| Come, get some, you little bum
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| I take the cake but you can’t get a crumb
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| From the poetic, authentic, superior
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| Ultimate, and all that good shit
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| I’m the original, Asiatic, acrobatic
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| There you have it, now get dramatic
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| Creatin' drama when I’m on the scene
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| And I pack 'em in mean, like Bruce Springsteen
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| I profile a style that’s mild and meanwhile
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| Put on trial, a rap pile to exile
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| Make you tumble and stumble, in a rumble just crumble
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| And I’m still calm and humble
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| You need another helpin' hand to swing on
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| I stand alone, but still you gotta bring on
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| Your Batman and Robin, Cagney and Lacey
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| Starsky and Hutch, but they still can’t face me
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| And if may make this one thing here clear
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| That’s for you not to come near, period
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| So I ain’t buggin' or delirious
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| My swift tongue’s like a sword, that’s how severe it is
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| And I can slice and dice a Fisher-Price MC
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| That thought he was nice into Minute Rice
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| Single-handed, I ain’t with that band stuff
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| Cause Cee’ll scratch a record like flakes of dandruff
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| And the mic I ravage, not like a savage
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| But in my own way of doin' damage
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| As I design the genuine line
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| Now who flattop rules in eighty-nine?
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Take two other men with soul that you probably know
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| Deadly as Scarface, but bright as the Cosby show
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| Don’t attack rappers, but make everyone hush
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| They step to me, but can’t stop the bum rush
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| I make material, rich and imperial
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| The unique technique I speak is all original
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| You like to sag and drag and gag
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| Same old same old, but papa’s got a brand new bag
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| So put the mic down boy, you can’t work it
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| Due to wack lyrics, it’s bout to short circuit
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| So toss the sauce across to the boss, no remorse
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| You lost, with force, of course, a holocaust
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| First I caught ya, then put ya through torture
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| You moved wrong my son, so I taught ya
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| Just like a guardian, that put your body in
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| The mood to groove with the smooth way that I’m partyin'
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| Competition may find it spectacular
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| Scheme and fiend to take a bite like Dracula
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| And waste the taste, cause ain’t no sugar here
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| So come near if you dare, you Booger Bear
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| You start hallucinatin' like magic
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| The wrath gets tragic, but Kane won’t have it
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| Cause you tried to juice me when you’re bluffin'
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| Slowed the pace, so I had to start rushin'
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| So pick a B.C. | 
| date, cause you’re history
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| Here comes Kane, Scoob, Scrap, Jay, and Mister Cee
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| And this is one thing to us we ain’t new to
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| The crew’ll cast a spell on the crowd just like voodoo
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| I’m the man you can’t hold back
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| And all competition appears to be weak
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| I meant to say wack, a vision of blur
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| Just them thinkin' I’m competitin', I say, «Huh!»
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
 | 
| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Warm it up, Kane, Warm it up, Kane
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| Genuine for eighty-nine, you know what I’m sayin?
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| As I give a shout out to my man Tony A
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| Tony P, Sally Sal and the whole Libra Digital posse
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| Can’t forget my man Yawnski
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| And Smooth the Barber, you know what I’m sayin?
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| Also, I gotta say whassup to Born True, B-Boy
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| And my man big Jay-Z
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| The whole rest of the crew, Scoob Lover my brother
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| Scrap Lover, and DJ Mister Cee
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| Can’t forget Supreme, Abu, MelQuan and Shabazz
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| Wally D, and the rest of the brothers
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| And of course my little brother the Little Daddy Shane
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| Mandatory end of the story, you know what I’m sayin?
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| Peace! |