[Intro] (Deep, distorted voiceover) Yeah. Check the mic. Is this thing even on? Or do I need to lower the stand three feet? We’re going to need a booster seat for this one. Yo, Chris... play-time is over. [Verse 1] I heard a mosquito buzzing, thought I needed a spray Then I realized it’s just Chris, tryin' to rap his way Through a world of giants, while he’s standing at the knee You ain't a "G," you're a lowercase "c" at the end of the degree. Five-foot-nothing, but your ego’s ten stories? I’ve seen hobbits in the Shire with more street-cred stories. You're a legend in the basement, a king of the comic shop But out here in the concrete? One breeze and you'll drop. [Chorus] MC Chris, keep it down, keep it quiet That voice is a frequency that’ll start a riot. A pocket-sized rapper with a helium lungs You’re the punchline spoken in a hundred different tongues. Yeah, you’re short-fused, short-stacked, short on the flow You’re the only rapper who has to look up to the "low." [Verse 2] Let’s talk about the vocals—man, what is that sound? Did a chipmunk get a record deal and wander into town? It’s like a tea kettle screaming, it’s a sonic disaster I’ve heard car alarms with a flow that’s much faster. You rap about Fett, and you rap about capes But you’d fold like a napkin if you met any "apes." You’re scared of the mosh pit, you’re scared of the light You’re a weekend warrior who’s never seen a fight. Keep your d20s, keep your nerd-core rhymes You’ve been out of your element for a long-ass time. [Bridge] (Beat drops out, just a menacing bass thrum) Look down. No, further down. There he is. You hear that? That’s the sound of a career hitting a ceiling ...and the ceiling is only four feet high. [Outro] Go back to the arcade, Chris. The big boys are talking now. Don’t make me come down there—I might accidentally step on the "legend." (Fade out with the sound of a high-pitched, frustrated sigh)
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