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(Wyclef Jean) |
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I'm Chill-Master-Nell of a thousand emcees |
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But how are you gonna tell the real I bust from these fo' knees |
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Cause he sees everyone with a deal with a record company |
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They go home, they write a rhyme, they think they ready to battle better |
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Some write forward, some write backward |
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I wait for them to get the cheeba-ganja then reverse yo |
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With a verse that's worse than the last one |
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some say BOO! he's the po he used to diss Jamaicans |
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and Hatians cause you thought I was American |
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Ay Pras, remember that song they sang, YEAH!! |
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Go back to Jamaica, what's good is what's new |
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But now we move off with Uncle's with a trail-crate of COOLER!! |
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(Pras) |
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I'm from the island, the island I'm from is the strong island |
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Emcees must be right, when I syke from lack of freestylin' |
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Mind must be sharp until my holler girl, I get all in |
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Black stylin', ridin', Boof'll be trappin' |
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When they come to battle champ see the shoes flappin' |
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Huh, coolin' while I'm rappin' |
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(Chorus: Wyclef Jean) |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(Wyclef Jean) |
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Said if you write with pencil you must write with (PEN!) |
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If you have a rooster you must have a (HEN!) |
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Five plus five you know that equals to (TEN!) |
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Then spit the yellow man, check it to groove-to-groove site |
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(Pras) |
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One, two, I throw a flow to catch it |
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Three, four, back she know before the track miss |
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I **** ya when style go, to wreck this static |
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(But yo sister, grab the mic and do damage!!) |
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(Lauryn Hill) |
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Aiyyo I used to drive a hooptie, check me down swoopie |
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Rollin' with the Jones' but I different homozones |
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See life's got no value if I ain't got no statue |
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Hannibal heads, I be the kid from "Timbuktu" |
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One, two, zip me-me, check the mic I'm ready |
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Three, four, please the army - "Oh God", with Uzi's |
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So what, converse man, the chicken or the hoodie |
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get the - hoodie came first then mans' then would be Nancy |
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To kill the Jesse James rough, step back, check your steps |
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I'll love your theory like the chi-chi-woo-woo-boogie-man |
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You say I'm balanced but you're Silence of the Lambs |
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And when I call your name I say Candyman, Candyman, Candyman |
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Cause I can, can, yes, I can, can |
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(Chorus: Wyclef Jean) |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(Wyclef Jean) |
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Well I'm on fire (FIRE), FIRE (FIRE), FIRE (FIRE) |
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So let me re-light your viacom |
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And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic (COOL!!) |
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And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic (COOL!!) |
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And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic (COOL!!) |
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And let you enter the-the-elec-tronic (COOL!!) |
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All that movin' I call my nozzle you see I was an electronic |
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You listen to your lyrics in chime - your Panasonic |
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The ly-ly-ly-lyricaler, the di-di-di-digital |
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Pras take the mic man, you know you're really critical |
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(Pras) |
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Stall emcees-soft-put 'em up for-er-Death Row (yeah) |
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Rhyme and cultural, style and never old |
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Slashed the priest-fool, ooh, you're filth-swolled |
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(Wyclef Jean) |
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I say no to spliff but my friends still smoke ?Juano? |
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Coolin' it, coolin' it, coolin' it |
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Somebody chuck me-who the who'd you think? |
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hold the mic, hold the mic, I shoot 'em |
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down with my last one, last one, last one, last one and |
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(Boo-shoo-coo-coo!!) SMOKE!! |
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I got my bullet-proof and now to send my bozack |
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(Chorus: Wyclef Jean) |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(Mad Spider) |
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Rich rap come from the brothers in the neigborhood |
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who used to rap on a Polaroid - here comes Father Joe |
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Let me clock the block as I pull fo'-five |
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Boof Baf - I cut the block with gat-stops |
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I used to play hookie just to see how good an emcee was |
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He said I bust a battle - aight, I still took a gun |
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No cheeba, cheeba just a Libra on a last ride |
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I waited so long that I thought I died and came back alive |
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So hear the spirits, many fear, ?Sir New Stosser? |
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This the new thing under the Sun, when I come, I come |
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Bam-bam, alakazam, he grabbed the mic |
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up the block they ran, I came back with the bag |
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cause that's my momma man |
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I'm just patrollin', move off in the block |
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but the spot that I clock, you get shot if your numbers' about |
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So don't get caught in the fast lane, the fast lane |
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A just remain yourself and be the same |
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Cause many rapper-days, say nuttin' for nuttin' |
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So here's sut-um to take you from the am to the pm |
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(Pras) |
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Cause a imitator could never be greater than the creator |
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whose the originator, step up infiltrator |
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See you in the alligator - back stabbin' traitor |
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Tape recorder, duplicator, roughly rhymin' with the head tranzlator, hah! |
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AND LEAVE THE FORTY TO BE NAUGHTY IN THE FRIDGERATOR!!! |
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(Chorus: Wyclef Jean) |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck punk, try |
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(BOOF BAF!!), another sound of a guy |
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(BOOF BAF!!), never boy, duck... |
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(Wyclef Jean) |
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Say gun-man (BOOF BAF!!) say tell me where you get your (???) from (BOOF BAF!!) |
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You musta get it from the foreign land (BOOF BAF!!) |
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We want to shoot up the old a Babylon (BOOF BAF!!) |
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Pay the man to rhyme onto it |
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Say gun-man (BOOF BAF!!) say tell me where you get your (???) from (BOOF BAF!!) |
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You musta get it from the foreign land (BOOF BAF!!) |
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You want to kill your own brother man (BOOF BAF!!), ay, ay, ay (BOOF BAF!!) |
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(*undecipherable singing*) |