[Moe Luv scratches an N.W.A. sample (originally Curtis Mayfield?) saying the word "niggaz" over and over]
Brothers wanna know, what's goin on about the 4-1-1 on the group, and so on and so forth So what you talk for, you know what I came for: a motherfuckin ground war! Talkin that same old style Same old song, same old thang Sweatin yourself, you're gettin busy yo Huh, but you still can't hang I'd rather rip, and still the flip trip On the mic grip and hit, and then trip into I never ever miss.. yo You still ain't shit Thinkin you're all that, you've got the rep and props but you still can't rap Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be ever gonna be, who's gonna see Come near here, come here child yeah I got flavor, style -- compare [Moe Luv cuts: "hold the beat, stop the beat, drop the beat"] Yo, you can't compete You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound Steal my beats, you wanna fuck around I don't play son, shorts do I take none You need help better call 9-1-1 or the Beatles, or Susannah Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana juice, I got more, flowin like a river Yeah, style's what I give ya Shakin em, keep fakin em, make make makin em Takin em, bakin em, no mistaken em Dope, hyper, raw def MC Wanna talk about a man, yo who is he or she, you got nerve to even talk that What about that, yeah, what's up with that rumor talkin, we can't make a hit We've been makin hits while you've been suckin dicks around the town, lookin for a hardcore deal Yeah - you ain't real!
"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real! "Niggaz" You ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real! "Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real! "Niggaz" Man.. "Niggaz" .. get out my FACE!!!
[Kool Keith] Yeah, motherfuckers wanna blast I keep rhymes in store for they ass They ain't got the style to kick no shit I bust rhymes and heat and just blow shit out, let me ask one question You think I fell off? Well come test then You ain't the man to stop the Big X Fuck around become ?? ?? next Yes -- shit is gettin wild Very wild, slick and much wild But watch when I come with the Rhythm X shit Then after that, motherfuckers wanna quit Whether or not, you like it or not, you're wack it's true Your whole crew sound doo doo I keep tissue to wipe the first face I'm like a team that stays in first place Winnin, like the motherfuckin Giants You got rhymes to kick? Then drop science math, english, fuck it I said it Yo Ced, come and grab the mic
[Ced Gee] Yo let's begin with a phrase that's quite hype I'll control with soul Gee get right Into the mix like a DJ spinnin on The crowd is buggin, rememberin "Bring it On" The phrase that stand to all that wanna try to step to the Gee get roast and I wonder why Hmmm, like Arsenio Hall said, I think you rhyme like butter you're soft and you're quite stink Tryin to perpetrate, sayin you're hard right You hit money grip you're fake like a bad night-mare with Freddie, you know you're not ready You sound immature, like a amateur petty Yeah (you ain't ready) to step on the stage, get hit with the rhyme jab Just like the Flintstones, I'll break like Bam Bam BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! -- I'm smoke ya You slept on the Gee, better yet, true Ultra But now we're back and, MC's we're slappin We're givin no slack and, because you're wack and yeah.. you ain't real!
"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real! "Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real! "Niggaz" Man get out my FACE!!!
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Copy to Clipboard: [Moe Luv scratches an N.W.A. sample (originally Curtis Mayfield?) saying the word "niggaz" over and over]
Brothers wanna know, what's goin on about the 4-1-1 on the group, and so on and so forth So what you talk for, you know what I came for: a motherfuckin ground war! Talkin that same old style Same old song, same old thang Sweatin yourself, you're gettin busy yo Huh, but you still can't hang I'd rather rip, and still the flip trip On the mic grip and hit, and then trip into I never ever miss.. yo You still ain't shit Thinkin you're all that, you've got the rep and props but you still can't rap Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be ever gonna be, who's gonna see Come near here, come here child yeah I got flavor, style -- compare [Moe Luv cuts: "hold the beat, stop the beat, drop the beat"] Yo, you can't compete You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound Steal my beats, you wanna fuck around I don't play son, shorts do I take none You need help better call 9-1-1 or the Beatles, or Susannah Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana juice, I got more, flowin like a river Yeah, style's what I give ya Shakin em, keep fakin em, make make makin em Takin em, bakin em, no mistaken em Dope, hyper, raw def MC Wanna talk about a man, yo who is he or she, you got nerve to even talk that What about that, yeah, what's up with that rumor talkin, we can't make a hit We've been makin hits while you've been suckin dicks around the town, lookin for a hardcore deal Yeah - you ain't real!
"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real! "Niggaz" You ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real! "Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real! "Niggaz" Man.. "Niggaz" .. get out my FACE!!!
[Kool Keith] Yeah, motherfuckers wanna blast I keep rhymes in store for they ass They ain't got the style to kick no shit I bust rhymes and heat and just blow shit out, let me ask one question You think I fell off? Well come test then You ain't the man to stop the Big X Fuck around become ?? ?? next Yes -- shit is gettin wild Very wild, slick and much wild But watch when I come with the Rhythm X shit Then after that, motherfuckers wanna quit Whether or not, you like it or not, you're wack it's true Your whole crew sound doo doo I keep tissue to wipe the first face I'm like a team that stays in first place Winnin, like the motherfuckin Giants You got rhymes to kick? Then drop science math, english, fuck it I said it Yo Ced, come and grab the mic
[Ced Gee] Yo let's begin with a phrase that's quite hype I'll control with soul Gee get right Into the mix like a DJ spinnin on The crowd is buggin, rememberin "Bring it On" The phrase that stand to all that wanna try to step to the Gee get roast and I wonder why Hmmm, like Arsenio Hall said, I think you rhyme like butter you're soft and you're quite stink Tryin to perpetrate, sayin you're hard right You hit money grip you're fake like a bad night-mare with Freddie, you know you're not ready You sound immature, like a amateur petty Yeah (you ain't ready) to step on the stage, get hit with the rhyme jab Just like the Flintstones, I'll break like Bam Bam BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! -- I'm smoke ya You slept on the Gee, better yet, true Ultra But now we're back and, MC's we're slappin We're givin no slack and, because you're wack and yeah.. you ain't real!
"Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real! "Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real! "Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real! "Niggaz" Man get out my FACE!!!
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