| On the Black Caesar tip, my dialogue is just like
|
| A frank inside of a supermarket, raw dog
|
| I’m the untouchable, never to be took out
|
| A Sexy Mother. |
| ooh child, Prince look out!
|
| I’m keepin girls of all shades on my trail
|
| From a Sister Act down to a Single White Female
|
| Cause when I hit the skins they all say, «Damn Kane —
|
| You knock out the Bush like a presidential campaign»
|
| But if you think that lickin' toes makes me weak
|
| You better treat me like Freddy Krueger: don’t sleep
|
| I write raps, ready to rip and rock real rough rhymes
|
| Run in rugged and raw, rapidly ruinin' roaches
|
| Point blank, I spell murder to a bum
|
| All you backwards rappers: REDRUM, REDRUM!
|
| Cause I do em somethin awful, break em down to a morsel
|
| Makin sure that you’re no longer adorable
|
| Rappers get so quiet when I’m comin', that if they
|
| Shitted a dictionary, you couldn’t get a word from em
|
| It’s sort of a tradition in Bed-Stuy to do or die
|
| So steppin to me is suicide
|
| I couldn’t think of a rapper takin' mines
|
| I feel like Ali, «I'm the greatest of all times»
|
| Floatin' like a butterfly, stingin' like a bee
|
| Yeah I know this ain’t boxing but that’s still my pedigree
|
| But as for you, you have no appeal
|
| How you get a record deal?
|
| Like shell-toe Adidas, ain’t a damn thing changed
|
| The way I shoot off lyrics like a firing range
|
| Breakin' out in a cold sweat, the death threat
|
| Gettin' more props than a movie set
|
| The smooth microphone assassin, rhymes keep blastin'
|
| Uh, I keep the body count massive
|
| But if you say you increased the Body Count troop
|
| You must admit that you joined Ice-T's group
|
| Cause you ain’t hurtin' niggedy nuthin', so why you bluffin'?
|
| Tryin' to be the new Big Daddy Something
|
| But there’s only, before me, no one is richer, huh
|
| You couldn’t come Pryor if your name was Richard
|
| Cause I’m the Alpha and Omega
|
| Arm-Leg-uh-Leg-uh-Arm-Head, stayin' raw til I’m dead
|
| And to battle me you shouldn’t even try
|
| Cause with wings on your tongue, you still couldn’t say nothin' fly
|
| And I don’t care if you bring a crew
|
| And I don’t even care if someone else writes for you
|
| Man, you could even be someone the crowd may just like but shoot
|
| You couldn’t see me with a bifocal mic
|
| Check my resume, Rapmasters, Word Up!
|
| Yo! |
| MTV, BET, The Box and all that good stuff
|
| And Billboard for my five year duration
|
| And see that I got more spots than a dalmatian
|
| Let’s get down to finish this large
|
| You could bring on your whole squad, none of you chumps are hard
|
| All that garbage you mumble ain’t real and seriously, seriously
|
| How you get a record deal?
|
| A lot of rappers today, wonder
|
| Should I ask Kane to write rhymes for me to say?
|
| Well you’re god damn right you should
|
| Cause my rhymes are like spandex, they make any ass seem good
|
| So act like you know Baby Pop
|
| When I riggedy rock the higgedy hip-hop non stop, as I
|
| Freak the funk and flip the flavor to flow with the flyest
|
| A fury full force in the flames of the fire, now
|
| May these MC’s rest in peace
|
| Because when I come to town, the population decrease
|
| I leave em finished, dead and that’s that, huh
|
| Not even Pet Sematary could bring em back
|
| I slay my prey, they decay, I tell em like Jennifer Holiday
|
| No no no no no noooooooooooo way!
|
| That you could ever touch this, no you know how I feel?
|
| I think you bought your record deal. |