Super Luv - Ultra

Yo, what’s up I’m Tamika Jones from 'Keep it Real’Magazine, and I’m

about to enter the minds of two of the most controversial rappers of one of the most underrated rap groups of all time, the Ultramagnetic

MC’s.

First, Kool Keith, why in your songs do you always refer to the

words anal and rectum?

And why do you always use the words doo-doo and

pee-pee?

Because that’s what the whole fucking rap industry is.

Besides, I have other words like gorilla, parakeet, giraffe, and

also… monkey

As I strike in your area, shut down close your shops

Your crew got high blood pressure, you still bite on pork chops

Your style is greasy, so what your hair is nappy peasy

I wet your brain and tie your penis to the two train

Drag you down the tracks, spray paint like artifacts

With the rest of your crew, tied and smeared with dog doo-doo

You know my trash bags are packed, lick my nut sacs

Emcees are still wack, on the new smell like mildew

Gimmicks is your plan, strategy is stop your marketing

When you rhyme the mic steps from the socket and

You could never be classic, your rappin skill’s plastic

All that hard and mean look I’ll get your ass kicked

Pistol whupped like a bitch, get smacked by your pimp

Your steelo’s undercover, corny on the real brother

Keep that mop down, just like your album sound

You flop, no niggas bound to make my head bop

So save that cartoon shit for Saturday

Everything is booty

Between your legs you sport a cootie

Don’t fuck with me Holy anal catastrophe Kool Keith, that’s fucking amazing!

But I think

your fans will want to know how you’ll accomplish this.

Can you

explain this to me?

With the A1 6600 phone detector

Y’all can’t tap my shit, eavesdropping in the projects

Missiles dropped, your narrow hard times stories flop

I’ll throw grenades and blow your rectum out your fucking block

Hush town, your staircase becomes a mental town

Cover your peephole, wires reach bombs in your window

Your elevator stopped, your bubblegum sitting below

I thought so, your verbal shit wasn’t fucking pro

Go flush your toilet, crack the bowl, see the fucking bomb

Three seconds flat your fucking chest splatters in your palm

Iranian arab with muslim bells on my face

Skeleton bones, I stash bazookas in the chicken place

My helmet’s from haiti, infrared’s at my house

Uptown bronx with cheese traps for you fucking mouse

Federal tax bullshit I light your real estate

Raw in to stop (?), your asshole’s tied to a milk crate

Suck my nuts with dual tube night vision goggles

Biological agents blew Waco Texas

Dynamite’s packed in trunks, alarms on your Lexus

Suck my dick for real, my 44 mag is steel

I’ll catch you out there, your crew’ll have grey hair

Super luv, super luv, baby, super luv, superman, superman luv, lois

lane, superman luv, superman.