Mic Felon Lyrics
| Song | Mic Felon |
| Artist | Hilltop Hoods |
| Album | The Calling |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Intro - From movie; The Fugitive | |
| - He might've got out. | |
| He might've got out. | |
| What the hell is this? A minute ago you tell me he's part of the wreckage, now you're - | |
| Poole, set up operations right here by the side of the fire truck. | |
| Listen up, ladies an gentlemen! | |
| A fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. | |
| Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injury, is four miles an hour. | |
| That gives us a radius of... six miles. | |
| Verse One – Pressure | |
| I got committed to the pen now my shit's so locked down, | |
| MCs think I'm doing time for this hip-hop sound, | |
| Debris the mastermind, Suffa's my partner in crime, | |
| I be the microphone felon, tell them your master design, | |
| It all started when I was young fiending for mics, | |
| Dreaming of heights that I would be reaching despite, | |
| No one would put me on, or even play me at that, | |
| So earned my dues ganking mics labelled radio shack, | |
| At open mic one night far from sober or with it, | |
| This guy pulls me off and says ‘You're rhyming over the limit, | |
| And heading that way you won't last a day or a night, | |
| You need to be down for the long haul kid we call em lifers, | |
| Beside you need to stick with me cos rhyme pays, | |
| And I know this heist where we can jack some sine waves, | |
| They're mainly small timers, freestylers, | |
| Street urchins and beat merchants, none of them real rhymers, | |
| They're raping this culture and make me sick to my stomach, | |
| These fools need to be arrested for sleeping in public', | |
| I dug it, got serious and mastered my rhyme, | |
| The rocked to the spot with my new partner in crime, | |
| Trespassed on stage, stole the mic to further insult, | |
| Committed arsony, defamation and verbal assault, | |
| They tried to blame the engineer oblivious to our ploy, | |
| So we crept backstage as they buried the sound boy, | |
| I stole the DJs crates and his diamond needles, | |
| Now they got me on the run so it's time to leave ya'll, | |
| We tried to cross the border, got cause as a noun carrier, | |
| Pulled over and evicted for breaking the sound barrier, | |
| This cop threw me to the ground, cos hip hop is violent, | |
| Said ‘You got freedom of speech, just choose to remain silent', | |
| Then he checked in the trunk and he found the hot sound, | |
| I got committed to the pen now my shit's locked down. | |
| Chorus | |
| I'm a rhyme felon; peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can't handle the product that I'm selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I'm on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one, | |
| I'm a rhyme felon; peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can't handle the product that I'm selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I'm on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one, | |
| I'm a rhyme felon; peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can't handle the product that I'm selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I'm on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one. | |
| Prologue - DJ. Debris | |
| I was forced into my life... | |
| I was forced into my life of crime | |
| Career criminal, now my... now my... | |
| Career is rhyme. | |
| Still number... Still number...Still number... | |
| Still number one. |
| Intro From movie The Fugitive | |
| He might' ve got out. | |
| He might' ve got out. | |
| What the hell is this? A minute ago you tell me he' s part of the wreckage, now you' re | |
| Poole, set up operations right here by the side of the fire truck. | |
| Listen up, ladies an gentlemen! | |
| A fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. | |
| Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injury, is four miles an hour. | |
| That gives us a radius of... six miles. | |
| Verse One Pressure | |
| I got committed to the pen now my shit' s so locked down, | |
| MCs think I' m doing time for this hiphop sound, | |
| Debris the mastermind, Suffa' s my partner in crime, | |
| I be the microphone felon, tell them your master design, | |
| It all started when I was young fiending for mics, | |
| Dreaming of heights that I would be reaching despite, | |
| No one would put me on, or even play me at that, | |
| So earned my dues ganking mics labelled radio shack, | |
| At open mic one night far from sober or with it, | |
| This guy pulls me off and says ' You' re rhyming over the limit, | |
| And heading that way you won' t last a day or a night, | |
| You need to be down for the long haul kid we call em lifers, | |
| Beside you need to stick with me cos rhyme pays, | |
| And I know this heist where we can jack some sine waves, | |
| They' re mainly small timers, freestylers, | |
| Street urchins and beat merchants, none of them real rhymers, | |
| They' re raping this culture and make me sick to my stomach, | |
| These fools need to be arrested for sleeping in public', | |
| I dug it, got serious and mastered my rhyme, | |
