[CLEF:]
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Another MC lose his life tonight, lord
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I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why
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O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa
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[CLEF:]
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I haunt MC's like Mephistophales
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Bringin swords and Damacles
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Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy
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Abstract raps simple with a street format
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Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax.
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Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion
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Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation.
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I Feel like Rockwell, "Somebody's watching me"
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I got no privacy whether on land or at sea.
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And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic
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Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit.
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It hurts don't it, the refugees come to your turf and take over the earth.
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[INTERLUDE (Lauryn):]
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See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes
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That can only get down with my crew
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And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes
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We'll show you how the refugees do.
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[LAURYN:]
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Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes
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Two MC's can't occupy the same space at the same time.
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It's against the laws of Physics.
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So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics
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Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile
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Whether jew or gentile
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I rank top percentile,
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Many styles,
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More powerful than gamma rays
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My grammar pays,
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Like Carlos Sanatana plays
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Black Magic Woman
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So while you fuming, I'm consuming
|
Mango juice under Polaris,
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You're just embarrassed
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Cause it's your "Last Tango in Paris"
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And even after all my logic and my theory,
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I add a muthaf**ker so you ignint niggas hear me.
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And you remember take notes,
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As I sow my rap otas
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And for you biting zealots, here's a quote.
|
|
[Chorus (CLEF):]
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Another MC lose his life tonight, lord
|
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why
|
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa
|
|
[CLEF:]
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You can try but you can't divide the tribe
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These cats can't rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe
|
The magazine says the girl should have gone solo,
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The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo.
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Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part
|
As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start,
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For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp
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Do a cameo while everybody do the dance.
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Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka
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Playin' Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka.
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While you munchin at your luncheon, I'll be planning your assassination
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Then hit you like the Dutchmen
|
|
[PRAZ:]
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I compress sound sets with my rap DBX
|
Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEX
|
Bring terror to the shop of horror,
|
As she cries "Mi amor"
|
The phantom dies in the opera
|
And to the youngin's who carry gadgets
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And kill 6 days a week then on a sabbath.
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Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me
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Then get buried like the great Mussolini
|
And for you bitin' Zealots
|
Your rap styles are relics
|
No matter who you damage
|
You're still a false prophet.
|
|
[Chorus (CLEF):]
|
Another MC lose his life tonight, lord
|
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why
|
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa
|
|
-----------------
|
Zealots
|
| Fugees |
