[Verse One: Malik B]
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Yo, I'm every MC, it's all in me
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That's the way it is, when ya gotta be
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Indeed as I distort I proceed, I need
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Gettin hotter than sacks of boom, in my room at the Ramada
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Four tanks in your memory banks to fill up
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I provide the static, with scratch to match, while you catch the vibe
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Most can play high post, but yo that don't mean shit
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Because my click'll make a motherfucker sick
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I flips, redder than pork, comin to New York to mix
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(It's Bob Powers) With the snares and kicks to fix
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Rhythmatically, you got ta be, static-y
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Magiccally I appear, spark a L and drink a beer
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With air smooth, takin niggaz loot with dice
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then shoot The Roots, poetic, courageously kinetic
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Vagabond, versatile and various, plus rap styles
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of mine are blunt, pain is in the mind, so I'm fine and five
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Foot seven, inches in height
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My mission to strike mics and lighten your tights
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Ridin in, like lightning
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Flourescent, incandescent, evervescently
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I represent, Foreign Objects and Ill Elements
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Very relevant, plus intelligently managin matter
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that's makin tracks fatter, revolve around
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Saturn like rings and brins swings when I sings with bass
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Then distort up in your face like mace
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Bustin your dreams, I gasp with loaded magazines
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I'm on the rap scene, re-color fellas like a vaccine
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As I, rocks from under blunderin I'm not, lyrically
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Ya getm, shot, get caught so distort with thought, for real
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It's the illest out the Phi, short for Philidelph-iada-fly
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Money makin move fakin I isn't
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Niggaz can nah front, I'm poetically exquisite
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Wicked, with the visit while you're wonderin what is it
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Dig it, yo my mellow um whattup for the night
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(Malik B, get on the mic, get on the mic)
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Like that y'all, and yo I'm flowin, my part of the song
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It's goin, it's goin, it's gone
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[Verse Two: Malik B]
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Now, go get your dictionary and your Pictionary
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Cause much affliction with my diction friction slips and carries
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Words and hers like some cattle in the steeple
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People, there's no equal, or no sequel
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SO policies, of equalities, get abolished
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Demolished, distortion of the static's gettin polished
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Urges of splurge and words will just be merged
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Together, damn it's quite clever, however
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You never, can sound alike, lyrics don't be poundin like
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These, troops, who be's, Roots
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Insult ya, mellow of culture, rhythmatic vulture
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Approach ya, with Magnetic shit that's Ultra
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I make MC's dangle like a bangle
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Strangle from every angle, my lingo hingles and it jangles
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under Kangols, nahh them niggaz don't want to tangle
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Cause Roots get loose, negroes get juiced like the mango
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To be particular, extra-curricular, for pleasure
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Measure, in any weather, value more than the treasure
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Baby, you say you maybe, then come in to flex
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Now you wonder what's next...
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Distortion To Static
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The Roots |