1.A Walk Thru The Valley
2.Slaughtahouse ＊
＊ this song has two parts：
A. 'the cutting edge of hardcore rap; the most innovative stuff
For 1993' -- gangsta parody following the 'classroom' skit
B. paula perry introduces the _real_ slaughtahouse
Part a：
(yeah... yeah... yeah...)
This is mc negro
And this is this ign-ant mc
And this is our new motherfucking single
Our new shit
Slaughtahouse
This shit is called slaughtahouse
Negro! coming off our last platinum lp
Platinum lp
_shit's real killin' motherfuckers dead_
Killin em dead
And this is how we gonna rock shit for the nine-tray
Verse one： mc negro
Here come the craziest niggaz on earth
Cutthroats, ever since birth
Blood and guts are gonna spill
Cuz it's murder murder murder, and kill kill kill
Chainsaw in my holster
Barb-wire rope, and i'll hang ya like a poster
So when i grab my axe you better drop
Cause i'm 'swing swing swing, and chop chop chop' in the
slaughtahouse
Yeah, yo ign-ant mc
Whassup？
Show these niggaz what the dress code is
Aight
Verse two： ign-ant mc
Strictly raiders and kings gear
Only wear black and i don't know how to act
No more... so come and take a chance and
Mess around with the black charles manson
Body parts in the freezer
I'm not jeffrey dahmer but i'll slaughta ya momma
So open up the do'
To the slaughtahouse, so i can kill a little mo'
Outro：
Yeahhh, motherfucker
Yeah!
This is mc negro
And this the ign-ant mc
And this shit is real over here, motherfucker, real real
This is the brand new lp, it's called _brains on the sidewalk_
Brains on the sidewalk!
And all we wanna do now
Is murder murder murder, kill kill kill
Part b： paula perry, masta ase
One two, one two
This is paula perry and it's a brand new year
Time for the weak-ass, wack-ass
No-skills, negative, anti-everything
Mc's to get shut down
They're gettin slaughta'd!
(welcome to the slaughtahouse!)
Too many suckas, too many wack records gettin played
Too much money bein made, it's time for the wack to get slayed
Take these suckas to war ase, take em to war!
It's the jeep (ass niguh), it's the jeep (ass niguh)
Whatcha know about the jeep (ass niguh)
It's the jeep (ass niguh), it's the jeep (ass niguh)
Here we go, with the jeep (ass niguh) (welcome to the
slaughtahouse!)
Never hear me talking 'i could kill a man!!'
Started making records but i'm still a fan
I'll take you down, i break your crown
I make you frown, i wake the town
Tick, check it out tock i rock your whole block
Got the funk dialect in stock
With the boom, bashin, bass drum is smashin
And crashin your bedroom walls, and monster mashin
Dashin, man with the kick, that be flying
Kids don't be trying, this trick cause i'm scien-
-tifical, ninety-nine rappers wanna kill
To sound ill, you couldn't find their brains with a drill
Check it...
＊sound of a drill＊
(welcome to the slaughtahouse!)
Welcome to my slaughtahouse, it's like a playpen
Welcome to my slaughtahouse, there's no escapin
This is the place where freestyling skills
Are sharp like axes, and suckas get the chills
Drum is the cash, like the rash you'll be itchin
For the green and, everybody's talking like they're mean and
Crazy, oh baby, you're ready, for this yo
Make me, a poster, holdin, a pistol
Then i can be the (man)
I can be the (man)
Cause they see me with the gun in my hand
I, am not, down with the standard
The man did, not do, what every other man did
Candid, just like the man allen funts
And there's nothing worse than, a rapper when he fronts
So throw your hands up in the air
If you really don't care
About the next man's life, you get the chair
In the slaughtahouse
Outro：
Whassup kid you hear that new album _brains on the sidewalk_？
Yeah it's fat right？
Yeah i like that part
Murder murder murder, and kill kill kill
Yaknow that's what it's all about
Yeah i'm gonna be just like that when i grow up
You think i ain't？
This is a brand new year for motherfucker's heads to start
burstin
Masta ase, incorporated
Ase, lord digga, shiloh, eyceurok, the brooklynites
And the floor builder
Watch your back black man
Your biggest enemy's in the mirror
Long is the road to freedom from self-destruction
The slaughtahouse, breeds death
Death to the ＊faggot-ass＊ average wack mc's
And death of the original man, turned killer man
3.Late Model Sedan
[...i think underground is
Whatever, your mood or your feelings might be at the time
So long as it's the truth... truth... truth...]
