| I’m gettin’restless
|
| What guessless
|
| I’m rushin’the percusion
|
| End of discusion
|
| Now as you were
|
| Your rhymes soft like fur
|
| Oh’you wright for her
|
| Well that explanit it But I reign it, I rule it So cool it, while I school it Listen to percision
|
| Rhyming, timing, climbing through your window
|
| (Crooklyn style) be in yo
|
| Damagin’your whole premises
|
| Don’t never diss
|
| Cause here’s your address
|
| Cause me by yes, so come test me no Like Patra, I got it soul like Sanatra
|
| Organize rhymes in effect
|
| Snap that neck, like E-Double if there be trouble
|
| So, move on, there’s nothing to see here
|
| Clear the area
|
| Your rhymes are dead, hit the berrier
|
| To vary a I’m very a effetive I might add
|
| Original rude, since I was a little lad
|
| (chorus: I neva go back, I neva flowed wack
|
| I just come back, I just come phat 2x)
|
| I’m pumpin’like Donivan plus
|
| I’m a little vicious
|
| I eat mcees cause they delicious
|
| It’s just, that so mistrust but I dust rhymes like a maid
|
| Now I’m back with How
|
| Stompin’like a parade, all up and down Fifth Ave
|
| So you riff have plenty of back, cause I attack, like blood cells
|
| Fighting off diseased mcees
|
| Like Super Freinds, in a metropolis, in a super Bense
|
| With Howie, now we, got two threes
|
| Fuck it, six, gimmie the mix, and I’m a kill em’with the lyrics
|
| So dig a plot, and nigga got, seven
|
| Never doubt, I go all out, scadida
|
| You need a map
|
| You need a rap
|
| You need a slap
|
| You need a nap
|
| So take one, because your tired
|
| I get so phat, I feel wired
|
| But I never sell, or fall, cause I never fell
|
| I don’t beg
|
| I break your leg like an egg
|
| And fry it try it, and see what happen when I’m rappin'
|
| Shit start
|
| So don’t get smart like Max
|
| Cause cold hard facts prevail
|
| I don’t sell, I don’t turn pale
|
| But I’m very ill, I’m fatal
|
| I rock rhymes like a cradle
|
| Many days, many ways, let me count em'
|
| Everybody that I caught, everybody thought
|
| But but, bu bu but, don’t stutta
|
| Just say it Shit is budda
|
| Now don’t that feel betta
|
| Get a sweata
|
| Cause it’s gettin’colda
|
| Every time I holda
|
| Mic, niggaz freeze up, so eaze up like, off the scrotum
|
| Cause you wrote um', like you know dum'
|
| So let me show dum', real rhymes
|
| Cause I feel I might start buggin', if you don’t back up off the mic
|
| The lyrical war is on, and so I strike |