Is that a turntable? Well, get on it it's turn
Who laid, the chicken or the egg? How about the MC has just been led To a renegade teacher, preacher he got stomped 'Cause I'm a feature straight from the Bronx
known as Boogie Down If I was a king now, I'd get crowned The is a teacher, not a prince or a rap lord I even my rhymes on a blackboard
To get to probably make you understand What the 808 plan It's simple, I'm a round it off this That's how many stupid MCs I've
But if commence to try me I won't buy it I'll look them up and down and I'll say, "Don't try it" I can go on and on without breathing The TR, another form of
MCs Chunky, moving real bluntly and baking MCs like a junky Fiending, hitting MCs like was cocaine Calling them John Doe, meaning they have no
I'll spin you like a quarter, drink you like Hit below the belt with things you thought of I lay down the law that I am a I roll like a wave so you oughta Float like a sailboat, move like a
In water, now you soak Into a rhyme of mine until you hit the It's like an anchor, it's no problem For me to just bake you, eat you like a
I am a professional, boy, you're just a I'm here to sing a but some are not able Compared to me just crumbs on the table
In my prime, more vocal than I've ever I'm not an amateur, sort of like a Split from the bums, from a long trip Now I'm back to cold rip
MCs like confetti, eat 'em spaghetti I chill for a but yet I'm still ready To house MCs, sink 'em a boat will I roll heavy, thick oatmeal
So now you the 808 is showing I do damage in one moment Here's a little message to that tryna hang out Just remember that I pain out
The TR-808 relates to a Never hiding, always memorizing Poetry, history, or even paragraphs I'm not into b-boying, hoeing
Showing, MCs like the wind does I might lay you, sort of like a hen your rhymes are weak and unstable Compared to me you're crumbs on the table
You better before you even get soup put you on the corner and sell you like a prostitute Like a street whore, make you more and more you to the side, up and down like a seesaw
Pulling out a gun is for But I'm it, so go for yours You may try to diss but I call it flattery I pack more volts than a battery
Charging MCs, like the breeze Scott me funky, yo, that was one theme Or topic, I be rocking Every little city I play, I leave a heat Burning up the industry, try to get with me
I'm the type of that never needs rehearsing Just a little sex, a six pack of And my room to move about and a Stout To make me feel able, and stable
I'm on the mic Sometimes I'm on the I'm superb, sort of herb A man of my and I've never been served