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kids stopping to see this when I drop on a remix don't get angry get gangster, throw it up like bullimics pieces of genius, pop it in and the beat hits it's s-i-c-k, now drop the prefix it's ck undercover, like cops rocking t-shirts ck spits the thunder that's rocking your speakers what I pour on the page or perform on a stage it's like New Orleans one day, I drop torrents of rain the orchestra plays, I turn the music up loud take my time to create like a cumulous cloud til I reach capacity, achieve a mastery recharge the batteries and be hard as athletes I come out swinging like Bonds in September first at-bat back and double to deep center think I'm hitting for average when I scribble on napkins make the beat with the magic then I'm ripping a splash hit stage name is ck, it's just two letters grade-A methods from Sun-Tzu's lessons Art of War hardcore born in The Trilogy far more than Star Wars metaphors and similes my force is enormous, words like lightsabers and keep this flow fresher than a class of ninth graders sleep days, write nights, I work to be perfect bleed dreams, eat beats, breathe words, I speak verses rehearse this in the same dorm room I record in Letras de cancionessplatterpaint my brain like a Jackson Pollock portrait I'm what the doctor ordered, but don't get it twisted I spit the sickness in your system like Syphilis my songs stick to skin similar to Siamese they see the ck, think Calvin Klein designer jeans or Carbon and Potassium for chemists that's listening just know it's Charlie K when my record is spinning rhyming from my basement, eyes on the Fillmore I got the drive like a young Happy Gilmore y'all is played out like Nintendo 64 but I keep them coming like the Paris Hilton video MCs think slow as 56k modems my flows hit hard as steeltoes to the scrotum I shock like Raskolnikov or Holocaust lit explosive like drinks with Malatovs mixed in drop jaws, not soft, this Art of War hardcore when I yell Trilogy I don't mean Star Wars the only dark side I know is inside my eyelids so I flipped the moon to see this side of brightness Pink Floyd to Thursday, musically literate bring noise like birthdays filled with little kids I kick this music through the mind of a menace you couldn't touch what I spit if you were my dentist From Letras Mania