Your mouth smells like my jock strap.

Pharoahe Monch is like an eloquent linguistics professor moonlighting as a rhyme serial killer terrorist, challenging the listeners' I.Q. while daring him or her to keep up.

Now you're selling out, the devil sold a dream and you bought it without thinking about. How the beast will decrease the brain wave, with material thoughts from the crib to the grave.

I don't write, I build a rhyme.

Evil feeds off a source of apathy, weak in the mind, and of course you have to be. Less than a man, more like a thing, no knowledge you're nothing, knowledge is king.

Learn your past, find your path.

Raise your hands in the air, pump your fists, and solemnly swear to rock the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.