Lyrics Sh. Fe. Mc's - De La Soul, A Tribe Called Quest

Sh. Fe. Mc's

No need for, introductions, cause I know you know my name and
Knocking MC’s out the frame and, putting them suckers to shame and
I live for hip-hop, so I have no time for fun and games and
So just come and peep the unique styles that we’re displaying
The beat’s just ridiculous, the lyrics articulate
Feels good, as if a girl had just touched her clitoris
Sucker MC’s, I’m killing 'em, I’m so sick of seeing 'em
Silly (shit) when they rhyme, like that red rugby shirt worn by Gilligan
Plus the hat, they (shit) is wack
When you see me coming take ten steps back
I make usage of the pronouns, adjectives, verbs
My granny says «You always had a way with words»
And that’s because my word is bond, lyrics are laws
Sucker MC’s look at me like a friggin' eye sore
Here comes a brother hipping others on the style they lack
I’ve always rhymed abstract
I even know the brother named Abstract
I am the earner of the soul and mind
Forget the physical cause the physical will die with time
I’m shaped to vibrate indefinite proportions
Of the kids who need the fix (Just listen to the mix)
I got the knowledge constant non-stop for the rubbishing
Like (niggas) using Clinton loops as if they owned the publishing
Gums be bleeding from illegal feeding on my verb
I bring the Mardi Gras to your face
I outwit vipers in my rhyme cipher
I can easily lick them cause they’re victims of the subconscious race
Tossing periods in front of foes reps
It’s not the 187 when the 360 slept
You swallow the cake from the plate of elevate
Or you might get sparked by the crew who got the weight
So resuscitating rap like the hicks do with Presley
Is the kid who peeled the jeans in Orleans off of Leslie
Sh.
Fe.
MC number nine, if you let me rhyme nine times infinitely I will climb
I let my Walkman from Sony play cassettes from Rabboni
Which guarantees to put me on the narrow road
Ayo, that’s it from me, Plug 3, and Ali explode!
When I rhyme, the effect just ripples
You sound sick, I hope your cells get sickles
And formulate into real stiff (shit)
Then I bet that (niggas) cut the chit chit
Cause the Ab will, be sharper than a Ginsu
Cutter or your bum (ass) head for the gutter
This is not a game and we ain’t looking for the fame
That’s not the aim, we came to rip the jam out the frame
My inter-reaction with paper is amazing
So needless to say mad trails are left blazing
A whole lot of bull (shit) rhymes start to get play
But I’m here to say that real rhymes do pay
I’m the type of brother that writes until my knuckles get nary
And through the domepiece, the rhymes will carry
Then transported to my throat then the quotes hit the air
As I stand dipped with the wares
Rhymes get slot times, move back from the jack
It’s the verbal constructor, some MC’s is wack
I make a girl do the bogle, doo doo brown and all
Make (niggas) jump up, drink Dom, and have a ball
I animate the unlively with the verbal combat
The Abstract, never the wack
Motivator of the many like Moses
Moving through, bringing danger to the dummies that poses
That means you, the sub relator of the sub culture
Wack (nigga) vulture, I swoop down on crowns
Cause confusion all around
Mental burdens I bring to MC’s who sing, they sad songs
Money, your dough’s not long
Mines on the other hand is lengthy type
The Abstract gets real, real, real…
Real down to Earth I hit the Long Island Rail
You never see me tango with the horn and the tail
I got the kit for your mind I design it like Zender
Smoking mad hope from my neighbors, and da
50/50 luck takes the «S» off my chest
Cause the «S» on my chest makes a mess
Settling for Superman, stupid man, put on your glasses
Now your asses be slow gassin' like molasses
Continue the menu, next on the platter
Hey where that (bitch) at?
(He's right here boy!)
I gotsta see what I got and who I’m getting it with
This ain’t no nickel dime game that I’m peddling with
Mikey Roads said «Stop riding, it be dividing
Taking me out how I be vibing»
(Niggas) actin' hard like gristle
But my pops got the pistol
Told me if I ever need it just *whistle*
Respects to Griff Dog for the razor
Much respects to Joe Buck for the favor
It’s about a million brothers trying to be MC’s in this world
I’m glad I got a baby girl