Verse one：
I could tell the pimped-est story
About street homicide, and make it sound gory
Cause you know, shit be happenin everyday
And then on the weekends twice as much shit comes into play
So i better watch my back or
I might get caught up, in a fuckin crack war
So i use the back door, cause the front ain't safe
Seven different brothers got stuck and i don't wanna be the
eighth
Don't make no sense
Walkin through my own neighborhood i feel tense
Don't wanna carry no gun
Cause the cops be stoppin us, and pattin us down just for fun
So, the only protection i got
Is my smitties, but how many kids get shot
Fuckin that throw up your hands shit
And fight like a man but he don't get to land shit
Not one punch, the only hit
Was when his head hit the concrete, got knocked clean off his
feet
Got a lot of blood on they shoes
But they got that rolex, and jumped in the cruise
Late model sedan, either blue or black
Was the only description, no plates in the back
I know one thing, they ain't from around here
But what block would dare to come down here
Stickin up shit, must be new jacks
Trying to get a rep, they better watch they backs ＊echoes＊
[guess what happened to me when i was wa-walk-wah-walkin down
the street]
They better watch they backs!
Verse two：
Cause my man shiloh, is out on the prowl
With some east medina, brothers that's foul
Lookin to protect, the streets that our mothers
Have to walk on, from black young brothers
It's bad enough, that if i walk through a white
Neighborhood, that, i gotta be prepared for a fight
Why should i be scared of the dark？
Scared on a brother that be lurkin in the park
I oughta be safe in a black neighborhood
But someone's always up to no good
Niggaz ain't never gonna make no progress
Killin one another, but you know i guess
I'm feelin thirsty, i'm goin to the store
If anybody calls, i went to the store!
['walkin down the, walkin down the, walkin down the block' --
scarface]
Verse three：
Well it's quiet on the block tonight
Everything is peaceful, i'm feelin alright
Yo there go dino, and little jamar
And yo that must be, a stolen car
I think they see me, they puttin up the two
Fingers meaning peace, then check what they do
Come pullin up in an eighty-three deuce and
Jump out the car and start producin
Automatic handguns, both of them got one
Some kid in the backseat sticks out a shotgun
It can't be, but i guess it can
That i know the kids in the black sedan
＊gunshots fire＊
I oughta be safe in a black neighborhood...
Why should i be scared of the dark？
['this type of sh-shi-shit it happens eve-eve-everyday' -- slick
rick]
I oughta be safe in a black neighborhood (repeat 8x)
4.Jeep Ass Niguh
May i see your driver's license, please？ may i see your driver's
Liscense, please. what's that in your cassette deck？
Braniac dumb-dumbs, bust the scientifical
Approach to the coarse and the force is centrifical
Can you find your way through the lyrics that be catchin em？
Throw another rhyme across the room, they be fetchin em
When they take a loss, take a loss to the master and
I throw crazy blows and they know i be plasterin
All across the room, on the ceilings and the walls too
Punk muthafuckas didnt know i had the balls to
Come around their block with my cock diesel system and
Turned it up to ten and then start to dis em and
They didn't wanna battle
If they did, when they saw me they'da open up the trunk
But they tried to ignore me
Hey muthafuckas, i know you hear me calling you
Thought you wanted some but i see that you all into
Frontin. ain't no future in your frontin, so let's get it on
Like marvin gaye (hey)
Take the cash and sit it on
The hood of your bullshit, lowriding cadillac
Back up your boys and let's start to battle. act
Like ya know; the masta ase don't play when it come to my bass
Ima jeep ass niguh
Drivin down the block; like what else shoulda brotha do？
It's saturday, it's saturday, the heat might smotha you
Rollin down my windows, yeah, i have a air conditiona
