| With more flavor then skittles when not digitally mastered | |
| I go off like a cannon, and blow up the planet with ' No Fear' | |
| Like them clothes white boys be wearing | |
| I' m tougher than denim, lethal like venomous snake bites | |
| The marijuana makes my eyes bright red like brake lights | |
| There ain' t a party I couldn' t rock, believe that | |
| There ain' t a microphone brave enough to give me feedback | |
| I' m strong my word is ' Bond' like James | |
| Niggas be tryin' to test but they ' week' like 7 days | |
| MC' s run away when I kick it, they act so chicken | |
| They should come with a large drink and a biscuit | |
| My styles radioactive, massive atomic, I plan to push the Earth | |
| In Front of Halley' s comet. Breaking the ' Facts Of Life' down | |
| Like Tudy, I' m raw like sushi, with more vocab, then | |
| Three fucking Fugees. So recognize or be hospitalized | |
| Because lyrically on a scale of 110 I' m 25! | |
| Chorus | |
| Yo, yo, a little bit of weed and some Henessey | |
| Got me ready to set it with kinetic energy | |
| See I need much more energy then my enemies | |
| If I wanna make more Bill' s then Bellamy | |
| So I could be on MTV, with women constantly telling me | |
| I resemble Billy D. I make fly rhymes to get my name on the scene | |
| And when I' m on the scene I do shows to get the green | |
| Then I take the green by a automobile machine, for | |
| That thing on page 43, in Jet Magazine | |
| Canibus is the ultimate executioner' s dream | |
| Swinging the guillotine | |
| Cause whenever the head is severed from the human body | |
| With a sharp enough weapon, the brain remains conscious for 10 seconds | |
| Long enough for me to give you one last message | |
| And when you get to hell you can tell Lucifer I said it | |
| Don' t ever get it confused, fuckin with Canibus | |
| the human Rubix Cube like you got something to prove | |
| Yo, whoever grabs the mic after me' ll get booed, and get everything | |
| In the club thrown at you and your crew | |
| From moette bottles to bar stools, fruits and foods | |
| If you got a album, out you get hit with your CD too | |
| Runnin' outside, lying, crying, denying that you ain' t | |
| The Gay Rapper, but you got fucked by him | |
| What' s the difference, ya' ll niggas still ain' t in lyrical fitness | |
| Too busy mixing your business, with your bitches | |
| While I be in the lab composing forbidden scriptures | |
| So wicked, I Satan ejaculating on his fingers | |
| Like Dirk Diggler, in the middle of Boogie Nights | |
| Sniffin' white livin' the hype, he ruined his life | |
| But I' m a MC of a different type, yeah that' s right | |
| Make sure your shit is right, or I' m a snatch your mic | |
| Nigga! | |
| Chorus to fade |
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