| Verse One: Greg Nice
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| Yes I’m the man with the mic in my hand
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| Give me elbow room, it’s time to expand
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| Styles, that I be kickin is grand
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| Can’t catch me with a radar scan
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| Now what’s a rock, what’s a pebble, what’s a stone?
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| What’s a bitin MC, that’s a clone
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| I’m Big Willie on my cellular phone
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| All I wanna do is make the fly girls moan, hey!
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| I bring drama like Prince
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| I been rippin microphones (how long?) ever since
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| Rubber boots and Lee suits
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| Three Card Molly and prostitutes
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| Get down, uhh! |
| I stain like ink
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| Comin to your rescue just like Link
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| Tuesday night on my way to the rink
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| Bag me a dime piece dressed in pink
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| Verse Two: Smooth B Now don’t get uptight, I’m travelling at the speed of light
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| And everything’s gonna be alright
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| Smooth B, sort of like an action figure
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| Uptown Boogie Down Bronx rap nigga
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| Doin what I gotta
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| Gonna make the Planet Rock like Afrika Bambaata
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| Peace to Red Alert
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| Aiyyo, back up from the ropes, so no one gets hurt
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| It’s the MC with the golden charm
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| Dustin rappers off with the golden arm
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| This style deals with the mic in my palm
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| I never leave my crib without readin the psalms
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| I gotta read my scriptures for they keep me refined
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| I gotta keep my nine for the deaf dumb and blind
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| Rewind selector, lead by supreme protector
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| keepin the tax collector
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| off my back, and I could never afford to have wack, styles
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| of rap, check my almanac
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| («I did it like this, I did it like that») |