But i got the sound i want the whole world to listen ta
Waitin at a red light; kentucky fried chicken and
Low end theory tape in; bass crazy kickin and
See this puerto rican latin chico, rico, suave
In a red corolla; ay yo, does he wanna play？
Show me whatcha got, then watch me get up on it
Holdin up up traffic but we can't hear they horns
Cause he got music ？
Yea, he got it goin on
But i think i better school em, cause he don't know the time
So i'm turnin up the boom, cause he cannot fuck with mine
Brothas hear me from like fifty blocks away
I - wanna turn their head, so you know i gotta play high
Decibals
Passin through a residential disctrict
See a few cuties and i turn it up like this quick
Mira, mira, man
Don't sleep, i got the, i got the, i got the woofers in my jeep
Ima jeep ass niguh
Ima jeep ass niguh
Black boy, black boy, turn that shit down
You know that america don't wanna hear the sound
Of the bass drum jungle music
Go back to afrika
Niguh, i'll arrest ya if you're holding up traffic
I'll be damned if i listen
So cops, save your breath and
Write antoher ticket if you have any left and
I'm breakin eardrums while i'm breakin the law
I'm disturbin all the peace cause sister soldier said, 'war'
So catch me if ya can, if ya can. here's a donut
Cause when you drive away, yo, you know ima go nut
And turn it up yo where it was before. nice try,
But you can't stop the power of the bass in your eye
If wonder if i blasted
A little elvis presley
Would they pull me over and attempt to arrest me？
I doubt, doubt it
They'll probably start dancin,
Jumpin on my dick and
Pissin in they pants and
Wiggle and then jiggle and grab on they pelvis
But you know my name, so you never hear no elvis (word)
Strictly the hardcore, dirty street-level shit
Guards on my side so watch what the devil get
Positivity hittin like fifty level deep
Comin out the, comin ou the woofers in my jeep
Ima jeep ass niguh
Ima jeep ass niguh
Ima jeep ass niguh
5.The Big East
Awwww....yeaaaah...
Who is the man with the hats with the snaps,
Droppin' the raps with the truth, to the youth that's bustin'
the caps？
Who could it be？ is it a bird？ is it a plane？ is it a tree？
No, it's me： capital-a, capital-s, capital-e.
Boomin' like thunda, strikin' like lightnin'.
Welcome to my slaughtahouse, i know it's frightenin'.
I'm hittin' em over the head with lyrical styles like a bottle.
My foot's on the pedal, my hand is on the throttle.
I'm turbo-boostin' from houston to vegas.
You want us to quit, but shit, you can't make us.
There's too much money to make, money to get, money to earn.
My pockets are on 'e', and i want money to burn.
I got gusto, plus yo, i'm zeekin' 'em.
Rollin' with l.d., ken, eyce, and neek and 'em.
Phat tracks, i'm freakin' 'em, word to your auntie.
It's written all over your face, i know you want me.
Scientifical mathematical war.
Rhymes and beats harder than trigonometry 4.
So open your books to page one, and i'll show you how it's done,
It's the roughneck kid without a gun.
I'm laughin'-- ha ha! -- it's fun to watch you weep as
You're cryin', dyin', try and figure out the jeep ass
Nig-guh, bigger and better and badder than ever before,
Hittin' with hardcore lyrical calesthenics that make me sore.
And the shower of fire, supplier of the real,
Get with the program and i'm slammin' like shaquille.
Right on your head, do what i said, backin' me up is the d：
(lord digga：)you must be crazy if you wanna mess with me.
Cuz i am not the one, kid.
Oh no, he ain't the one, son.
The shank in my sock will chop you like an onion.
So boom, head for the hills, head for the freakin' border.
I slaughter, like great white sharks, i'm makin' sparks.
Refrain：4x
Comin' from the big east, boy, we ain't slippin'.
('don't you know？') don't even think about it, yeah.
As i walk through brooklyn, compton or whatever,
I wonder why black folks don't wanna stick together.
We talk about justice, and how little we get,
Yet black men be killin' black men for talkin' shit...
(right...right...)
