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I'm a b-boy |
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That's the best way to define me |
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Born in '81, been rhymin' since the early 90's |
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And I don't plan on stoppin' any time soon |
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That's why fools try to be down with my crew |
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What you recitin' feeble chatter (?), either that or beatin' off |
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Peace to no-name breathin' patterns that'll leave 'em lost |
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I keep a choke-chain on the people's thoughts |
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Teach the whole game how to read between the chalk |
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Okay, we so crazy, don't play me, just pay me you babies |
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I break teeth on fake freaks (?), and maybe, just maybe, you might live |
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That's solely dependent on you mic skills |
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You rap slowly homie, no regard for what's ill |
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Still I hope you're not the nicest of you teammates |
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I'm your worst nightmare, you're like a whack |
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MC's dream date |
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A walking target, plus an awful artist, what you talk is often ****ing garbage |
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The public regrets the fact they have to hear your music |
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What you call spittin' looks more like involuntary droolin' |
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Say I'm stupid for entertainin' rumors but |
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I heard you give your favorite producer head in trade for his creative juices |
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We makin' music, just tryna put the fun back in |
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Turntablism, lyricism, ain't no gun packin' |
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It's hard to swallow, even my simple sing(?) |
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So bitin's not recommended by 9 out of 10 dentists |
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I step on snakes any yes |
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I make a mess on tape cassettes with |
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My brother, ain't no other quite like my mellow, my man |
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So Abilities, lemme hear you make some funky music with your hands |
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Wall lights(?), solo, drums and vocals |
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Guaranteed to put your attention span in a choke-hold |
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PEACE We just representin' for the hip-hoppers world-wide, |
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MC's, DJ's, b-boys, graff-writers, everybody in the house |
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Yeah, Blueprint in the house, uh-huh |
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Daylight in the house, uh-huh |
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E-Wok in the house, yeah |
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Mr. Dibbs in the house, uh-huh |
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X-Cal in the house, uh |
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Abomination's in the house, uh |
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Headshot's in the house, yeah |
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Rhymesayers and we out, |
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PEACE |
