
Date of issue: 31.12.2011
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Bicycle Music Company
Song language: English
Ain't U Da Masta |
Here come the jams, yo punks, guard your domes |
It’s the man with the mad new styles and funky poems |
So strike one, strike two, strike three, you’re out |
Of luck, Jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’ve always been |
And then, I’m a stab a fucking critic with his pen |
So write that, put that in your magazine and stick it |
I’m wicked, just like a witch when I kick it |
So break out your charts and scales and try to rate me |
Give me a one, son, yep I hope you hate me |
Cause I’m a keep on bringing it, I’m swinging it |
Sharp like glass til your punk ass is swinging it |
Riff-raff, your whole damn staff I have to cut up |
I drop bombs, I’m fatter than your moms, so what up? |
I come from the planet of raps on, oh yeah |
Beam me up Steady, there’s no skills down here |
So there, you little punk sitting in your chair |
Soon you’re gonna know the score kids, I swear |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
I hits you hard kids, you’re barred from the mic and |
Rhymes kick like Pele, rough like a dyke and |
Praise me, Masta, off beat, the healer |
Rap style’s deisel like an 18-wheeler |
So get that weak style out of my path |
I’m turbo, I drop lines long like Nostrand Ave |
So danger, I’m burning from Monday to Sunday |
I’m hot like some niggas 10 deep in a Hyndai |
So make way, I drop mad heavy like the Fridge |
I’m sacking, you’re wack and you’re over like the bridge |
This little rabbit tried to diss me, but fuck it |
I got duckets, one day that rabbit kicks the bucket |
You know (I know) You know (I know) |
You know, you know, well yo follow where I go |
Jane, stop this crazy thing if I sing |
Some love shit and dress mad fly, I’d be the king |
And be seen on the covers of like 27 books |
But I’m too proud to beg, so suck this, you crooks |
You’re only as good as your last jam, it’s true |
Your shit’s new, everybody wants an interview |
But then, oh how quick they forget |
With no hit, they like «Who's that?"They full of shit |
And straight up, my patience is starting to wear short |
I’m gonna land blows like your head was an airport |
Say cheese you theif, let me see your teeth |
Cause I’m Ultra-magnetic, magnetic like Kool Keith |
So abra, cadabra, presto and change-o |
The off-beat, on-beat style is kinda strange yo |
It dops here, it drops there, it’s off then it’s on |
To the breaka, to the breaka, to the breaka of umm dawn |
Here I come with bones by the sack for |
Spraypaint, I tage my f-ing name on your back, punk |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
(Ain't you the Masta?) Yep, I’m the Masta |
Name | Year |
---|---|
Terror | 2011 |
Born To Roll | 2011 |
Jack B. Nimble | 2011 |
Eastbound | 2011 |
Da Answer | 2011 |
Sittin' On Chrome | 2011 |
What's Going On! | 2011 |
People In My Hood | 2011 |
The Phat Kat Ride | 2011 |
The I.N.C. Ride | 2011 |
Freestyle ? | 2011 |
The Big East | 2011 |
4 Da Mind ft The Cella Dwellas ft. Cella Dwellas | 2011 |
The B-Side | 2011 |
Slaughtahouse | 2011 |
Style Wars | 2011 |
Intro | 2011 |
Saturday Nite Live | 2011 |
Ain't No Game | 2011 |
Turn It Up | 2011 |