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On the Black Caesar tip, my dialogue is just like |
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A frank inside of a supermarket, raw dog |
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I'm the untouchable, never to be took out |
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A Sexy Mother, ooh child, Prince look out |
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I'm keepin' girls of all shades on my trail |
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From a Sister Act down to a Single White Female |
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'Cause when I hit the skins they all say, "Damn Kane |
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You knock out the Bush like a presidential campaign" |
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But if you think that lickin' toes makes me weak |
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You better treat me like Freddy Krueger, don't sleep |
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I write raps, ready to rip and rock real rough rhymes |
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Run in rugged and raw, rapidly ruinin' roaches |
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Point blank, I spell murder to a bum |
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All you backwards rappers, Redrum, Redrum |
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'Cause I do 'em somethin' awful, break em down to a morsel |
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Makin' sure that you're no longer adorable |
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Rappers get so quiet when I'm comin', that if they |
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Shitted a dictionary, you couldn't get a word from 'em |
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It's sort of a tradition in Bed-Stuy to do or die |
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So steppin' to me is suicide |
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I couldn't think of a rapper takin' mines |
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I feel like Ali, I'm the greatest of all times |
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Floatin' like a butterfly, stingin' like a bee |
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Yeah I know this ain't boxin' but that's still my pedigree |
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But as for you, you have no appeal |
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How you get a record deal? |
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Like shell-toe Adidas, ain't a damn thing changed |
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The way I shoot off lyrics like a firin' range |
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Breakin' out in a cold sweat, the death threat |
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Gettin' more props than a movie set |
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The smooth microphone assassin, rhymes keep blastin' |
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Uhh, I keep the body count massive |
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But if you say you increased the Bodycount troop |
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You must admit that you joined Ice-T's group |
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'Cause you ain't hurtin' niggedy nuthin', so why you bluffin'? |
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Tryin' to be the new Big Daddy somethin' |
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But there's only, before me, no one is [unverified], huh |
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You couldn't come Pryor if your name was Richard |
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'Cause I'm the Alpha and Omega |
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Arm-Leg-uh-Leg-uh-Arm-Head, stayin' raw til I'm dead |
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And to battle me you shouldn't even try |
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'Cause with wings on your tongue, you still couldn't say nothin' fly |
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And I don't care if you bring a crew |
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And I don't even care if someone else writes for you |
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Man you could even be someone the crowd may just like but shoot |
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You couldn't see me with a bifocal mic |
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Check my resume, Rap Masters, word up |
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Yo! MTV, Bet, The Box and all that good stuff |
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And Billboard for my five year duration |
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And see that I got more spots than a dalmatian |
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Let's get down to finish this large |
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You could bring on your whole squad, none of you chumps are hard |
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All that garbage you mumble ain't real and seriously, seriously |
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How you get a record deal? |
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A lot of rappers today, wonder |
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Should I ask Kane to write rhymes for me to say? |
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Well you're god damn right you should |
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'Cause my rhymes are like spandex, they make any ass seem good |
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So act like you know Baby Pop |
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When I riggedy rock the higgedy hip-hop non stop, as I |
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Freak the funk and flip the flavor to flow with the flyest |
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A fury full force in the flames of the fire, now |
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May these MC's rest in peace |
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Because when I come to town, the population decrease |
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I leave em finished, dead and that's that, huh |
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Not even Pet Semetary could bring 'em back |
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I slay my pray, A to K, I tell em like Jennifer Holiday |
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No no no no no no way |
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That you could ever touch this, no you know how I feel? |
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I think you bought your record deal |
