| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Bring on the mo’s and ho’s
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| Don’t snooze or doze
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| Cause I’m rippin up shows
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| Hold your nose, dead bodies are around
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| I leave scratch marks under the tears of a clown
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| I write rhymes that shine like lipstick
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| So much material, but not materialistic
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| Imperial styles I use
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| When the mic is lifted the crowd is amused
|
| Come with it, if you feel you’re full-fledged
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| Or yell «Geronimo!"and jump off the edge
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| Your e-n-d is near when I appear
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| The stage is yours, but wait until the smoke clears
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| Rhyme sayer, and I’m here to lay a load
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| So watch a player when he’s playin in player mode
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| Uncle L’s bad, and you’re soon to say
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| Cause I rip the mic until the toon decay
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| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| MC’s are dumb, I catch em in a dragnet
|
| You’re not complete, I’m battlin a fragment
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| So creative and witty and outstandin
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| And I be demandin that you’re abondoned
|
| In the desert or a wild west town
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| While I’m at your crib on a cherry-go-round
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| Where will she stop? |
| No one knows
|
| Like I said before, bring on the mo’s and ho’s
|
| I know my abc’s and my p’s and q’s
|
| Just chill and listen to the rhyme cruise
|
| All aboard, the cod is a reward
|
| Some were ignored when they toured for they bored
|
| The crowd was aloud, lyrics weren’t endowed
|
| Took a crack of the 40 and went to show em how
|
| You like me now, but you didn’t before
|
| Cause you forgot I was raw
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Yo, eat em up, L)
|
| Ah
|
| Future of the funk, ah
|
| (Go 'head, baby)
|
| (Do it)
|
| Go 'head, baby
|
| (Do it)
|
| Yeah
|
| (Do it)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Yo, eat em up, L)
|
| It’s so visual the way I’m throwin down
|
| Visualize MC’s goin down
|
| In a barrage of bullets combinated with rhymes
|
| The moral of the story is: I’ma get mines
|
| I saw the cord-less, boy, I’m gonna house that
|
| Your rhymes are cheesy, you found em in a mouse trap
|
| Don’t try to front while the freestyle’s droppin
|
| He wants to battle, he must be needle-poppin
|
| You better notify your next akin
|
| Cause when I begin it’s like a needle to the skin
|
| If you wasn’t prepared
|
| Then you ought to be scared
|
| But even if you was
|
| You’re aware what the rhyme does
|
| I remember when you was an amateur
|
| Writin your rhymes, starin at my signature
|
| Bought the album, analyzed the style
|
| Tisk-tisk (Hatchew!) God bless you, child
|
| I’m unique when I speak to a beat
|
| Another rapper’ll fall when the mission’s complete
|
| I daze and amaze, my display’s a faze
|
| Every phrase is a maze as Uncle L slays
|
| The competition that’s lost in a freestyle
|
| Cause on the mic I’m the golden child
|
| With the magical wand that they’re callin a mike
|
| And when MC’s approach it turns into a spike
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Why don’t you just chill
|
| (Eat em up, L)
|
| Yeah
|
| Yeah
|
| I wanna say what’s up to my man Kool Herc
|
| And my man Afrika Bambaataa and the Zulu Nation
|
| Know what what I’m sayin
|
| My man Marley Marl and DJ Clash
|
| My man B-Blast
|
| Rush Town
|
| Def Jam
|
| We in the house
|
| Of course I gotta say what’s up to my homeboys EPMD
|
| Yeah
|
| I get busy
|
| Peace |