| Yo, and special guests on my show | 
| Is the K | 
| To the S to the O-L-O | 
| And me, the capital D, the O to C | 
| The a.k.a., the P the M the D | 
| And me, the E to the D to the O | 
| To the U to the B to the L to the E | 
| It’s time P | 
| To rip the M the I to C | 
| So knick knack paddy wack give a dog a bone | 
| K-Solo (yo) I pass P the microphone | 
| Nah black (why P?) to each his own | 
| So knick knack paddy wack give the dog a bone | 
| Aiyyo, I pass E the microphone | 
| It’s me, yes the MC Grand Royal | 
| Who loves rappin, and to it I stay loyal | 
| I can’t tell, you ain’t caught up in my spell | 
| You dwell on the other crab MC’s that fell | 
| Apart from the start, that didn’t know the art | 
| Of rappin, to keep the people’s hands clappin | 
| But it’s me, I know the way it should be | 
| The flow slow, like me and PMD | 
| And that black, will make you real fat | 
| A real swinger, and a real cool cat | 
| Like a jazz player, or someone on the accordion | 
| Producing crazy hits like, if I was Barry Gordy and | 
| Here’s a tip, to show you how to rip | 
| A crab in half, and watch his posse flip | 
| So me, the E, I come equipped | 
| Heavy ammunition, so I don’t have to dip | 
| So listen, to this funky fresh lesson | 
| The way I drop it, and the way that I was flexin | 
| So knick knack paddy wack give a dog a bone | 
| PMD (yo) I pass Solo the microphone | 
| Yo I pass (why Solo?) to each his own | 
| Yo knick knack paddy wack give a dog a bone | 
| Yo, I pass P the microphone | 
| As I take the stage, with the fresh dipped gear | 
| I start to show off, with throw your hands in the air | 
| Because the older I get, the harder I kick | 
| Usin my rap-fu style from a rap-fu flick | 
| Of my Bic oh shit another MC’s lit | 
| Like a Jack-o-Lantern, on the Halloween tip | 
| Cause as the bass thumps, VU meters peaks | 
| All pens and pads are drawn, as the teacher speaks | 
| Because a naughty rapper, tried to steal the flow | 
| But the buck stops here, cause I’mma let you know | 
| No swingin, or knuckles, strictly ammo | 
| Cause as I dust bust, crush, and then rush | 
| A sucker new jack, with no if’s and’s or but’s | 
| You roll with the good times, we like to roll with Rush | 
| I drive a 'Ratti (I drives a Benz) you ride the bus | 
| So get out the mustard, crab, because it’s time to catch-up | 
| And in the act of war, P refuse to let up | 
| On a gonna-be, wanna-be, soon-to-be, whatever’s clever | 
| In any type of weather, cause two birds of a feather | 
| Always flock together | 
| So knick knack paddy wack give the dog a bone | 
| K-Solo, I pass E the microphone | 
| I pass (why E? To each his own) | 
| So knick knack paddy wack give a dog a bone | 
| Aiyyo, I pass Solo the microphone | 
| Yo, my style’s aggressive, like a pit bull terrier | 
| Harder it sounds on wax, the more the merrier | 
| Maestro though, releases beats for me | 
| So I can rig up a hit and get paid easily | 
| People, gather round listen to my flow | 
| Yo, so I can prove, that I’m the true Solo | 
| Too many suckers, have bit my name in vain | 
| Punk rappers thought I was sleepin, but Solo came | 
| To so many places, other rappers faces | 
| That called theirself Solo, I made em erase it | 
| I’m Solo, no name lender or pretender | 
| Yo, I am the Solo the on-ly solo contender | 
| Duck MC’s, grab my name and bit it boldly | 
| Put it behind they name and ate this up like ravioli | 
| I heard on KISS, with Red Alert and Chuck | 
| A rapper said he went Solo, I said, «What the FUCK??!» | 
| My man came over, and said, «Yo, I thought we heard you» | 
| Joke’s on you you heard a bitin ass crew | 
| They bit my name, I want it back, and it’s a fact | 
| Yo PMD tell em (damn you shouldn’ta did that) | 
| Now for the record, what do I stand for | 
| One lonely rapper on the stage, who gets one, single applause | 
| Give me a break my brother | 
| My name stands for Kevin Self, Organization Left Others | 
| My name’s no game for those who claim to use my name | 
| In vain cause their name sounds plain | 
| I remain the same, my flow of style won’t change yo | 
| The name of the game is for the real Solo to explain | 
| I don’t know was where you ran or came | 
| I know your vein I hate your name | 
| You’re ashamed, playin the game that drove you insane | 
| That walk around puddles, snow and the rain | 
| With a cane, nothin to gain but shame | 
| And my momentum of the fast flow of rhyme’ll get em tamed | 
| The pain of no fame, no title again, nobody but the real | 
| K-S-O-L-O to blame | 
| When I S-P-E, L-L, very W-E, L-L | 
| People all out there can T-E-L-L | 
| Rhymes that I got, or write will S-E-L-L | 
| For those who don’t believe me, can go to H-E-L-L | 
| I’m from C-I, L-I, F-L-Y | 
| Like a B-R-I-D, in the S-K-Y | 
| Don’t even T-O-Y to be dat’s why | 
| L-I-N-E's belong to M-I-N-E | 
| I’m makin veche, some rappers imitate | 
| Yo f*ck it, Solo here’s to make parties sway | 
| People, I won’t take any kind of losses | 
| Battlin rappers grabbin the mic and usin resources | 
| Like household utensils, kitchen appliances (becoming silent and fading away) |