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