[Tame One]
Hah! The former back of the classroom talk-trasher
Blastin off at ya without help from NASA, has ta
blow a nigga's chest up like asthma
with raptures and fresh ass raps from wack bastards
West district politickin like Gibson
Make a pick-up, and then escapes from New York like Snakeplitzkin
with trees tied to the thighs of down shorties clearing Customs
Ready to cuss and bust on any nigga fuckin with production
(This ain't my bag)
Back in the Bricks tricks and kids dig the music as we dooz it
(God damn yo!)
And lose it, when we play niggaz the new shit
(That's that shit!)
Cross this T, watch me dot your eye
Stay on your P's and Q's, niggaz I've mastered my high
And when the snake bites and hype blinds your eyesight
At last, the Artifacts, will bug and have the last laugh
We're comin through all studio sessions
Bringin 40 motherfuckers, pissin all over your conference tables
[El Da Sensai]
Like this right here
Rhyme style criminal, with the lyrical missile
Wack niggaz the issue bless, catchin wreck, to your chest
Rock even Budapest, who the best, on the spot
Blitzin niggaz wicked from the cornerback, slot for props
MC's pop, but run up close into my strategy
Task be, easily complete major catastrophe
I be the rhymin holocaust, with the sauce to toss
those who fakin jacks in rappin know they fallin off
Is it the way we lay the forte, display my caliber
Slayin my challengers, used to be a dancer, now a flow, balancer
Manufacture raptures, dip into my tricks
Pullin out treats, and singles comin by the hits
Shit done by Vic, units for the nine-six
MC El the Sen, with Da Way Like This
