Grave Undataking - Kool Keith

It’s like a million cars deep, in this cemetary

I’m dressed in black, high heels, black veil, and a strap

Homies sheddin tears about it, reminscin

Older yesteryears, how we kicked it there

It’s a great day for undataking

Jim, back the truck up

I’m backin it up a little further

Hurry up, back the truck up

Gotchu

A hundred percent of you think you’re popular

I haven’t watched cable and television, in 20 years

You catch the hook

I don’t even know how the average jackass with a jersey look

Check the format, Mr. and Mrs. Unknown

I’m like the Amish people

Candles, no phone, although jocked by many stars

Who copy me, still on my bone — been ridin limos

Watching crossing guards move you to the Immature zone

From top to middle, down to the bottom

You face the highway, lookin at Leatherface

Three miles away, you’ll be in wrong place

I will make the move with the truck

The Funeral Director, will come with his own

Black suit and that spector, to step in his ride

Will we see, when the cow walks at night midnight with the leather hide

I will walk and stand in the dark zone, with the light, from the lamp

This is no sleepaway camp

That’s right, I am, the Funeral Director

And we do not, run, a sleepaway camp here

We only, take

Manic depressive, mental patient

In a basement smokin wet in the morgue

With a swordfight, cat up, runnin meditatin

Without no ouiji board

My omnipotent potential crush skulls

Chewin through yo' favorite rapper’s nails

Walkin with body parts in L-A-X airport

With a briefcase kept confidential

A natural born menace runnin loose through yo' neighborhood residential

Urban suburban section a killin machine, with 187 credentials

My bladin through South Central, South Bronx, walkin through South Chicago

Ivan Durago, Red Dragon, Hannibal Canibal, chewin through human jawbones

Handle your mandible with a iron claw, black iron eagle with evil thoughts

I release human form, drink blood drops

Love to watch when a body drops, when the shotty pops, better drop

When I strike yo' turf, cause if you don’t run and hide, it’s suicide

I’ma stun yo' hide, and leave you — six feet underneath the earth

Serial killer like Ted Bundy, on the mic I’m Adolf Hitler

Far worse than Osama Bin Laden, plottin on hell

When I get there I’ma kill the devil first, then put his head up for sale

Put his head out for sale, put his head up for sale

Yes, we will, put his head up for sale

His heart, his liver

His whole, internal, organs

We don’t play here

We Undatake, here

So remember

It’s a Grave, Undataking