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