('here's the one, that one that always talkin' shit...') [gun
shots]
How the hell we supposed to wage war against the powers that be
When we are still our own worst enemy.
That's why i'm the masta, i'm tryin' to tell you kid,
I'll break it down simply, right back to the freestiddyle.
I'm bashin' --breakin'-- i'll fry you like bacon.
I don't smoke blunts, boy, you must be mistaken.
I do smoke mics and mcs that come widdem.
I hit 'em and get 'em and sit 'em down, then i spit 'em
Out some lyrical phlegm from deep within me.
I'm not john, but i'm madd-en i'll give you moore than demi.
I burn like tobasco, your ass, yo don't beg (？)
Miss crabtree, stumpy said you had a wooden leg.
So i brought my axe and a box full of termites,
Cuz i got your big, fat booty in my sites.
I'm not from philly, but i fly like an eagle,
My rap book is thicker than a catalog from spiegel.
A regal, i do not drive, i drive a jeep and
I should say drove one, some suckers caught me sleepin'.
But next time they break in my car to rip the ase off,
I'll have a pitbull waitin' to rip their freakin' face off.
Refrain 4x
('on and on and on, it's on...' 'on and on and on, it's on...')
6.Jack B. Nimble
Yeah... it's a real sad story
Show you just how unjust this world is
Let me tell ya bout a guy named jack
Jack b. nimble, jack be quick
There's a cop running right behind you with a stick
Better run jack run jack run jack run
Better hide that gun jack hide that gun son
Things look bad now, they're gonna get worse though
Look, there's an alley, take off in a burst yo
It sure is dark jack, it smells like piss aiyyo
Look at that big rat, here hit him with this
Uh-oh quiet, here comes that copper
Get in this garbage can and put it on the top
Uhhh, yeah yeah that's pretty slick
What a trick, he walked right past, what a dick
I think he's gone now, ready set, now jet
You better run jack run jack don't stop yet
There's a patrol car, they're searchin the area
You think you're scared now, it's gonna get scarier
Don't be mosin, they're closin in kid
See what having that darker skin did
Now which way jack, cause you need a breather
And a good lawyer, you won't get either
Up those stairs jack, your sister's building
The cops will leave soon, so stay there till then
But she's not home so you can keep on knockin
Take out a slim jim and pick the lock and
Now you're safe, can you believe those guys？
Hunting you down with such hate in their eyes
But now you can rest jack, but oh what a mess black
Run to the bathroom, and flush away the crack
Maybe you shoulda just kept your mouth quiet
Never knew that it would cause such a riot
Peek out the window, to see who's lurkin
Twenty cop cars, hey this ain't workin
Someone saw you when you dipped inside they're
Comin up the stairs there's no place to hide, yeah
Good thing you didn't ditch the gun like i said g
You'd be a sittin duck, dead full of lead see
They didn't come to arrest and take you back
They came to finish and diminish you jack
You shoulda never said that you would start tellin
On the cops that was down with the drugs you was sellin
So now it's time to take the nine from your back
Cause they're kickin down the door, good luck jack
＊gunfire＊
Jack b. nimble (2x)
Hey jack yo, you better b. nimble
7.Boom Bashin
Here comes the boom, with the hip hop bash as i smash and crash
How many gangsta rappers are gonna last？
Not one, they got done, i had fun
Doin em and screwin em and booin em and chewin em
I'm slick and i'm quick, up my sleeve is a trick
Hey! so what, i use funky drummers, suck my dick.
