| Rest any intentions we here to mention we the fresh
|
| Newark natives, Polo king bringin the zing
|
| To your Walkman, check it how we talk and sing
|
| Breakin that thing, lyrical jackin, mackin
|
| All so-called cypher rappin niggas I’m smackin
|
| No tricks with fits inflict the hurt like Frank Thomas
|
| To never make the wack jams, to my peers I promise
|
| Atomic, yet, niggas gonna have to respect
|
| What we’re bringin to the table check my dialect
|
| Alphabeta, wetta, than your man who says he can
|
| Take a whole block, we put that ass on lock and
|
| Styles be groovy, fake niggas can’t fool me
|
| Cause I’m a fly brown brother and you can’t school me
|
| Tools be, always sharpened for MC’s that be startin
|
| Up shit, and can’t fuck with, this rap sargeant
|
| Bluffin, talkin bout nothin, in fact
|
| These crews be wack, so may I ask, where yo skillz at?
|
| It’s no doubt what I’m about bustin yo shit out with my lyrical
|
| Smokin botanicals I be the man that makes the miracles
|
| Invisible if need be, see me on TV and on CD
|
| Smokin beadies in 3-D doin graffiti
|
| My mechanical style, interlocks rocks and shocks
|
| Cause I’m hot, X marks the spot like Sadat watch
|
| I’m so tight with mine, nickel and dime rhymers
|
| Are smokin one quarter pushin off the corner from foul line
|
| Prime time teams rewind and can’t find mine
|
| They all left behind because my rhymes lack guidelines
|
| Wings get pushed back from hairlines to asscracks
|
| So check ASCAP, on Artifacts soundtracks
|
| So act ill, I can peel a skill like fresh bills
|
| Crack a rapper like a Phills I smack more ass than Benny Hill
|
| But chill a minute, I’m all up in it infinite potential
|
| Newark, Jew Jersey resedential areas I turn to burial plots
|
| For MC’s, who don’t believe what I conceive
|
| Or leave a whole team speechless, gettin jives to Chucky Cheese
|
| I’m like Jesus to the mic, write My Life out like Mary
|
| I’m oh-Blige-d to J. any ghetto queen that’s sanitary
|
| Don’t play me too close, you’ll get roasted by the human torch
|
| From Newark, I’m blowin up spots without tour support
|
| I distort thoughts, with izm sticks and quarts
|
| Laughin at rappers who come at me in soft packs like Newports
|
| I walk that talk, get down and dirty like New York
|
| That’s why I’m still fat, beef kill that, nigga where yo skillz at?
|
| But, back to the subject at hand
|
| Peep my battle plan and I’ll be forced to chop that hand
|
| Off soft brothers yo they can’t withstand
|
| The pressure, prepare the stretcher and the Dristan
|
| Cause in nine-six, these MC’s can’t miss
|
| If you purchase this, then you see why brothers kinda pissed it’s
|
| The Mr. Flip Lipper always stayin dipped
|
| Always talkin shit, always hittin hallways and shit
|
| I play the parks after dark and spark L’s until my head bust
|
| And then bust, plus when I get dusted you’ll get messed up
|
| Rollin with razors neighbors hate me cause I’m famous
|
| Tame is accurate back with battle raps fat like battleships
|
| Constantly open like a hood rat that’s smokin
|
| Got bitches in Hoboken overdosin off my potions
|
| Wet like oceans, my notebook looks atrocious
|
| Be dissin vocal coaches I don’t let them hit my roaches
|
| I handle my Biz like Warner
|
| Brothers be on the corner talkin gossip, hot cause they ain’t got shit
|
| Watch this… where yo skillz at nigga? |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Where Yo Skills at ? , by - Artifacts. Song from the album That's Them, in the genre Иностранный рок