Lyricist : Diggs, Grice, Magidson, Wrubel
Composer : Robert F. "Prince Rakeem" Diggs/Herbert Magidson/Allie Wrubel/Russell Jones/Gary Grice
Oh, mad one, we see your trap
You can never escape your fate
Submit with honor to a duel with my son
I agree
I see you're using an old style
I wondered where you'd learned it from
You know very well, it's yours too
Heh, I had forgotten, will you show me?
And what have you come for?
You come here, since you're so interested - fight me
Yo, picture bloodbaths and elevator shafts
Like these murderous rhymes tight from genuine craft
Check the print, it's where veterans spark the letterings
Slow moving MCs is waiting for the editing
The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry
A gaseous element, that burned down your ministry
Herbal vapors and biblical papers
Smoking Exodus, every ****** yard is plush
**** the screw-faced photo sessions, facial expression
Leaves impressions, try to keep a shark ***** guessing
Give crazy shouts Son here's the outcome
Cut across the semi-gloss rhymes you floss
**** is outdated, just like neckloads of Sterlings
Suede-fronts, bell-bottoms, and tri-colored Shearlings
I ain't particular, I bang like vehicular homicides
On July 4th in Bed-Stuy
Where money don't grow on trees and there's thieving MC's
Who cut-throat to rake leaves
They can't breathe, blood splash, rushing fast
Like running rivers, I be that whiskey in your liver
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the fifty-two fatal strikes!
This is not a '85 affair made clear
When the Gods get on to perform storms blew up
Wu's up, causing the crowd to self-destruct
Killer Beez are stinging while I reveal
Science that's heavily guarded by the culprit
Bombing your barracks with aerodynamic
Swordplay, poison darts by the doorway
Minds that's laced with explosive doses
Damaging lyrical launcher
Lunge at the youthful offender then injure
Any contender, testing the murderous Master
Could lead to disaster, dynamite thoughts
Explode through your barrier, rips the retina
Who can withstand the astonishing punishing
Stings to the sternum, shocked in the Hip Hop livestock
Seeking for a serum to cure em
Adults kill for drugs plus the young bucks bust
Ducking handcuffs, throats get cut when dough rush
Out of town foes look shook but still pose
We move like real pros through the streets we stroll
Bullet holes lace the windows in one-six-oh
So control the avenues that's the dream that's sold
Building lobbies are graveyards for small-timers
******* caught in airports, Ki's in they vaginas
No peace, yo the police mad corrupt
You get bagged up, depending if you're passing the cut
Plus shorty's not a shorty no more, he's living heartless
Regardless of the charges, claims to be the hardest
Individual, critical thoughts, criminal minded
Blinded by illusion, finding it confusing
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the fifty-two fatal strikes!
Duel of the Iron Mic!
It's the fifty-two fatal strikes!
Huh, Master, he must be dreaming, heh
Well, if he is dreaming then he must be asleep
And if he's asleep, then I will wake him up!
At the height of their fame and glory, they turned on one another
Each struggling in vain for ultimate supremacy
In the passion and depth of their struggle
The very art that had raised them to such Olympian heights was lost
Their techniques vanished
