xxx

Yo, this is Brainpower, I'm here with...

[Who are you?] Krimson [and why?] Why not?
The titleholder from Breda's origin
In the category of cold elimination after intense observation
For MCs like you, you all, her, him
I see fear in your eyes, wondering who I am
I was blowing mics when you were still playing with Legos
When you were getting off just from a head stroke
When you said, 'That's nice!' when you saw Barbie move
Had to be home by six while others stayed out
Now you think you're cool because you're wearing Mecca
Jeans hanging low, yeah, cap turned back
Shit, I'm the igniter of that reality bomb
And you're a punk behind the central station

Like the crowd, 100 kilos in a dad
Like cardboard, I rip the box, yeah, from your mama
Bringing drama, turning green from gamma radiation
I get furious, I’ll crush you down to a bloody mess
It's fact, not fiction, Teletubby lala is your idol
Come out of the closet, you hear me, yeah
You're already copying me, bitch! With your grandma's limp
Run and limp, your brain cell's as small as Stimpy's
Hoes don’t want you, no, because of your tiny dick
Feel a beat-down from this MC Shocky
A team like Sjors and Sjimmie, I'm with the Braintje
I bring the pain, my wordplay shines through your brain, bring the thunder
I’ll smack you with cancer and laugh with flair and style, the power of words is heavy
In Dutch deadly, in English deadly
Dudes hear it and say: 'Shock is fucking crazy, G!'

(version 3 Yukkie B)
Remember me? Here’s Yukkie
Now even sweeter than a cookie, hotter than a porn book
A villain with talent, and I'm climbing the charts
Watch me, then I strike without mercy
I captivate the musical crowd and I trim my hair
If needed, I’ll throw on a cap or a hat
Not bald but not combing, where I come from is smoke and flames
With the beats that slam from the speakers, my raps paralyze you
Hit you with technique and skill, my rap cuts
Sharp as a knife, and what you get is quality
No regrets, what you get is worth your cash
So be ready because Yukkie B. comes with skill
So pass the weed, roll it and filter, I float like a butterfly
The microphone devourer, I'm the treasure finder
A hard worker, I sweat for every cent
Make the news known, my technique is unmatched
A real man, unknown to some but not for long
I plan to do this for the rest of the time I have left
Yukkie B. performs and presents flavor for your ears that you won't digest quickly
So what now, what did you expect? Bring it on
I’ll eat you up like salty licorice and turn the room upside down
From the street to the top, underneath or on top
Greetings from Amsterdam East, and I'm stepping out

Brainpower known for freestyles and battle raps
But pay me cash, I want my dough to last after battling tax
On some real shit....
[..Hey, hey, hey, he’s rapping in English again, in Dutch Brain!]
It’s who, where, or what! MC who broke your jaw, funking off the record!
And we checkmate you! You think: 'That can’t be' right, you big fucking idiot
Release a 13" on red vinyl
You’re colorful and weak with clumsy fiddling, a pathetic kill
Without glasses but sulking and cross-eyed
In front of me, you’re neat and quiet, hiding a lot
Behind my back, you act tough and stiff, talking too much
So don’t whine and chill, it happened for real, what’s the deal?
Scared of my raps, one word, it tore your soul apart
You think right away: 'I’m quitting rapping' and want to bail with sluts
You’re not paying attention, unrestrained tracks can’t be stopped
Stop flapping, stop faking, fucking faggot
I’ll smack your head if you can still muster the courage to step up
Take some Red Bull, Coke & Dr. Pepper to pep you up
You’re dumber than having just one channel and still flipping
Beats of longer duration that you hear when I rap
You trade your equipment for a scooter
That’ll get you further and away like a fat sled
You weren’t even smart when Eminem was doing all your raps
You think: 'Hey, here comes the Braniac...'
So many tracks earned, I have mixing tables on my account
People are still getting screwed, don’t really complain
And fuck DJs with clumsy records, VJs with dumb questions
So if you diss this because Braniac knows what the shit is or because he’s white
That he knows what’s credible and what’s a hit
Lyrically fit through ill lines and business
In a world boxed in by lesser gimmicks with less spirit
Then flipping kilos in an institution nailed down
You’ll get thick middle fingers thrown in your direction
On your face, it’s never wack in effect
Brain, C.A.N.E., Deams, Shock, Yukkie B., Tripple X

It’s the Amsterdam's most notorious veteran
And all those lame, futureless rappers better step off
Pancake, you don’t mean shit
Pushover, get lost, what are you acting tough for?
What do you want, kid, do you know me? 'Let that man be'
Eh fuck you, let me go, Brain, I hate that man
So who is he then, Yukkie, why is he
Acting cool with his buddy Deams, who’s he talking to?
And does he look at you like he’s really the man?
Fuck him and what he does and who he is and what their plan is
He better learn to accept
That he has to respect me before I ruin his face
Punk, my shit grabs every brat
And chokes him blue with more grip like a letter grip
So watch your step and be careful, kill
Because my style is watertight like a diving mask
I smoke my throat out and love to drink hard
And keep roaring until the microphone starts to stink
Rappers slime like slugs on the floor
Get that slinger out of your mouth and walk to your silly mother
And take it easy like old folks do
Because you know that C.A.N.E. blows you away like a dandelion
In Dutch or in English
Compared to C.A.N.E., you’re all breadsticks
Even if you’re French, I’ll do a crash course LOI
And eat up all of Paris (eh yo C.A.N.E. bon appétit)
(Yo C.A.N.E. chill we gotta stop)
Nah, rapping is like the ek and I have a urge to get it in
The gram seller, the whore helper
The word on the street is fuck your rap because C.A.N.E.'s is doper
The low scumbag, the punk ass
The most hated rapping, kickboxing Amsterdam pimp
The pill dealer, the Zeedijk walker
Who shines in the underground circuit like a candlestick
The spitting nigger, the always someone spitting nigger
C.A.N.E. is always the shit on the frog sitting nigger
That red nigger who often hears you're a beautiful nigger
But your buddy is stressed, hey, you’re a dead nigger
I’ll kick your head blue, crush your rib cage
Come on, dude, I have more balls than a pinball machine
(Yo C.A.N.E. are you ready?)
No, not yet, Braintje, yo I’m not rushing
I’ll wind your chick up like an alarm clock, you ball her like a plug
(Yo yo this is gonna cost me money, we gotta stop)
Eh fuck it, I want to stomp someone’s face in.