Hit the Deck
((written by Brian Neil Smith, Dave Willard and Ryan Tilly)

your rap band broke up but i wouldn't call it tragic, cuz
you say you got the mad flow, but all i hear is static, so let me on the
mike so i can work a little magic, never sweat shit cuz my rhymes are automatic
back the fuck up, and shut the fuck up, and don't say nothin' as i
fuck your shit up, you can't stop frontin' can you?
MC FIRE and there's nothing that i can't do, takin' this shit up to the next level
about to explode like a boiling tea kettle, checkin' out my flow
cuz they always want more, but they're is just no break when they're lined up at the door
so you wanna know how i got my groove back, it's corporate america
that's givin' me the greenbacks, so step right up, and dry those eyes up
and take notice how i light this mic up
always nickel and dimin' or fuckin' flossin' diamonds, the same ol'
tired lyric, of bustin' out the hymens, throwin' 'em on the mantle like a
trophy piece, the lies are livin' large, are passe', they've deceased
everybody hit the deck, when the beat is thumpin', the bass is pumpin',
the crowd is jumpin' everybody get down, let me tell ya'll something
when we're on the mic you know we don't stop for nothing
from the corner of the eye i see you sneakin' by
I holler pack it up, and let my fists fly
i feel it getting hotter in the pressure cooker cuz tillys got
more hooks than johnny lee hooker, look out.
it's only a matter of time before your singing our songs, so don't tell me how to rhyme
when we're doin' it wrong, we jumped off the charts, yo! we didn't belong
all you critics are cynics, c'mon bring it on.
the taste of couvasier it makes me nauseated,
trite mcs always sweatin' on how they're rated
so drop all the fronts, facades, and all the show,
and see if you can stand up to my pasty white flow
<chorus>Fuckin- motherfuckin' shit son-of -a bitch, gotta get a girl or two to soothe my
itch, cpr crew we're coming off without a hitch, i'm pickin' up stitches, must
be the season of the witch
it's hopeless all you think about is a dopefest, your pipe's
got wonderful grafix, won't you know that it's smokeless, get your
head out the clouds, back with me on the ground, with my tent
revival crew i'll be making my rounds
hold up crew, let us get on the same page
i don't think i can cuz i'm caught in a rage, a sage is born,
we gotta get on track, gotta prove it to the people that
CPR is back, but i'm that way, i'm
this way, musical dismay, so push play and crave the beats that
we display, through you're speakers and into your home
passin' through the airwaves and into your dome, let it sink in with the
revolution tone, if we bottled our sweat we could sell it as cologne
'cash till, you soooo bad!'