Counterpoint - Jon Murdock, Lex Starwind, Vanderslice

Yeah, the Flying Dutchmen, kid

The ghost ship risin'

And the storm cloud climbin', yeah

Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before

MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star

Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before

MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock

The Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before

MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star

Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before

MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock

Rihanna’s umbrella was under the weather

You ever stomped the yard hard, you get shot in your pleather

Same fella, same feather, best flock together

Get knocked by the cops, sit in the box together

Fool’s gold pirate meltdown in two karats

Red dragon, Hannibal came tonight, a true savage

True bastards, spit 'em in a compost heap

Dutchmen crush men, roll 'em in a fanto leaf

I need guns and all, razors and shanks, blood and chocolate

Brain from a bomb bitch and a dutch to spark shit

Semi spit awkward, shatter glass jewels like statues

My rap boosts, the high energy content is natural

Counterpoint, harmonic frequency through the aperture

Of still meshed mics completely seep into the passenger

Previewing the massacre, plan a terror grind house

Tarantino premiere through these speakers, let me find out

Death proves Kill Bill, pulp fiction, needles stick him

With the Doap Nixon flow, different, no trippin'

Sandman sleep in a requiem for a dream

A nightmare in the state, prepped until you sink

Flying Dutchmen, something you ain’t heard before

MCs don’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s Jon Murdock

Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before

MCs ain’t even half as raw, it’s L Star

Flying Dutchmen, something you ain’t heard before

MCs don’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s Jon Murdock

Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before

MCs ain’t even half as raw, it’s L Star

MCs is bitch-made, knew that since sixth grade

Caesar cut afro, samurai with a fade

Like Samuel L, Jeff fell back with a blade

Side step Jon 'Deck, straight razor a lame

Sleep never, Oxycontin pop, Heath Ledger

Overdose on Monogins, you know the seat cheddar

Hard body, had to saw off the long shotty

B-Real on a two inch reel, they call me Johnny

Be good, Michael Fox on the stage

Speaker kick, steam a spliff, live my life in a daze

Jon hones with rhyme poems, wonderland with the summer jam

Gun in hand, run it fam, move like the Son of Sam

merciless, David Berkowitz with the verse I spit

.44 cal, pow, murder you permanent

Men panickin', once I’m on and I’m smashin' 'em

Amount to fuck bitches like Jen Aniston

Roll with bitches, pop E, roll with bitches

Lined up, dick hard start from pole position

My flow position in the vocal booth alone is viscous

Its own existence, stand alone, zone to listeners

My mic device is mighty trife just like Heidi Fleiss

Mike Tys on the track when I write

Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before

MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star

Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before

MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock

The Flying Dutchmen, shit you never heard before

MCs ain’t got the nerve to brawl, it’s L Star

Foul weather, something you ain’t heard before

MCs ain’t half as raw, it’s Jon Murdock