[Wyclef]
Pick up your microphones... Ha, ha
Pick up your microphones
Yo!
How many mics do we rip on the daily
Say, me say many money say me say many many many
How many mics do we rip on the daily
Many money say me say many many many
[Lauryn]
I get mad frustrated when I rhyme
Thinkin' of all them kids that try to do this for all the wrong reasons
Seasons change, mad things rearrange
But it all stays the same like the love doctor Strange
I'm tame like the rapper
Get red like a snapper, when they do that
Got your whole block saying true dat
If only they knew that it was you who was irregular
Sold your soul for some secular muzak that's wack
Plus you use that, loop over and over
Claiming that you got a new style
Your attempts are futile, ooh child
You puerile, brain waves are sterile
You can't create, you just wait to take, my tapes (bing!)
Laced with malice, hands get calloused
From gripping microphones from here to Dallas
Go ask Alice if you don't believe me
I get Innervisions like Stevie
See me, ascend from the chalice like the weed be
Indeed we like Khalid Muhammad
MCs make me vomit; I get controversial
Freak your style with no rehearsal
Au contraire mon frere, don't you even go there
Me without a mic is like a beat without a snare
I dare to tear into your ego, we go
Way back like some ganja and pelequo
Or Coleco-Vision, my rhymes make incisions in your anatomy
And I'll back this with Deuteronomy
Or Leviticus, God made this word, you can't get with this
Sweet like licorice, dangerous like syphilis, yeah
[Wyclef]
I used to be underrated now I take iron
Makes my shit constipated, I'm more concentrated
So on my day off, with David Sonnenberg I play golf
Run through Crown Heights screaming out, Mazel Tov!
Problem with no man; before black, I'm first human
Appetite to write like Frederick Douglass with a slave hand
Street pressure, word to poppa, I ain't goin' under
One day I'll have a label and make deals with Tommy Mottola
Momma always told me, "You're one in a million"
Always watch your back, never tangle with Haitian Sicilians
Now I got a record deal, "How does it feel?"
I'm never gonna survive unless I get crazy like Seal
Cause the whole world's out of order
So at night the fiends dance on Grease with John Travolta
One got slaughtered as he coughed blood from his mouth
The other tried to duck and caught a left with my Guinness Stout
Brother, brother, can't you get this through your head?
This is set up by the feds, they're scoping us with their Infra-reds
[Pras]
Too many MC's, not enough mics
Exit your show like I exit the turnpike
Dicin' dynamite like Dolomite
Double do's been like I don't Dick Van Dyke
Star light to star bright the freaks come out at night
Like my man Wyclef (I wear my sunglasses at night)
And my panache will mosh your entourage
Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my garage
And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin to Brooklyn
Leave the trails broken flippin' tokens to Hoboken
A clean getaway like Alec Baldwin
Driving in my fast car playing Tracy Chapman
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
