[Kool Keith (Ced):]
(Whassup?) Yo, it's just that
We the we the best in the United States
And they don't wanna give it to us
But we the kings, we the real kings
And all that other bullshit you get, is counterfeit
So you know, stop buyin them other bullshit records
(Stop gettin that plastic) and be dedicate...
Raise your hands in the air and become (that plastic hip-hop)
Dedicated Ultra fans! You know what that means?
You can't buy no other records [laughter]
Yeah fuck 'em! These motherfuckers ain't shit
Tryin to rhyme and tryin to get, NASTY~!
I know the game when I'm steppin in bullshit
You better quit, when you're makin a fake hit
You ain't hard, buggin and so rough
You're jack doo-doo, and soft as cream puff
I know MC's who feel proud and black though
I know many; their ass sound whack though
Tryin to walk up, don't give me no pound
FUCK YOU, cause you ain't down
Busting a move and that fucked up freestyle
I go mad wild, lyrically so wild
Look up stepchild, I fuckin support you
But you sound whack, now I have to abort you
CAUGHT YOU, jerking off in the bathroom
Bitin my fresh rhymes in back of the classroom
Copyin, bitin shit off the master
Lookin for dope rhymes but I'm a come after
Hittin your brain like a motherfuckin blackjack
Rappers on stage, steppin to me they're wick-whack
Weak-ass rhymes show get off the stage black
Fuck up the mic girl you're bitch now get back
Fuck it! I see the bitches on the mic
You treat 'em the same, like niggaz on the mic
No pity; you shouldn'ta got in the game
It's like rappin to win, with a fucked up name
Like Pussy P, who the fuck is he or she?
Yeah them niggaz is whack! Fuck 'em
Fuck 'em... fuck 'em... fuck 'em... fuck 'em...
Fuck 'em... fuck 'em... FUCK YOU!
Yo, fuck them! I put their rhymes in a pooper scoop
They can't rap, they sound like doo doo and Fruit Loops
Rap for money fame women and videos
They need to sit down write better material
Like this, for a motherfuckin freestyle
Lose they jheri curls cause they're not real
Niggaz, from the motherfuckin Bronx and
Killin in Brooklyn, with rhymes that's stompin
The competition, to me they're like children
You pick up the mic you get treated like pilgrims
Back on the boat, on a mission to another land
Takin you out's like beatin up Peter Pan
Boy, I hear you like to copy
Rap in yo' country, that shit sound sloppy
Learn how to rap like a pro with a real flow
Straight up South Bronx original rap tone
Takin my time as I teach better rappin buddy
So be quick like a kid with some Silly Putty
So back up, think what are you doin
You live in a fantasy, you're soon to ruin
Your career, you hear? I'm not here to scare
But I'm here to share what I feel is fair
Yeah~! Y'all know what that is
Yo TR tell 'em
[scratching: "Fuck you! "]
Yeah, y'all know what time it is
All you rappers out there, livin foul
Perpetratin what you're not
Tryin to be hard, tryin to be soft, butter soft
Act a clown, makeup fallin down
Put the shit down and be yourself, y'knahmsayin?
That's what it's all about in the 90's
Be yourself, PEACE!
I know, and you know (yeah)
That no matter what we done
We'd like to tell everybody how we feel about it all
And if we've offended anybody in any way
We don't give a shit!
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