I'm still thick, with murderous beats and heavy kick
And i'm sick of the so-called shots ya gonna lick
I slam and i slam and i slam, did i mention that i slam
Don't eat spinach but i yam what i yam
Death-defyin like a circus, i work this
Mic, you can't jerk this, off-beat on purpose
I never smoke dope, i don't carry a nine
I ain't no hustler with bitches on my mind
Gangstas are swimming in the water,
I oughta, boom bash and slaughta
I'ma break it down, and i do mean down, yo way down,
So far downtown the devil's gonna call it underground
And niggaz betta know the fuckin score
Cuz i'm raw, like eddy,
And like confetti they get tore
Up, from the floor, up,
There's no time
And my spits gettin sprayed in ya face as i rhyme
So run run run, ya better head for the hills
Get ya gun gun gun, and ya cyanide pills
And a rope for ya neck, and a razor for your wrists
Cuz i'm pissed, and it's suicide to battle this
Ummm, highly explosive, material
Grand imperial, pour me on cereal
Cuz i flow from the belly of a cow
Wipe ya brow, how ya like me now
You can get with this, or you can get with that
But you can't get with the man with the mad snap hat
I take em out with one blow to the cerebellum
And tell 'em, my jams are so funky you can smell 'em
Rhyme for rhyme, head for head with a one go
I come from brooklyn, it's wild like a jungle
Yeah, you might get a cap jack, ya act wack,
I carry a can of flat black in my napsack
Lookin for a wall to tag up, and brag up
And rag up, yo nigga yo digga raise the flag up
I click click my heels, and good is how it feels
There's no place like home and chrome on ya wheels
Chasin through the projects, i lose you
Hope i didn't bruise you, i cruise through
Your neighborhood, in a chevrolet impala
Dropped to the ground and, makin the girls holla
Rollin, rollin, rollin, i'm rollin
Sorry officer, the car ain't stolen
I really don't care what you thought of me
I oughta be, far from orderly
In my fashion, i boom and i bash and
8.The Mad Wunz
I got the mad wunz (3x)
You know i got the mad wunz
I got the mad wunz (3x)
You know i got the mad wunz
Chorus： lord digga
That's right y'all, clap your hands y'all
Cheeba cheeba y'all, to the beat y'all
That's right y'all, clap your hands y'all
Cheeba cheeba y'all, to the beat y'all
Repeat
Verse one： ase
Bust it, straight out the plaque like a smoke from a stack
It's the masta ase honey better chill and catch a smack
To the left check (uhh) if you speak freak watch your mouth
Cuz i'm gettin play all the way down south
And i got the dope, new, off...
...beat style, and you got beef well make stew
You hold the bowl and i'll do the pourin
Rhymes are abundant like shells on the shore and
Three little pigs made a song out of sand
The big bad ase'll blow them rhymes down man
Cuz yo i'm not a sailor and my name is not barnacle bill
But i run game like a carnival
Don't try to flex or you'll fall like september
Still got a posse just add another member
Lord d [the d stand for digga
Rollin' wit umdada masta ase is my nigga]
Punks better slow down and check the speed limit
Get too much light and i'ma dim it
So yo bust the flex and turn in your text
To chapter four, and let me break down the law
I stay away from sluts got respect for my dick
And st. ides'll probably kill my ass just as quick
Original the style and, rhymes in a pill and
How many brothers do i know on rikers island？
One two three four five i'm losing count
But no matter what the sum it's too big of an amount
Chorus
I got the mad wunz
Verse two：
You sound fresh but i'm fresher
Yessir you'll get torn and, worn in, contents under pressure
I got magic in my johnson like potion
Try to play me ashe you'll get rubbed like lotion
Must to blow your trouble with the c-cypher power
In cali they call em one time they be gafflin every hour
Which means they be knockin, goodfellas say a pinch
The skins are too tight, baby doll i got the wrench
I like the lowriders with the daytons nice and shiny
If you in the west you got the best you get the heiny
On the other hand uptown at the apollo
Chromed out with no tints and hammers make em follow
But i never get, i say i never get too caught up
Because i know easy come easy go
Nuff respect to the women with the job skills
Not trying to find them, a man to pay the bills
Cause i'm not the one to play piggyback
So take the crack between your legs and find another attack
And just that, mentality alone
Keeps me a healthy happy home, the mad wunz
Chorus 2x
I got the mad wunz
You know i got the mad wunz
I got the mad wunz
Check it
Verse three：
Bloodifier, i'm higher, kid you better retire
I'm hot like clothes in the dryer
I got skills that you can't comprehend
I got beats that never come to an end
Yeah, i rock like your grandmother's chair, it's rare
Peace to graffiti writers everywhere
Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall
If i gave em to my posse, they'd probably drink em all
But i don't want a murder, and i never heard of your
Wack ass, so save the flack for roberta
And leave on the midnight train the midnight to georgia
You probably didn't know but i inflict a lot of pain
Don't sleep or you'll be having nightmares like dana dane
I don't mean to be precocious but uhh
I'm stompin on mc's with my boots like roaches
Hey mate, the playmate of the month's not the one
That i pursue, though on low she would get done
I got the wunz that are crazy type mad
The bass'll make you sick and make your ears go bad
So come and get it, come and get it one time
Before i have to say another rhyme on the mad wunz
Chorus
I got the mad wunz
You know i got the mad wunz
I got the mad wunz
And i'm casper...
