DJ Unknown & DJ Mekalek ft. Grafh - “The ? Remains Spontaneous”
[Emcee(s): Grafh]
[Producer(s) of Instrumental 1: DJ Premier (Original Instrumental from Gang Starr - "The ? Remains")]
[Producer(s) of Instrumental 2: Sam Sever (Original Instrumental from Leaders of the New School - "Spontaneous (13 MC's Deep!)")]
[DJ Mix: DJ Unknown and DJ Mekalek]
[Scratches: DJ Unknown and DJ Mekalek]

[Intro: Grafh]
Uh (Uh), yeah, uh (DJ Unknown), yeah. The G-R-A-F-H in this son of a bitch. (DJ Mek, what up?) Hey, listen (What up?). G-R-A-F-H in this muthafucka (That’s me). Yo (Uh huh), my name Grafh, y’all (Uh huh). You know me. It’s like, it’s this. Ay (Yo, ay). Listen (Listen y-o. Yo, yo, yo)

[Verse 1: Grafh]
I want to see you bleed, but I
Don’t want to see the gates of Clinton. I’m trying to see
Bills in front of my name like Gates and Clinton
Front of my name and the gauges spitting. Front on my game
I’m in the lane ‘til the paint is missing. Front on my chain
Your brain is missing. If it ain’t, then it’s dipped in the same liquid
As the Face that Nicolas Cage is missing
Same difference, same prisons, but the cage is missing the same
Killers. Same lames and chickens, you want to play?
Your game face is missing, Rolex watch
Bracelet same shit, but the face is missing
Ain’t shit but a facelift—same position. The ice
In my vein changed positions. Ay
I’ll ‘spire songs ‘til it’s gone again. The black gat clap
Baptize n***as ‘til they’re born-again, and your
Broad blow as hard as the wind. She deepthroat
‘Til my balls, play Dodgeball with her chin
I got loan sharks that strong-arm with a fin
You walk while I floss in a Benz, so you don’t know
How rims feel until I pop on your Timbs
Skinny ‘cause my father’s slim, but my nine milli’s
Really far from slim, so my arms ain’t thin
Kind of like a fat broad, hate gym—it don’t work out
The chrome’s workout, but y’all made me. That’s why
Can’t here find a telly that you’re mom ain’t in. We got
Broads—“oh, God, amen.” I got ‘em in their birth-
-day suit like their bras and their drawers ain’t in
We trade cars. When the cars ain’t in, we ball straight in
From Bronx up to Harlem to brawl way in. That money
Gone with the wind. I’ll throw smoke in your face and
Out my cigar on your chin ‘til it’s off with your skin. I’ll break
The law and sin. So pimped out
You’ll never see your daughter again. Why your baby moms
Vomit when she swallow it in? And she be hollering
“I’ll never digest food and water again. And when
My stomach get empty, I’ma swallow again
After I swallow, I’ma swallow again.” Listen
If your son call me “father” again, I’ma kick your baby
Mother in the stomach ‘til she vomit again—all over
Her aunt, then her mom and her friends. I’ll stick dick
Where they stick thermometers in: ass, mouth
Eardrums, they hear “cum.” I’ll bust on her weave
So she better swallow if she got her hair done—“uh!”
[Hook: Samples with Scratches by DJ Unknown and DJ Mekalek] (x2)
"What, kid? You talk a good one but you don't want it" - Sample from Prodigy on Mobb Deep - "Shook Ones Pt. II"
“Put my volumes under the needle, find you a cathedral” - Sample from [?] - “[?]”
"What, kid? You talk a good one but you don't want it" - Sample from Prodigy on Mobb Deep - "Shook Ones Pt. II"
“When I say, ‘N***as is weak,’ it's not a figure of speech” - Sample from [?] - “[?]”

[Verse 2: Grafh]
Holler here, son. You’re a chip off the old block
So your pops was proud that he got a queer son
I’ll pop my pound if I got to fear guns, but I don’t
Ever drop my pound, so I ain’t got to wear gloves
Pop shots, pop AIDS in ‘em ‘cause the blood drop stick
To the gunshots, so when I pop, you an AIDS victim
If the blood cells come from your pops, you safe with him
But if it’s not, then the one that I pop, trade with him—hah
Shots? Y’all exchanging ‘em. You’re changing ‘em like
Like I’m changing from John Paul, God to gay denim
Into something suede with a Gianfranco Ferré emblem
That’s why J.D. say, “He got hathe in him.” I’ll stay
Drinking, ain’t thinking—ay—stay chinging
You pennyweights like Abe Lincoln. Henny straight
E&J sinking in a gray Lincoln, straight
Chilling, ain’t missing a thing, pimping
Dipping the game, limping. My cane is different
Cocky bastard, my game is different. I could have slung cock
And jammed it in Jason’s lyrics or chopped with an axe
If the hockey mask fit—full of Jason’s spirit
Left foot—not right—can’t change your pivot. I got
Spice like Cajun chicken. I got white
But I ain’t trying to cook it up—I got a stainless kitchen
Ain’t no maids for the plates and dishes, so don’t cut it
Don’t get the plates dirty. I’ll take your bitches
And get their face dirty when they taste me pissing. We ain’t
Early. We’re grave-shifting. We’re eight thirty
We play different—we ain’t fit in the same jersey
Either play your position or play dirty. If I aim it
I’ll spit it and spray dirty at your J-30
[Outro: Grafh]
Yo (Ay yo), my name G-R-A-F-H (Yo). (In this) Holler when you see me, n***a. Yo (What up?), [?] Cheesy (What up?). What up? (What up?) Ayyo, Meat Scotty, what up? (What up?) Joey Steels, what up? [?]