[ VERSE 1: WC ]
Comin from the left, now here`s a little somehin
I slapped together just for you and your weak posse
I dedicate it to those who don`t know
That I`m a maniac straight from the heart of Low Pro
And for a livin I break necks of punk chumps who slipped
Matter of fact, I should bust you in the lip
But nah, I ain`t livin that way, so bro
I rather slap you with knowledge as I go solo
Hey yo, Aladdin, what`s up with all these wanna-be
M-i-c fake controllers takin over the scene?
They don`t know who I am, the young boy and yours truly
Step off, new jack, you`re just a new Rudy
Of rap, you`re bound to get slapped steppin to me
Strunger than a smoker on PCP
I cannot lose, I got the downest deejay in the world
Aladdin break the needles while the Technics twirl
Hey yo, I know there`s nowadays a lotta rappers holdin a mic
Wastin time but naw, they ain`t hype
They same old styles, yo, with the same old things
And at shows the same old wack routines
I like runnin on stage and clownin MC`s
So when you see me at a show, don`t even step to me
Be alert, cause the W will spin the chart
You can`t touch me, boy, I come straight from the heart
[ VERSE 2: WC ]
Most MC`s nowadays, they don`t come from the heart
They rap what the record label wants
But why can`t I talk about the way that I`m livin?
Yo, day by day suckers robbin and stealin
Bein shot at, stabbed, that ain`t nothin to me
Just another damn way of l-i-f-e
But then again I ain`t supposed to even mention a gun
Or I be charged with corruptin the mind of a young
One, yo, that`s wack, what up with showbiz?
Bannin my shows cause I tell it like it is
If I was rich, then I`d rap about a Lamborghini
Got some pretty women in grip-tight bikinis
But I ain`t, like I first said from the start
I`m a muthafucka, I come straight from the heart
[ VERSE 3: WC ]
Anxiety is buggin me to cold get ill
Grab a bat, engrave on a sucker face `Louisville`
But naw, I better chill that ain`t the life to live
Couple years in the county bread and water for a meal
Over what? A peasy knuckleheaded MC
Who doubted my ability, y`all know what I mean
The kinda suckers who brag, yo, you know who they are
They make one wack record and think they a star
Suckers gettin airplay, but the record ain`t kickin
You punks doin shows for Kentucky Fried Chicken
Every rapper now wanna wear a clock on his neck
There`s one Flavor Flav, so give it a rest
Hey yo, Aladdin, help me out, rip the record apart
Pay attention, I come straight from the heart
[ *DJ Aladdin scratches* ]
(Cold get stupid)
[ VERSE 4: WC ]
Power, pat, rhymes are goin gold
More soul, bro, than the Angelist David Saphro
I come straight from the heart with the rhyme
Givin suckers like you and him a piece of my mind
Conditioning my dome to wax and tax suckers who`re wack
Where`s the milk, I eat you up like applejacks
To describe myself three words to tell
Hm - the W is crazy as hell
Back in the streets of L.A. I be rockin
And you can find Aladdin cuttin records in Compton
Though we ain`t from the same city, we`re down
You got beef with that, punk, you`re bound to get clowned
Suckers in line to get dissed, I`m ballin my fist
Who`s next up to taste some of this?
Hysterical, critical, flexible lyrical ??????
Yo, MC`s can`t hang, boy, I put em in a hospital
You shoulda known from the jump or the start
Every lyric I throw I come straight from the heart