9.Style Wars
10.Who U Jackin
Verse one：paula perry, masta ase
One two one two, check it i can't stay home
Gotta take walk down to block to the pay phone
'do you run？' no, like i said before i walk
Stick up kids hawk, but i don't stop to talk
I keep my hand on my pocket on my razor
Get too close and i'ma have to graze ya
Like night and early morning scheming at dawn and
Looking to jack what i want
Back back back you better watch yours
I got yours
Cut you like i got claws
Stick em up because
It's a roothless toothless
Waiting inna thick here
Looking for a vict, yeah
How about this chick here？
Who's this standing at the corner？
I wonder if he's on a
Mission to stick cuz he's a goner
Polo padding yang lacking and fucked up packing
Get dacking
Nigga who you jackin？
Verse two： masta ase, paula perry
I'm come comin to get cha, with your bangles in your ears
With your gucci link and i ain't snatched a chain in years
When a pocket full kicka kicka granny inna back and
When i see you little doe, hey, i dont know how to act
Well... i'm not your neighborhood nice girl, i'm raw as coke
So scheemin seemin i'ma play ya like a bad joke
You're trying to stab me, but i'm not the one
I'll pistol-whip that ass, and i don't even have a gun
I put my foot up to the ass
Of a bitch that think she got class fast
Give up the cash as you can not pass
Feedin readin, i dont mean the grass
Shit's draastic so chick run the stach
Well, i'ma jiggaboo, with an attitude
Better to slice and dice and sway like i saw don't get through
Make your moves so i can dat that bullshit
Quick nigga quick, before you lose your dick
This aint no movie so dont be actin
Stupid on a girl like me, nigga who you jackin？
Verse three： masta ase, paula perry
Ya just skin an' bones so ya need to change the tones
In ya voice ya just another jack by the phones
My pockets need fixing cause the shits is mad broke
If i had my nine your ass would get smoked
But i'ma slice you in half fuck it i ain't butter
The name is paula perry puttin' body parts in a gutter
So who you jackin？
You baby check it
You're lucky i dont leave you in the street butt naked
With your ass out froze the fuck up
I'll be vickin
You'll be what-in？
Jackin, thats another name for stickin
And tricking chick you like baby whats your name an gamin
Ill snatch hole you shit and then im flamin
Right down to block, yeah, ill teach you holy mo
With a pea knows the time, so yo ass ought better go
You getting too close, really, what is this？
I think its about time to face whats open up to business
11.Rollin' Wit Umdadda
12.Ain't U Da Masta
Here come the jams, yo punks, guard your domes
It's the man with the mad new styles and funky poems
So strike one, strike two, strike three, you're out
Of luck, jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout
(ain't you the masta？) yep, i've always been
And then, i'm a stab a fucking critic with his pen
So write that, put that in your magazine and stick it
I'm wicked, just like a witch when i kick it
So break out your charts and scales and try to rate me
Give me a one, son, yep i hope you hate me
Cause i'm a keep on bringing it, i'm swinging it
Sharp like glass til your punk ass is swinging it
Riff-raff, your whole damn staff i have to cut up
I drop bombs, i'm fatter than your moms, so what up？
I come from the planet of raps on, oh yeah
Beam me up steady, there's no skills down here
So there, you little punk sitting in your chair
Soon you're gonna know the score kids, i swear
(ain't you the masta？) yep, i'm the masta (repeat 4x)
I hits you hard kids, you're barred from the mic and
Rhymes kick like pele, rough like a dyke and
Praise me, masta, off beat, the healer
Rap style's deisel like an 18-wheeler
So get that weak style out of my path
I'm turbo, i drop lines long like nostran ave.
