| Outside of me, you try to picture me Young and black, that ain’t no mystery
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| But inside runs deep like an ocean
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| You couldn’t understand if I spoke in slow motion
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| I’m tryin like hell to get some results
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| But you can bet your ass that it’s difficult
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| They try to keep it down, because I talk to a beat
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| in other words, because I try to TEACH
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| But if I talk that yang-yang shit
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| like U Can’t Touch This, that shit’ll hit
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| Don’t we have any morals anymore?
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| Or did rap take the toll out the fuckin door?
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| Well if it did, hardcore’s back to claim it
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| I’ma take it, change it, FUCK IT, rename it I got the plan, now let’s make it effective
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| You hip-hoppers you GOT to be selective
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| And stop lettin that BULLSHIT slide for rap
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| Can’t you see that it’s a brainwash. |
| trap?
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| I rap a Cha Cha Cha, and I sat and watched
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| You liked that shit, you rock around the fuckin clock
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| But when I talk of education, you fear that
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| Drugs and such, you don’t wanna hear that
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| First I pleased you, now I teach you
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| DON’T YOU DARE try to bite the hand that’ll lead you
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| to the pot of gold, over the rainbow
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| Lyte’ll guide you, I know the way to go So just close your eyes and just take my hand
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| Remember MC Lyte has the master plan
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| We can go THICK, in a posse
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| You ain’t said nuttin slick, I’m goin kamikaze
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| Inside of me, you try to picture me Can you detect, can you see I’m angry?
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| Well usually Lyte don’t get upset
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| But when I see wack shit gettin pressed I get VEXED
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| Turn on the video -- what’s this mess?
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| A disgrace to rap and I’m not impressed
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| So just leave, get out my domain
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| You lame sucker, you fuckin no-name
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| Takin up my airtime, with that
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| WEAK WHACK FULL OF FULL OF BULLSHIT RHYME
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| so step off ROACH, or get stepped upon
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| Because my rhymes they spray like D-Con 4
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| Do you want more?
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| Cause I floor. |
| ANY emcee
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| that wanna gets with me So yo, pack your bags, and skedaddle
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| Just walk, cause you don’t wanna battle
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| I got the button that’ll get rid of wack emcees
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| It’s called the Brooklynizer, have you beggin on your knees
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| So quit takin up space on the CD rack
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| You better prepare, cause Lyte gives no slack
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| Inside of me, dwells a hundred maniacs
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| Waitin for the kickoff, waitin for attack
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| Who gives a FUCK? |
| Bring your posse!
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| Cause in the 90's, Lyte is goin kamikaze
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| Inside -- there’s no flipside
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| Outside there’s more than meets the eye
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| So now you know, not because you’re guessin
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| But because I told you so, I never fess
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| Everyone wants to rap, what’s this a wagon?
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| Bring your band and hop and start draggin
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| All you rappers, you’re fuckin impersonators
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| Sayin I’ll rap now, and learn how to rap later
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| No time for that, time is too short
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| And the rappin gift it can not be bought
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| A solo artist — HAH, you can’t be Maybe you’ll look BETTER with a posse
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| But all that you’re talkin, you ain’t sayin shit!
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| So why you where you at? |
| I think you oughta quit
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| Posses don’t MATTER in the 90's
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| Here’s a warning -- Lyte is goin kamikaze! |