Assed Out
The RZA, The GZA, Ol' Dirty Bastard
Inspectah Deck
Raekwon the Chef, U-God, Ghostface Killah
Masta Killa
And the Me yeah, yeah, come on, now, now
What's happening? Who get it cracking
Like a neck snapping for the rapping
And who them fellas packing yelling Staten
From the background, I'll back down a few
Try to clown us in the past
Where they at now?
I'm ill as baby powder with the smackdown
For the record
My brain is like the project projected
For the Method go see my nigga Kush
He got the best shit for burning
This one go out for whom it may concerning
Spending they entire earning
Trynna get a higher learning
MC's is vermin, like E be Sermon
Ya'll too determined
Feeling yaself like Pee Wee Herman
While we at it, let's tighten up our grips
Around that cabbage silly rabbit's
How many kids'll trick you out your carrots
Ghetto bastards and ghetto bitches
I break you like a bad habit
My dick is two inches too
Big for it's britches
Uh, so fuck a mister and your misses
Cottonmouth niggas X'ed out
Like Merry Christmas, that all
Uh huh, be home Bell rings
Knock, knock, who is it, Tical I pop digit
My block too hot to visit, round here
You gots to live it mC's, you must admit it
I'm deadly on this mic like
Anthrax on this premise
Anyone of ya'll can get in
I breathe, Backwoods sleeves and THC
I bleed, kamikazes and forty OZ's
America's Most, the better the smoke
The better the quotes
For cheddar, Meth'll sever the throat
Whatever the coast
I'm home, let the sun shine on
Get his grind on and get some phone time
Everytime I'm in your timezone
Look here, it's crooked letter I
Ya'll don't meet nothing but crooks here
It's hot in hell's kitchen
Get your cookware, for goodness
MC's is like that shit chicks be gushing
For pushing
Got me tooken down to Central Booking
I stick out, as if Tical just walked up in
The party with my dick out
And I'm prepared to take the shit I dish out
"When you realize that what you
Got ain't what you want"
On the, yo, on the
Expressway, suddenly, I, um, hit the breaks
A mistake, patrol figure just, ran the plates
I pull to the shoulder, a half mile ahead
The vibe got colder when the marksman said
"Yo, you in the truck
Get the fuck out your car
Put your hands where my eyes could see
Not far"
A fat slob, with pepperspray in the canister
Donut shop lounger, nine mil brandisher
Plus my half pound just rang the bell
Of the bloodhound
Had an acute sense of smell
I guess he was tired of
The strip and booking whores
Moving off a tip he's
Claimed he's looking for
Some MC's wanted for a string of break-ins
Last seen wearing long minks and snakeskins