*He-Here's a rough jam for your phonograph ?* *Yes Yes Y'all* *Uh uh uh yeah!*

*Bust that!* *Uh huuh!* *B-boy scratches, beats and rhymes*

*Ladies and gentlemen* *In-Introducing* *Abdominal*

*Sit and observe: The microphone mangler, MC Strangler*

*Ladies and gentlemen, here is your host*

[Abs:] Hit the ground munning, every movement calculated

Lethal mechanism, complete with laser calibrated

Precision Abdominal, streamline rap machine

But no need for any gasoline

I run clean fuelled by windpower

An infinite resource, over coursed the valve on, too

Voraciously like an asthmatic spermwhale

My breath the wind, my lung to sail

The deep blue sees be this Format

Beat, over which I maneuver over shores and reefs

We direct on thymes

Disrespecting times

Stretchiiing lines (*Giving you a dope rhyme*)

Is a bigger sting/big esteem inadequate to argue really gill the same as we're really happenin' here

Calling this rapping milly, more captionatelly

The cassage of appearing on the display anew (*You know I'm saying?*)

No, Format, there's dust on the wax (*The fucking needle, clean it, now put it back*) *scratch*

Ah, thanks for that, Matt, can't you see the ease

With which we communicate seamlessly

Need each other like milk and cereal (*Collaborating and make great material*)

Cause flipping it accapella makes it a tschord of rap (*But I get hype when I write to a Format*)

Beat, we come in tighter than venus flytraps (*Don't try to front, you know I got the fly raps*)

Flyer than a parasinging parakeet wearing para-aviating goggles on his beak

No lies, so fly when I flow by (*Some ask the question why?*)

To which I have to reply, spoke nurturing nature:

Fucking with Abs, you're flirting with danger

Like Icarus flying too close to the sun (*Others hear me, and they don't want none*)

Like DJ's: They get their wax as hot as their candles

(*But you can't* *handle the Format* *Got more soul in their sandals*)

And with samples: Move your spinal

Check the way my madman handles the vinyl

*Scratching*

*Sucker DJ's* *You ain't got the taste*

*Sucker DJ's* *Wha-Wh-What's this*

*The king of Scratch* [2x]

*Nuts, Abs DJ*

*He's a turntable wizard and no other can match*

[Abs:] Format on the two's and ones

Mom's a' rappers are about to lose their sons

Showing for the devastating conclusion

But taking it sounds like seducing nuns

Never happen a clever rapper now gone beat the plan (*Now shit's really gonna hit the fan*)

We come in tighter than a hamster in the clutches of an under fence -snake

(*and when it's over, you'll have a headache!*)

Not to mention the gasp of a breath

Cause the atmosphere when I rap is bereft

Of oxygen rocking from the depths of my chest (*But if I got one breath left?*)

I punch in with the rally that's death

Conclude with the grand finalé, so fresh [Both]"Worldwide"

Fat lady's will sing in unison

B-boys will sally, turn the Puma's in

DJ's 'll stop mixing and scratching, MC's will quit rapping

The graphwriters will have to put the cans down

You'll see smiles on previously sad clowns

Lawyer's will stop prosecuting and defending male prostitutes 'll stop bending

Professors will stop professing

When Roman-Catholics will start confessing

Top executives will stop executing

Electrogears'll quit electrocuting

Government'll stop collecting taxes

The earth will stop spinning on it's axis

Then short: When this rhyme's done

It'll mean the last time's come

So as we sink into the deep blue seas

(*Fade down the beat and let the music cease!*)