"Live from New York it's Saturday Nite!" (Scratched 4x)
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[Uneek]
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Ayo kid for years I've been into rap
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Writing funky rhymes to get my name on the map
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And by now I know I'm hitting
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Cause I say a rhyme and girls be like, "Uh no he didn't"
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I'm so nonchalont, word to my uncle and my aunt
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I serve MC's like a restaurant
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It ain't where you're from it's where you're at
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So in that case your butt better step like a frat
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Cause juice I got a lot of vaoprs
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While you gotta quit, I'm always rolling with Umdada, shit
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When I deliver I make you shiver
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If a guy try to front, I have to show him I'm the problem giver
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Girlfriend you're gonna be in bad shape
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If you expect Uneek to take you shopping like a demo tape
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I'll tell your brother Jack to be Nimble
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Cause if you want beef we can clash like a cymbal
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You need to stop all the yelling and the cursing
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I know it foul, he couldn't house a homeless person
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We don't cuddle in the Eyceurokk huddle
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While verse is subtle, and then we wet you like a puddle
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One lyric from the gut, so what?
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You want to strut like you're bad and then you might get had
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Yeah it's cool, it's gonna be all right
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Cause live from New York it's Saturday Nite
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"Live from New York it's Saturday Nite!" (Scratched 4x)
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[Masta Ace]
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It's the offbeat, on beat, man with the mostest
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Like Hostess, I bake MC's and oh and you knows this
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So 1 2 3 4, for whom the bell is tolling
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I'm rolling with Umdada and I'm um holding my swollen
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And doing the project dance from back in the days
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It's the Master, the Ace and yo, I'm black and it pays
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So bust the move on the mad offbeat tip and
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It's the dopest, but can you cope this, by far the hippest
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Hat on sideways or backward, I knew a funky track would
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Open up the ears of the black hood
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I'm not Rough Mouth, Richie, or the Fonz
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I'm no joke, I school that ass like St. John's
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Some come get a little bit, hit hard like a rock and
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Open up the door cause I'm knocking
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Ready or not, here I come in a hurry and
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It's Masta Ace, Steady Pace, Paula Perry and
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Eyceurokk with the 4 Building storm and
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Welcome to the Bates Motel, my name is Norman
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I got the mad knife, I'm mad mean
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I killed mad crews, I read Mad magazine
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So break it down for the heads with the dreads
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For the baldies and the fades, for the blues and the reds
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Here comes the crazy drunken style, take a swigga
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As I take my finger of the trigga for the Lord Digga
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[Lord Digga]
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Lord Digga, the microphone mutilator
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With the hardcore data to mash motherfuckers like potatoes
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I get a load of a punk who tried to diss me
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You wanna know why? Cause I spit on spectators
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My style is rough, ruck, and rugged on the ill tip
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Blowing the fuck up, sending pussies looking for microchips
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Mad mad styles get flipped when the chordless gets gripped
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Not a gang member but I got Tales from the Crip
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I'm mad mad funky like Silk
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Take a sniff of my ass crack, motherfuckers stay wack
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As my pockets get fat like and elephant
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I'm far from benevolent, I'm up your ass for the hell of it
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I'm catching wreck on your record or cassette tape
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Now I can't wait to catch motherfuckers that slept late
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I flip the hardcore shit so little punks you know
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That's how it goes on Saturday Nite
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"Live from New York it's Saturday Nite!" (Scratched 4x)
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[Eyce]
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Eyceurokk consists of three:
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First is Rokk Deisel, my brother Uneek, and then there's me, nigga
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I wear the orange and the black cap, black and orange jersey on my back
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Baddest nigga in the pack
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And I work to get my loot, shoot
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Huh, I'm turning heads like a handicapped prostitute
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Son you gotta belive me
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That I'm a be "Rockin you, rockin you" but I'm not Davert Leavy
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I'm hitting rappers til they stagger
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And if he's a bragger, I'm gonna watch him fall like Niagra
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Ooops, oh, time for him to go
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Take him to the morgue, put a tag on his toe
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Not the type you can play a game with
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Fuck around, look at all the niggas that I came with
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Stop dissing, there will be no tomorrow
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| You'll feel sorrow, I'm knocking niggas down like Mark Bavarr |
