Medieval

[Jemini]
Hark who goes there? The child of the light's been born.
Sit upon the thrown, to get it on.
And only when I spit it on, I shit it on,
Call me the Duke of Verb, who's cute to girls.
But I'm not awaiting, 'cuz Rapunzel's hair needs braiding,
Fair maidens kneel when they feel the steel.
Hit them with the magic wand; the wand is real.
And I'm hurling spells that I learned from Merlin.
Words made with gold, gimme limestones, silver, feel the - build up - on my enemy.
I spread across the nation, no taxation, without representation.
I'm the son of a king.
The son of a bitch, made some of us poor and some of us rich;
'cuz some of us flow, and some of us spit.
My first born son will be a son of a prince.
I'm a big, bad, bold, black son of a bitch.
Crusaders say they're comin' to get; but [???] comin' to spit.
That ain't with me.
So ya'll can come get me, if you want me.
I got gators in the moat,
and a fire-breathing dragon behind the wall ready to get medieval.

[Chorus]
It's like we're going back to the... (medieval)
It's like we're going back to the... (medieval)
Medieval
It's like we're going back to the... (medieval)

[The Pharcyde - ?]
You need to toast Doysa with your best ale.
My music is my holy grail.
I got my mic from the lady in the lake.
The fake, get burned at the stake, until they're well done.
When titans clash, something is bound to happen.
Force you to run the gauntlet.
Suckers get thrown in the dungeon, for frontin'.
I'm your knight, what you're wanting in chromed out armour.
Defending the honour, of my lady in the tower.
My words are power...
Fall at the hammer of Thor.
Will you trap the microphone and trap door to stage floor.
With primitive weaponry lo' nigh;
the foe's force is catapults and a whole lot of crossbows.

[The Pharcyde - Booty Brown]
Flaming arrows represent us.
Last stage of battle, and we rise out the dust.
We ? figure we can conquer more territory.
Enemies get quartered.
Catapult the fucking hot oil as ordered.
It is my right because you really tattered bordered my sacred

ground.
Sir Booty Brown knighted with the AKGs.
More to remains is what I leave behind me.
Run to the mission, claim sanctuary.
Grim gray remorse.
Brave men are scare-ry, like we take 'em back to the...

(medieval)

[Chorus]

[The Pharcyde - ?]
It is I - Lord Friction.
I'm on a rhyme crusade.
Renaissance man with a tongue like a blade got guillotine chops.
Lyrics spread through your crew like black plague and smallpox.
Verbal warlock, cast a spell, make your whore hot.
Uncomfortable like armour on a sore spot.
I'm won't stop 'til the walls of Camelot.
At the helm of the round table, just a dialog.
But I don't live no fable, keep leery of the snakes.
Medieval (comin' shit straight medieval)
Your citadel is now under siege,
with tortured and whack MCs who underachieve and who don't believe;
suckers get thrown in to the moat.
'Cuz all they want to do is floss around and gloat.
Lower the drawbridge then release the hounds. (hounds)
We're comin' after y'all bitches, this is how we get down. (down)
Usually me and my men are a band of merry minstrels.
Right now we're here to protect the crown from you clowns and fire-breathing heathens.
And intruders and enemies of the empire.
Doysa got the shit to set the world on fire.
Lyrical jousting, we comin' in.
Battering in with our verbal battering ram.
Listen to the way, you don't know who the fuck I am?
Lord BEEP Doysa, a Pharcyde manner at your service.

[Chorus]
(repeat until end)