The Ebonic Plague

Yeah...HA...Cru... Mic checka da one the mic check three Cru in you baby... Mic checka da one the mic check three... Mix it up with the big Y.O. Comin' from the Laf Isle with fat funk flow So yo how you feelin'? Tell me how you feelin' Mad drug dealin' mad caps peelin' I do my thing drink a Budweiser And I seen more *bush/Busch* than Dan Anheiser Twist the caps of you fake John Gottis Watch the pump shottie, make you look like Kwame Cru's about to drop the dirty understand the cipher Got nothin' to lose so I'm-a do like a lifer Niggaz couldn't *catch up/ketchup* with the mustard, disgusted Drop the shit that gotcha brains dusted, bust it This is how it flow in the Bronx Zoo ya'll Beef up a step and style with a fall Nothin' but the rough, understood? Got me in double extra large bulletproof wit' the hood Sittin' at the bar sippin' Becks Plus I got the "two turntables and a microphooooone" on deck So who's next? Rugged Ras Flossin' ice, and drop that soul on dat ass The IBF got my rhymes ranked 'cause they hittin' Plus I'm all around like Scott Pippen Here it is, east west, I mean China to Mexico If you love the way it's goin' down let me know Fuck it, Harlem knows the ledge All my Bronx niggaz know the wedge, full-fledged Uptown! Plus we got the Cali love Y.O.G., truly yours the Breakfast Club Yo punk... I was hot as 97 in '73 D.O.B. my pedigree multiple felonies see You spit phlegm I spit fumes Across the ruins of kiosks hoverin' sand dunes A miniature man-nume, it's National Lampoon's Alien Vacation I'm abductin' muthafuckin' rappers to my inner space station (What?) For sheezy, When Ras Kass get to swervin' off 'gnac, believe me I hit below the belt Bustin' niggaz balls like Riddick Bowe versus Gulotta Hell yeah I'm a rida Ain't nuttin' sweetie, cancer causin' like saccahrin Action, intoxicated chinky-eyed black men An' nowadays fools forget what they actually named Besides a loyal cadets and priceless briquettes Basically, I don't give a shit how rich ya get I'll have you in the car talkin' to yourself Like Alanis Morissette with turets (Oh wee..that's right...) I like sisters with vaginas so... (Can we get freaky toniiiiight...) Donald Trump wouldn't let you shine his shoes my man If you pissed off you dyin' with your dick in your hand Plus when shit hits the fan, I mean when Ras reach the crowd And verse to verse, switch my aura then rotate Earth And fuck that servin' emcees and livin' bummy I'm on some show me the money and still educate the dummies It's all about me for you and you for me And playa if ya do for two we do for three You think it's 'bout the cash, the cars and jew-el-ry We livin' in the age of the ebonic plague It's all about me for you and you for me And playa if ya do for two we do for three You think it's 'bout the cash, the cars and jew-el-ry We livin' in the age of the ebonic plague You see the words is meshin' through this lyrical aggression Punks pop shit we Joe Pesc'em no question Cru session, no time for second guessin' Frontin' or fessin', we full court pressin' Testin', any in our way learn a lesson Forever in my Stetson, chrome plated Wesson We ain't got no time for excuses and reasons Bringin' nuttin' but butta in all four seasons Want to blow my nose when I'm sneezin', wit' hundred dollar bills Foes I'm squeezin', breezin' Through your nearest town wit' the frown expression Those Bronx streets left a lastin' impression Now think about this, imagine Cru rhymers Like this world with no clock bein' timeless Pure dope when it come to the oratorical Stay on the low wit' a dime that's adorable Got the rap shit covered like long johns Big brother Ant taught me how to bear arms L.A. to D.C. I gets my P.C. Keeps me a fifth of B.C. And we gon' drink to your pass peeps that flashed heat Never no more, when I pull I blast he Think you could deal? You crazier than Bjork Belong up on Fantasy Isle with Mr. Rourke