So danger, i'm burning from monday to sunday
I'm hot like some niggas 10 deep in a hyndai
So make way, i drop mad heavy like the fridge
I'm sacking, you're wack and you're over like the bridge
This little rabbit tried to diss me, but fuck it
I got duckets, one day that rabbit kicks the bucket
You know (i know) you know (i know)
You know, you know, well yo follow where i go
Jane, stop this crazy thing if i sing
Some love shit and dress mad fly, i'd be the king
And be seen on the covers of like 27 books
But i'm too proud to beg, so suck this, you crooks
You're only as good as your last jam, it's true
Your shit's new, everybody wants an interview
But then, oh how quick they forget
With no hit, they like 'who's that？' they full of shit
And straight up, my patience is starting to wear short
I'm gonna land blows like your head was an airport
Say cheese you theif, let me see your teeth
Cause i'm ultra-magnetic, magnetic like kool keith
So abra, cadabra, presto and change-o
The off-beat, on-beat style is kinda strange yo
It dops here, it drops there, it's off then it's on
To the breaka, to the breaka, to the breaka of umm dawn
Here i come with bones by the sack for
Spraypaint, i tage my f-ing name on your back, punk
(ain't you the masta？) yep, i'm the masta (repeat 4x)
13.Crazy Drunken Style
Good good mornin, this is a warnin
You slept on me last night, so stop the fuckin yawnin
You shouldn'ta dialed 540-wake
You made a mistake, now your funeral's gonna take place
I'm not the nigga that you really wanna fight, right？
Cause i put my foot in gladys, cause i thought she wore my nikes
And i just might fuck your wife, cause i'm livin trife
I gives a fuck about a punk pussy rapper
Cause i break the dawn in the p.m. to the day after
You little punk bastards, the digga's comin after
Ya, strictly on a rub-out mission
Say your prayers like a christian
Or your punk ass will be missin
Like jimmy hoffa, it's the drunken hip-hopper
Comin to kick your ass proper to a slow beat or some opra
But check me on the next verse, cause i'm out like cindy lauper
Here comes the crazy drunken style, take a swigger
(i'm drunk, so what？)
I got the crazy drunken style
Here comes the crazy drunken style, take a swigger
(give the man a taste, and he's gone)
I could freak a flow, fresh like fish in the fryer
It's the fat rhyme supplier on the 5 train attire
Goin uptown, kickin with the songs that be hittin
I'm swingin like my dick on the toilet when i'm shittin
I try to eat right, so don't even talk of swine
Gettin mine on tracks that are rough like a porcupine
The mathmatical abstraction, i'm waxin
Maxin with action, shootin like paxton
Ring goes the ？？？, ding-ding goes the bell
It's the man with the clientele, here to rock you well
Knock the red out your socks, now it don't match your necks
It's the crazy drunken style like a big glass of beck's
Drink, drink, drink, oh, come and get a drink
Of the lyrical intoxicants to make your breath stink (2x)
We got the lyrical - hangover
Check it out
If the mic was a 40 (i would never be sober) (2x)
(drunk on friday night)
Here comes the crazy drunken style, take a swigger
(i'm drunk, so what？)
I got the crazy drunken style
Here comes the crazy drunken style, take a swigger
(give the man a taste, and he's gone)
When i'm brainstormin i do more than just rain
Cause i'ma get you and throw your mama from the train
I'm kinda vain, that makes me wanna slaughter
Doin shit you never thought of
So don't cross the digga, cause i'm a nigga over drunk waters
So heat up the skillet, so i can cook mc's like gizzards
And beat that ass when you're off to see the wizard
Oh is it, that bad muthafucka？ word to scouts honor
The nigga from saturday night that rippin shit like sinead
o'connor
So i wanna be startin some with muthafuckas that'll front when
They really know they really don't want nothin
Over here, cause i get heads fly like mike and a pair of nike
airs
Agressive like a grizzly, so fuck a care bear
Rapunzel, suck my dick... and cut the weave out your hair
14.Don't F＊＊＊ Around(Outro)
15.Saturday Nite Live
'live from new york it's saturday nite!' (scratched 4x)
