 Styles, styles, styles, styles, styles... Beyond...
Tribal-style ritual, we dance around the totem,
In a golden ring of fire, bangin' on a war drum,
Anthem of a shaman dominatin', Peyote trance,
Hopscotch the planet, barefoot on the hot sand,
I'm knee-deep in history, mystery builds,
Tryin' to find a Style of Beyond secret to steal.
But when the doors of perception are cleansed,
Only then will the truth be revealed through an infrared lens.
It's the same then as it is now, as it will be,
I still be the touch-tone number three,
Letters on your flip-phone, D-E-F to my death,
In the flesh, vocal vacuum, takin' your breath.
Rest assured When I get busy there'll be nothin' left,
Like a paycheck after taxes relay my message,
Decay modems and faxes, internet death,
Go to battle swingin' my axes, cut you in step.
Escapin' through secret hatches, tunnel rats rummage,
Through the ashes of what rap was before you trapped it,
Locked in a box 'bout as big as this room,
But you can't keep hip-hop captive.
Styles, styles, styles, styles, styles... Beyond...
Hey, yo--ring of fire ritual, bellydance swing,
Cyberspace visual galactic Apache,
Somethin innovative while you groovin' at the disco,
See what's really crackin' like Nabisco,
Powwow, festival of flows by the S.O.B. assassins,
Rain-tribe Thunderclouds crashin',
Cosmic, tomahawks dawn for my tribal renaissance,
And ceremony that's catered to the art.
The origin of underground sounds bein' brought up to the surface,
Auditory preachers of a serpent Cathedral,
Draws from Milan around a golden-arc steeple,
For days, givin' praise to the people,
Caught up in a circle for the trance,
We showed a detour where the curry robe is,
And now they go and dose, Insomniac sleeper,
Injectin' my syringe directly through the speaker.
Styles, styles, styles, styles, styles... Beyond...
It's like a rhymin' time machine, move through melodies,
Lightfoot, rhythmic emcees so let it be,
Crossbow, triggered the lost low,
A Cherokee on a quest against archrival nemesis.
Ceremonial headdress, got you wide open like the dentist,
Say "Aaahhh", my sentence got you punks, jumpin' fences,
Ha--without a weapon, you're defenseless,
Comin' out the trenches with hatchets and musical monkey wrenches.
Yo, all we wanna do is make your neck snap,
Takbir and Ryu with Rhettmatic on the track,
Energetic act to keep the club packed and,
Just havin' fun when we rappin'.
Flow another optic explosion, amplified junkie,
Of a breakbeat chosen, monkey fied gate,
Pumpin' style out for justice, competition frozen.
Lash out in a pop lock motion sickness,
Ocean of a school of vicious fishes,
Half-staff flag for your caviar wishes on a pinetip,
Straight from the starship, 2000 prophets,
Drop it, Hot topic flow for discussion.
Man, you all ain't knowin', how we bustin',
Reignin' on the average everday chump, crushin'.
Year 2000, 2000, (say what?) 2000, 2000
Styles, styles, styles, styles, styles... Beyond...
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