I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
Mic check y’all
Report to the floor
The crowd wanted more so I came in the door
The great Rakim, papermates to the pen
Knowledge is born and a light strikes again
Elements burst and gave birth to the verse
Get the pen from the nurse and hook the mic up first
When it absolutely positively has to be there on time
I deliver a rhyme
Now here come hip-hop, hop to this one
I got more kid, they hate to miss one
Style got jazz and the crowd’s out of control
‘Cause I’ve got the mic and I’ve got the soul
New York’s own microphone technician
Thoughts’ll give ’em visions, style’ll make you listen
Devastates the ear, my opponents can’t see me
I gave ’em directions, but wrote it in graffiti
But they wanna know my m.o. ease back though
They want the exact flow, then study my steelo
Sketch the skit, but they still can’t see what I did
I heat the mic up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
Then I explode with a song with a original form
Or I’ll perform it at high mode, they want the code
Destroyed the blueprints and documents and hits
Crews been, um, looking for clues ever since
Beats start brewing up, rhymes is rough
Stages and microphones self-destruct
And when you thought you had the format down pat
You get kicked back to the doormat with that
‘Cause I’ve got a high tech style with know-how
Select the file, watch the crowd go wild
Bad beats to bless; females’ finessed
Points I stress cause a cardiac arrest
Mics too hot for you to hold in your hand
Now they sell ’em with built-in fans and mic stands
Mine still overheats, if you touch it you can see what I did
I heat the mic up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
If there’s opponents that wanna rap, tell ’em ease back
I’ve got a knapsack with hip hop attacks
Stacks of artifacts, formats interact
Tracks at the max, and you can’t relax
Rakim’s equipped with penmanship
That my pen make, I’ve been graduatin’ from Penn State
I could take any trade and make a high grade
Even get extra credit when the rhyme’s displayed
As soon as I manifest, they cheat off my test
Surround my desk and then stress the progress
But they miss the point, forget the skit
I’ll bust your lip if you flip the script
Brother’s ain’t cool and I’ma smoke up the room
And I’ve got a crew called the last platoon
Figure it out, kid, problems coming
Emcees are running ’cause I’m the gunman
Extremely dangerous I bust rhymes into the crowd
And watch ’em all scream out loud
Aw man, and then I slam like a batter-ram
Ra got the plan with your favorite jam
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up, kid
I keep the mic hot, I heat it up
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