| I’ll advance to your backside, foot and put
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| Nine prints and diss a meantimes, where the sun don’t shine
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| So get a flash of the spotlight fast
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| You got kicked in the ass by the man with the eyes of glass
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| Slide from me, money, kickin' the dull crap
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| I’ll make your skull snap, seein' me all at
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| In this here field, my foot equals yield
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| Your breaks are simple and revealed while mine’s is sealed
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| Comin' up with the archeological finds
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| Funk drums allow me to spark you with rhymes
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| The mic’s my instrument, my skills are infinite, catch a hint from it
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| 'Cause it’s the Large Professor
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| While you was doin' the butt, I was puttin' game down
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| You frowned before, now you wear the same frown
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| Just as long as the buck I sit when I think
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| I couldn’t care less who’s jellin' the Profess-or
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| Sir Scratch and K-Cut — the Main Source
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| Back to break more atoms, of course
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| With the beat no more melodious, votes I suprise folks
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| I’m as sharp as a toothpick, come and watch the youth kick
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| The game show stuff 'cause the shine I’ll scuff
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| Bustin' the fluff 'cause I’m just that tough
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| The mic’s my instrument, my skills are infinite, catch a hint from it
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| 'Cause it’s the Large Professor
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| I stomp supposed comp like a posse
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| Brothers try to squash me, so I speak harshly
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| On the constant truth of the Main Source crew
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| I peruse the place just to see what I can do
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| To stupid MC’s whose rhymes sound fabricated
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| Heads get deflated when the Professor’s untranslated
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| Style gets everyday play
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| Brothers on the butters can’t flip the Parkay
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| Their mouths are sealed like Zip-Loc bags
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| Fake like wrestling and small like frags
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| The mic’s my instrument, my skills are infinite, catch a hint from it
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| 'Cause it’s the Large Professor
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| Finessin' the songs like this, babblists get bust with the quickness
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| Baby, hit or miss
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| You want to feel hard times? |
| Then friend, say your rhymes
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| The results will be about 10 volts in your mind
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| I’ll electrify, your brain is hollow like a tunnel
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| I squeeze out doubt like a funnel
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| I’m the M.S. |
| rep on the microphone
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| If I say what you don’t like, go home
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| That’s why the places I play stay packed
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| You like what I say and you always come back
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| The mic’s my instrument, my skills are infinite, catch a hint from it
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| 'Cause it’s the Large Professor |