Verse One:



Dirty rotten scoundrel that's what I'm called on the street

Could connive and cheat but rarely get beat

Ya see I'm streetwise a con game pro

Kickin the Bobby bullshit too smart for Willie Bobo

Not stressin five o hot hand in celo

Live in the land of crooks yes Brooklyn's the borough

Homicide central East New York

Where the manic depressive psycho murderers stalk

Walk like a ninja, on the asphalt

Here talk is cheap, you're outlined in chalk

And there's more hardtimes, than on Good Times

And most niggaz dedicate their life to crime

So I'm steady schemin, won't work for a dime

Used to get, tax free loot, all the time

Type slick can't fess on 'Ru, because



Verse Two:



Before trains were graffiti proof I used to get loose

Dirty rotten since the days of the deuce

Dirty, because of the skin I'm in

The fact I have melanin automatically makes me a felon

Even though I'm righteous, rotten's what you're yellin

But I'm not chain-snatchin, or drug-sellin

According to your books you said I would be damned like Ham

Scoundrel opposite of the king that I am

But wanna get funny, we can get bummy

Take you to the East and back again money

Filthy putrified trick, step past your sister

Challenge the Damaja, and you'll be history

Mortal Kombat fatality, the original don't sing no R&B

Nasty MC deity

Chop off domes with the poems that come out of my pin-eal

gland, as I expand, you know who I am



Verse Three:



Father of all stylin, I be whylin on wax

We hack shit up like big ax and little ax

Don't need tokes to make you jump like bungee

Tracks real muddy, like Brooklyn's real grungy

When I come through I clog up your sewer

Peep the maneuveur, drop the ill manure

So bring Mr. Clean, Drano, and Roto Rooter

No matter what you do, you can't get through the

Crud that comes out of your system

You're another victim, of dirty rotten

Dirt up, in your grill, so what ya gonna do

But pay homage to