I smoke on the mic like Smokin’ Joe Frazier,
The hell raiser, raisin’ hell with the flavor.
First of all, who’s your A&R?
A mountain climber who plays an electric guitar?
But he don’t know the meaning of dope,
When he’s lookin for a suit and tie rap
That’s cleaner than a bar of soap!
And I’m the dirtiest thing in sight,
Matter of fact, bring out the girls and let’s have a mud fight.
Abraham Lincoln got shot and died,
Freed the slaves so they put him on the five.
You just met me, you won’t let me…
Well if I couldn’t have it, silly rabbit, why you sweating me?
I hate your fuckin’ guts, and I hope that you die.
Sticky Fingaz’s tha name, and my life is a lie,
Cause I’m havin a bad day, so stay out of my way,
And what the pistol packin’ people say, you better obey!
We love it where we from, but we kick it where we at.
I dribble rhymes like basketball…
People call me ‘E.T.’
What’s that, Shaq man?
You need to sweat yourself. Don’t sweat nobody else.
Damn, I can’t wait until it get dark,
So I can light these fireworks up at the park,
And celebrate my independence,
It’s the 4th of July, but I ain’t got 10 cents.
Rap is something you do, Hip-hop is something you live.
Do you ever think about when you outta here?
Record deal and video, outta here!?
Mercedes Benz and Range Rover, outta here!?
No doubt, BDP is old school, but we ain’t goin’ out!
Leave it up to me while I be livin’ proof,
To kick the truth to the young black youth.
Are you tired of lyrical liars, passing fliers,
Wannabe MC’s, but really good triers,
Tripping over mic cords, getting you bored,
A total fraud, this kind of thing I can’t afford!
If wonder if I blasted a little Elvis Presley.
Would they pull me over and attempt to arrest me?
I doubt, doubt it, they’ll probably start dancin,
Jumpin on my dick and pissin in they pants and
Wiggle and then jiggle and grab on they pelvis
But you know my name, so you never hear no Elvis.
Back in ’86, Rakim hit “The Melody.”
Ever since then, shit jumped off steadily.
Prime Minister Pete Nice, “The Rhapsody,” from Prime Minister Pete Nice & Daddy Rich’s Dust to Dust, 1993
Well I’m a sire, I set the microphone on fire,
Rap styles vary…and carry like Mariah.
Inspectah Deck, “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’,” from Wu-Tang Clan’s Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), 1993
We love it where we from, but we kick it where we at.
Ladybug Mecca, “It’s Good to Be Here,” from Digable Planets’ Reachin’ (A New Refutation of Time and Space), 1993
I’m like a major threat:
Cause I remind you of the things you were made to forget.
– 2Pac, “Holler If Ya Hear Me,” Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z., 1993
They never understood, many people were so slow.
My funky type of rhyme, and my style is pyscho.
– Kool Keith, “Raise It Up,” from Ultramagnetic MC’s The Four Horsemen, 1993
I got bitches in the livin’ room gettin’ it on,
And they ain’t leavin’ till six in the mornin’.
– Snoop Dogg, “Gin and Juice,” Doggystyle, 1993
Used to have a crush on Dawn from En Vogue.
It’s not like honey dip would wanna get with me,
But just in case I own more condoms than TLC.
We live to love, and we love to rock mics.
We speak in ghetto tongue, cause ghetto’s the life.
I never want a jheri curl up under my hat,
The woman in my bed has got to be strictly black,
I never want money if my lyrics are wack,
So I must…rock…the mic.
Who do I blame if I’m not a success?
Do I blame it on my pops that left
When I was feedin on my mama’s breast?
Or do I blame it on society?
With all this black/white stuff…man this shit is real tough.
‘Cause in my physical I can express through song,
Delete stress like Motrin, then extend strong.
I drink Moet with Medusa, give her shotguns in hell
From the spliff that I lift and inhale…it ain’t hard to tell.
Deep like The Shining, sparkle like a diamond,
Sneak a Uzi on the Island in my army jacket lining.
Hit the Earth like a comet…invasion,
Nas is like the Afrocentric Asian: half-man, half-amazing.
It ain’t hard to tell, I excel then prevail,
The mic is contacted, I attract clientele.
My mic check is life or death, breathing a sniper’s breath,
I exhale the yellow smoke of buddha through righteous steps.
As the night seemed darker, cops is on a hunt,
They interrupt your cipher, and crush your blunt.
See, you left your work at home so they pat you down for nothing;
Why in the hell does 10-4 keep fronting?
I’m sick and tired of these fake-ass niggas,
Saying that they’re catching bodies when they never pulled a trigger.
I know your style, I’ve seen it before,
You wearing army suit, now you think you’re hardcore.
Drinking on your 40’s, smoking on your blunts,
Can’t afford a chain so you wear gold fronts…
You fakin’ the funk, kid.
And you’d be getting it up the ass if you ever did a fucking bid.
Times are hard in the ghetto, I gotta steal for a living;
Eating turkey-flavored Now & Laters for Thanksgiving.
We went from African kings to Martin Luther King,
Now they wanna make us all Rodney King.
So they conspire to murder for hire;
Is the world just a big cup of water trying to douse the black fire?
There’s four developing stages in the art of hip-hop,
And most of them developed from the snap, crackle and pop.
The first was the usage of an actual band,
The second was a drum machine made by a man,
The third was the human beatbox and percussion,
The fourth in line was samplin’ and the book of rhyme bustin’.
I keep the ugly rhymes in the cellar of my cranium,
Where no one can see them or hear cries for freedom.
Chopped up raw thoughts the only thing I feed ‘em,
Release the beats from the cellar when I need ‘em.
God works in different ways and it shows,
And everybody knows: love comes and goes.
When I drink a brew for you, I pour some on the block, son.
You might be gone, but you damn sure ain’t forgotten.
Before you act black,
Or try to dress black,
You better be born black,
Or I’ll call your shit wack.
Little brats yellin ‘Trick or Treat’ all through my screen door,
When y’all should be at home sleep,
Instead of at my front porch 15 deep.
The jack o’ lantern came in handy…
I can turn my porch light out like I ain’t got no candy.
But ain’t that somethin?
You buy a Halloween costume and a pumpkin,
Almost gave your children a heart attack.
It’s a tradition, but who the hell started that?
Black boy, black boy, turn that shit down.
You know that America don’t wanna hear the sound
Of the bass drum jungle music, go back to Africa,
Nigga I’ll arrest ya if you’re holding up traffic.
I’ll be damned if I listen, so cops save your breath
And write another ticket if you have any left.
And I’m breaking eardrums while I’m breaking the law,
I’m disturbing all the peace cause Sister Soldier said ‘War!’
So catch me if you can, if you can, here’s a donut,
Cause once you drive away, yo, you know I’m gonna go nuts.
And turn it up to where it was before, nice try!
But you can’t stop the power of the bass in your eye.