| The rocked to the spot with my new partner in crime, | |
| Trespassed on stage, stole the mic to further insult, | |
| Committed arsony, defamation and verbal assault, | |
| They tried to blame the engineer oblivious to our ploy, | |
| So we crept backstage as they buried the sound boy, | |
| I stole the DJs crates and his diamond needles, | |
| Now they got me on the run so it' s time to leave ya' ll, | |
| We tried to cross the border, got cause as a noun carrier, | |
| Pulled over and evicted for breaking the sound barrier, | |
| This cop threw me to the ground, cos hip hop is violent, | |
| Said ' You got freedom of speech, just choose to remain silent', | |
| Then he checked in the trunk and he found the hot sound, | |
| I got committed to the pen now my shit' s locked down. | |
| Chorus | |
| I' m a rhyme felon peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can' t handle the product that I' m selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I' m on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one, | |
| I' m a rhyme felon peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can' t handle the product that I' m selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I' m on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one, | |
| I' m a rhyme felon peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can' t handle the product that I' m selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I' m on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one. | |
| Prologue DJ. Debris | |
| I was forced into my life... | |
| I was forced into my life of crime | |
| Career criminal, now my... now my... | |
| Career is rhyme. | |
| Still number... Still number... Still number... | |
| Still number one. |
| Intro From movie The Fugitive | |
| He might' ve got out. | |
| He might' ve got out. | |
| What the hell is this? A minute ago you tell me he' s part of the wreckage, now you' re | |
| Poole, set up operations right here by the side of the fire truck. | |
| Listen up, ladies an gentlemen! | |
| A fugitive has been on the run for ninety minutes. | |
| Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injury, is four miles an hour. | |
| That gives us a radius of... six miles. | |
| Verse One Pressure | |
| I got committed to the pen now my shit' s so locked down, | |
| MCs think I' m doing time for this hiphop sound, | |
| Debris the mastermind, Suffa' s my partner in crime, | |
| I be the microphone felon, tell them your master design, | |
| It all started when I was young fiending for mics, | |
| Dreaming of heights that I would be reaching despite, | |
| No one would put me on, or even play me at that, | |
| So earned my dues ganking mics labelled radio shack, | |
| At open mic one night far from sober or with it, | |
| This guy pulls me off and says ' You' re rhyming over the limit, | |
| And heading that way you won' t last a day or a night, | |
| You need to be down for the long haul kid we call em lifers, | |
| Beside you need to stick with me cos rhyme pays, | |
| And I know this heist where we can jack some sine waves, | |
| They' re mainly small timers, freestylers, | |
| Street urchins and beat merchants, none of them real rhymers, | |
| They' re raping this culture and make me sick to my stomach, | |
| These fools need to be arrested for sleeping in public', | |
| I dug it, got serious and mastered my rhyme, | |
| The rocked to the spot with my new partner in crime, | |
| Trespassed on stage, stole the mic to further insult, | |
| Committed arsony, defamation and verbal assault, | |
| They tried to blame the engineer oblivious to our ploy, | |
| So we crept backstage as they buried the sound boy, | |
| I stole the DJs crates and his diamond needles, | |
| Now they got me on the run so it' s time to leave ya' ll, | |
| We tried to cross the border, got cause as a noun carrier, | |
| Pulled over and evicted for breaking the sound barrier, | |
| This cop threw me to the ground, cos hip hop is violent, | |
| Said ' You got freedom of speech, just choose to remain silent', | |
| Then he checked in the trunk and he found the hot sound, | |
| I got committed to the pen now my shit' s locked down. | |
| Chorus | |
| I' m a rhyme felon peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can' t handle the product that I' m selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I' m on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one, | |
| I' m a rhyme felon peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can' t handle the product that I' m selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I' m on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one, | |
| I' m a rhyme felon peeps do what I tell them, | |
| People can' t handle the product that I' m selling, | |
| I left my dwelling now I' m on the run, | |
| Microphone felony number one. | |
| Prologue DJ. Debris | |
| I was forced into my life... | |
| I was forced into my life of crime | |
| Career criminal, now my... now my... | |
| Career is rhyme. | |
| Still number... Still number... Still number... | |
| Still number one. |
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