featuring Ras Kass
[Yogi] Yeah...HA...Cru...
[Mighty Ha] Mic checka da one the mic check three
[Yogi] Cru in you baby...
[Mighty Ha] Mic checka da one the mic check three...
[Yogi]
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 cuz 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
[Ras Kass]
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 Morisette 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
CHORUS
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 (2x)
[Chadio]
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
Wanna 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
