[Intro]
"Don't look at me I had nothing to do with it
It was a million guys lined up from here
To Conasi looking to wack that bastard."

[Chorus]
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."

Verse 1:
Here comes the boy in the motherfucking bubble
Foul mouth like dice and rough like cunt stubble
Come check out the crematorium inside my brain
I scorch emcees like DVD's with shit stains on cocaine
Straight up the nostrils, my box drill through your skull
???
So you shit in your pants while you're waiting for the reaper
Check your pulse I check my mothafuckin' beeper
Big Words connects like dots that clot cheese
I do nuff' drugs just like a hippie from thе 60's
Hand on my dick, my other hand on the phone
I chop off your hand and lеave you with a bloody stump
Brooklyn Bonanza, East Coast Extravaganza
In 92' kid I'm blowing up like brain cancer
Leaving lumps and tumors across your body
Call up Goretex, buss out the bong, and have a pot party
That's how it's going down, that's the agenda
So remember my dialectical dismember
Blunt-smoking dead kid, flip the ills fixture
Busting out the butts(???) like a pornographic picture
[Chorus]
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."

Verse 2:
I'm a dead man and yet my brain functions like a Siper
Temple scuts sense intense and more hyper
Than advanced leukemia, on time like Edward Gien
I build the Mausoleum every time I drop a rhyme
On the massive, my viewpoints spreads like nerve gasses
Contagious, I stick it to your shit like Molasses
I be flippin', my skills pay bills produce cash
I smoke more hash, than Krosby Spielberg Nash(???) can you dig it?
Big Words will get you whatchu' need, sure nuff'
I got the stuff that makes your eyes bleed
And melts straight out the sockets, burn n***as like jockets
You wanna front? Then you suck my Kosher cock bitch
I come off like chemotherapy baby I'm code red
They say I'm an ill' kid cause I got a bald head mop -
That reacts like a tomb around your tongue
I hit you so hard you need an artificial lung
YOU FUCKING PUSSY!
You just a punk I slam dunk, ya slit your throat
And then I smoke a pound of dope
It took 17 years to develop this psychosis
Now I'm sick... like fucking Multiple Sclerosis
[Chorus]
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."

Verse 3
More cool than Jesus H. Christ on the stick
Fuck cunts with my dick, light blunts with bick(?)
I know I'm sick some say sicker than Doctor Lecter
React than pimp slap chaps like Moris Recor, or rigor repeck(???)
So hit the mothafuckin' deck when I flip my dialect is to high-tech
For an ordinary or average brain to catch
You wanna battle? Baby you know I got the bigger packs of
Body bag sippin', tote tag trippin', tongue trich triple the verbal nipple
And watch your head split then splatter
My chit-chit chatter chops up chumps
I ain't no fag I like the hookers with the fat rumps
And high heel pumps, short skirts, and big tits
I'm Mr. Porno poppin' that ill' Benny Hill shit
So, yo when I flow I never sound busted
Kids they love me, 'mom' and 'dad' get mad disgusted
Dead celebrities dead rhymes for dead chops
Kids count the (???) more live than (???)
So shut your fucking mouth get in my gas chamber
Blunt-smoking dead kids drop the dead flavor
[Chorus]
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."
"Feel good, feel good!"
"Straight from Brooklyn
From out the projects."

Instrumental breakdown

Slowly fades