Ah Pharoahe Monch yeah I said; yes yes y'all to the beat y'all We tryin' to teach the young and get the loot And steer it like havin' a ball Hey hey hey We try to walk a little bit like this I say I hate rap promoters I start to motor Talk from Southside to North Minnesota Dre gramm of yea with a small cup of soda Never get the women with the underarm odour Sky town Motorola holder who rocks bolder than all To fall when they try to call me the cold shoulder Try to tell these younger kids to come a little older The more is about to happen and we need our little soldiers I riggedy rock, I riggedy wreck shot Nah hahaha I'm fuckin' with y'all I fall through parallel universes with a gun And murder myself the games strength like Jet Li in The One Get bean you slum-slumming Sippin' a little some-something Pop and Big Pun it's nothing to front, get the dappin' Something up in here y'all gon' make me lose my mind Use my nine, and do my time I do my grime, and spit rhymes freaky, hear it out For new hoes and constant rappers the shiekiest Be beneath me, no rapper could defeat me Like puttin' your face in faeces, I talk shit Who I be? Real nigga with the fake I.D O.G., B.G., L.A., N.Y.C The matrix is radio and T.V I see; designer glasses, titties and masses For luxurous beats, that bumps, that move the masses Desastrous beats that strife V.I.P.-passes It's on (It's on?) It's on (I see; sex money and why murder and crime Good time, soldiers that cry for lust and the shine Bitlies bitches that break ballers All us wanna be shakola's callin' call us) Basic I was too advanced to advance Now who's the chansellor? You couldn't scrap if you was one of Big Daddy Kane's dancers The answer but not for the '76's I put your lips on, stick ya dick in your mouth And put your lips, where your dick was, sideways pushin' Punks try to prevoke chess styles and push me Queens shit (Come on!) Queens shit (Come on!) Fuck around and get your motherfucking screen split (Come on!) Thorough, on turntables for technicians to play it Hi-Tek lady for Pharoahe Monch to slay it I triple all waited Ras whiplash (Why I grow voices) wrapping this wraf with big wax Really, hah, I refuse to rock consumers Cause sworn groupies get mad and spread rumours like "Do you hear what I hear" I heard gay rappers that thugged, a lot of nerve Can you believe that shit Monch? Word, word, I heard a lot of murderers ain't really murderers And it's absurd was they frontin' like they never heard of us Niggas playin' king-pin but only perps service oil Playin' they want beef but really only heard of wars If you want to party trunk and wanna get crunked Throw ya hands up! Bitches, throw ya hands up! I see; designer glasses, titties and masses For luxurous beats, that bumps, that move the masses Desastrous beats that strife V.I.P.-passes It's on (It's on?) It's on (I see; sex money and why murder and crime Good time, soldiers that cry for lust and the shine Bitlies bitches that break ballers All us wanna be shakola's callin' call us) (2x)