terminator x to the edge of panic
Singer:public enemy
take a check of the sound
off the record people keep him down
terminator x packs the jams
whow gives a fuck about a goddamn grammy
anyway and i say the d's defending the mike
who gives a fuck about what they like
the rhymes politically cold
no judge can ever budge or ever handle his load
yes the coming is near and he's about to become
the one and only missionary lord son of a gun
going on and on back trackin' the whack
explain the knack y'all for the actual fact
he goes on and on 'till he reaches the coast
wired of his own race playing him close
understand his type of music kills the
you know the pack attack the man
with the palm of his hands
no peace to reach - thats why he's packin' his black piece
terminator x yellin' with his hands
damn almighty rulin ready to jam
but his cuts drive against the belt
sheet.he's bad by his damn self
his one job cold threatens the crowd
the loud sound pound to make brothers proud
gettin' small makin' room for it all
flavors on the phone so he can. make the call
i know you're clockin' the enemy
you should be clockin' the time
checkin' records i'm wreckin' you
you know the stage is set
if you're thinkin' i'm breakin'
my education is takin' you for a long ride
i'll have you brain slip and do the slide
with your hands in your pockets
i know your money is spent
i'm public enemy number one