Ayo kid for years i've been into rap
Writing funky rhymes to get my name on the map
And by now i know i'm hitting
Cause i say a rhyme and girls be like, 'uh no he didn't'
I'm so nonchalont, word to my uncle and my aunt
I serve mc's like a restaurant
It ain't where you're from it's where you're at
So in that case your butt better step like a frat
Cause juice i got a lot of vaoprs
While you gotta quit, i'm always rolling with umdada, shit
When i deliver i make you shiver
If a guy try to front, i have to show him i'm the problem giver
Girlfriend you're gonna be in bad shape
If you expect uneek to take you shopping like a demo tape
I'll tell your brother jack to be nimble
Cause if you want beef we can clash like a cymbal
You need to stop all the yelling and the cursing
I know it foul, he couldn't house a homeless person
We don't cuddle in the eyceurokk huddle
While verse is subtle, and then we wet you like a puddle
One lyric from the gut, so what？
You want to strut like you're bad and then you might get had
Yeah it's cool, it's gonna be all right
Cause live from new york it's saturday nite
'live from new york it's saturday nite!' (scratched 4x)
It's the offbeat, on beat, man with the mostest
Like hostess, i bake mc's and oh and you knows this
So 1 2 3 4, for whom the bell is tolling
I'm rolling with umdada and i'm um holding my swollen
And doing the project dance from back in the days
It's the master, the ace and yo, i'm black and it pays
So bust the move on the mad offbeat tip and
It's the dopest, but can you cope this, by far the hippest
Hat on sideways or backward, i knew a funky track would
Open up the ears of the black hood
I'm not rough mouth, richie, or the fonz
I'm no joke, i school that ass like st. john's
Some come get a little bit, hit hard like a rock and
Open up the door cause i'm knocking
Ready or not, here i come in a hurry and
It's masta ace, steady pace, paula perry and
Eyceurokk with the 4 building storm and
Welcome to the bates motel, my name is norman
I got the mad knife, i'm mad mean
I killed mad crews, i read mad magazine
So break it down for the heads with the dreads
For the baldies and the fades, for the blues and the reds
Here comes the crazy drunken style, take a swigga
As i take my finger of the trigga for the lord digga
Lord digga, the microphone mutilator
With the hardcore data to mash motherfuckers like potatoes
I get a load of a punk who tried to diss me
You wanna know why？ cause i spit on spectators
My style is rough, ruck, and rugged on the ill tip
Blowing the fuck up, sending pussies looking for microchips
Mad mad styles get flipped when the chordless gets gripped
Not a gang member but i got tales from the crip
I'm mad mad funky like silk
Take a sniff of my ass crack, motherfuckers stay wack
As my pockets get fat like and elephant
I'm far from benevolent, i'm up your ass for the hell of it
I'm catching wreck on your record or cassette tape
Now i can't wait to catch motherfuckers that slept late
I flip the hardcore shit so little punks you know
That's how it goes on saturday nite
'live from new york it's saturday nite!' (scratched 4x)
Eyceurokk consists of three：
First is rokk deisel, my brother uneek, and then there's me,
nigga
I wear the orange and the black cap, black and orange jersey on
my back
Baddest nigga in the pack
And i work to get my loot, shoot
Huh, i'm turning heads like a handicapped prostitute
Son you gotta belive me
That i'm a be 'rockin you, rockin you' but i'm not davert leavy
I'm hitting rappers til they stagger
And if he's a bragger, i'm gonna watch him fall like niagra
Ooops, oh, time for him to go
Take him to the morgue, put a tag on his toe
Not the type you can play a game with
Fuck around, look at all the niggas that i came with
Stop dissing, there will be no tomorrow
You'll feel sorrow, i'm knocking niggas down like mark bavarro
Cause rap is not a toy, if you're in it for the bones
You'll be home alone just like that little white boy
Master eyce is on the way
And live from new york i'm catching wreck on a saturday
'live from new york it's saturday nite!' (scratched 4x)
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