[Flashback: Club Crush Radio Show clip from 1990]
Kick that record back a little bit... kick that record back
Yo, you gotta be easy with that, man! Cause I'm tellin' you man - sometimes you don't find what you hear!
Oh I know...

[Intro: G]
Sup, it's G back again
You know what? We're gonna set it on you with Thursday Night Live, featuring the Seven Immortals:
Feed, Don Blaq, Moflex, Shawn Lov, B-Fyne, Courageous Chief, Low Key, Father Ramzee
On this Custodian Records Track - yo, set it on em!


[Verse 1: Feed]

I’m dead on aim from point blank range
Divine drummer feed rich bum game
Point blank flames we spittin’ MCs dropping
Reload and just keep poppin’
Thats the streets watchin’
Who he greetin’, where he be coppin’
Damn son the Feed got us boxed in
We can’t stop him
Because dog, failures not an option
Hollywood street assists like Stockton
Y’all Mary Poppins
Me, I’m the Grinch that Stole Christmas
Cut my tongue out and still spittin’


[Verse 2: Blaq Prince]

Y’all don’t want me to black out
Load up your machine, pull your track out
My style like the newest Bent, first to lay the act out
My passion make your snare drum tap out
Hit your bass line with a pack and have it trapping in the trap house
Thousand dollar jeans on, haze smell ether
Dutch longer and tighter than Dave Chappelle’s sneakers
They know Blaq got green
Cause my watch face bigger than your laptop screen
Mascot green, 420 who clumsy motherfucker
Bitch I just dropped my roof
And while y’all n***as doubt me I’m in a studio
Writing with a thick bitch trying to suck the soul out me


[Verse 3: Moflex]

Yeah I’m back up on that cutthroat
You’ve never seen it like this, how I drag and smoke
It's no choking in the arena
The beats already dirty, ain't nothing coming cleaner
Monkey see monkey do, you a damned fool
Simon says “touch this”, we done changed the rules
Now back to the ciphering
Mortal combat, this is only mics for men
I breath easy when the pressure’s dealt
Global meltdown, thats when the pressures felt
Y’all some peon n***as, swags and shut down and skeet on n***as
Throwing bones like I’m bolo
No tight jeans, fuck Polo
Gotta let em know that I’m mortal


[Verse 4: Shawn Lov]

Seven white rocks packed tight in a glass
I’m about to get extra white in your ass
Trade this mic for a badge and start battling y’all perps at work
Rocking all blue, riding through your turfs like smurfs
I wear the Syndicate hat with spotless sneakers
Posted up, like [Allah and his spot with Cletus]
You can not defeat us
You’re watered down like Aquafinas
Or all that bullshit you got from Jesus
Now go and deal with that and I’ma deal like Tone
And start taking rappers money, make em feel like home
And spin around the world to unwrap damage
Look in my eyes son, you know me like a come back sandwich


[Verse 5: B-Fyne]

Son-of-a-bitch-uary
Legendary’s what it’ll read
The day I concede that’d be the day my family grieves
I bleed this hip hop, it flows throughout my arteries
As sure as #9 was one of the hardest MCs
Gave birth to Funk Families with my big Blaque Spurm
Not concerned with whether or not its my turn
I’m permanent like creases in dickies
That roll deeper than gypsies
Remember when we got banned from Mahorns?
That shit went down in history
This shit for me is childs play
My n***as styles say
We nappy nomads til that day we die and decay
Picking up a mic’s like picking up a bike and popping a wheelie
So when they ask if i still got it I’m like “really?”


[Verse 6: Courageous Chief]

Let’s get it let’s have it it’s, time to splurge
Brandish the most outpoweredest raps you ever heard
Damaging cities and suburbs
Splash em with nouns and verbs
Enhanced by nothing but natural herbs
Living in captivity the natives is restless
Security double crashes if I’m not on they guest list
Ninjutsu specialist, verbal pugilist
Hemp activist, peace to my constituents
Out the park with this like Bonds and Sosa
More magic than Merlin and Johnson put together
This is just the icebreaker
Ain’t no peacemaker
Freeze! Don’t move a muscle
Drop the chalupa


[Verse 7: Low Key]

OK, It’s Low Key mister back to the basics
Face it, I sound good over snares and bass kicks
I’m not a rapping hustler player or a tea guzzling bubbly
I’m just an E-M-C-double-E
Part of a dying breed trying not to be like y’all
Old school like nickel bags and white walls
All into white broads, I’m into white cars
Y’all lost and I’m found
So we’re in New Jersey underground
But not dead
Peace to my brother [?]
And the Krush the silly rap coalition I lead
Yo, where the circus at ‘cause y’all need to go and join em
Y’all make listenin to the radio so annoying


[Verse 8: Fatha Ramzee]

Out of the boondocks I’m coming with that [ooh wap?]
You can’t have hip-hop without Father Ramzee
Since day one fresh out the box I was killin it
Supreme head nod, sheep skin weather shit
Who demo likkle boy wants see I?
My crew is immortal our verbal skills will slaughter you
Take away your rap book and back slap your DJ
Those are kind of fun games that we play
Who you know get love and props?
MCs for the dope ass rhymes we drop?
You can rewind and listen to
All the styles we bring to you
Melodies and choruses for all the shit that’s boring us
Our rap styles are marvelous and glorious
Can’t you tell from the crowd thats applauding us?