Verse One: Tash



Caps get peeled rolling in my force field

Like a nine with hollow points I keep rap flows that's ill

So when you walkin down the block you better watch who you approachin

I'm not your R&B singer, so ain't no need for vocal coachin

Just a forty and a roach and I'll admit you rock the units

While y'all niggaz couldn't move me if you worked for Starvin Students

Downin all beer types, from St. Ide's to Red Stripe (yipes!)

The menace stuffin mics down motherfuckers windpipes

Has returrrrned, to burrrrn, it's time y'all niggaz learrrrrn

I neaturalize y'all niggaz like relaxer in a perm

with flows that go against the grain with a story so compellin

I should mind The People's Court, snatch the mic from Doug Llewellyn

and host my own show, after Bill Cosby comes Ricooooo!

Transmitting live to all my black people

Catch my drift, I'm down with my nigga E-Swift

My name is Tash, I'm from the group that you don't wanna fuck with

Never shy, sippin on some why ask why

Smokin thai with this bitch that's more fly than Jasmin Guy

Hooked up with John Q so let me do my thiiing

while niggaz rock the play shit that they bought from Chess King

But still, I train rhymes to flip like a seal

Niggaz say my rhyme skill on the steel is unreal

But all I do is chill and swing it when I bring it

Oh shit that's my nigga show these niggaz how you figure



Verse Two: Q-Tip



I bring it to your chest pour all the way live

And deliver ill verse guaranteed to cause highs

When we start rappin heads roll like Patton

With the flood blood clot the Alkaholiks rhyme a lot

Yo I'm like Grimace when I'm on this rap scrimmage

ANd I got this magic wand to make your puny soul diminish

The Abstract delivers, I be the Queens nigga on point

Mary Jane ain't nuttin but a joint

They called a nigga up to add a little bit of flavor

Now I'm cuttin and slashin like Luke's light saber

Yeah, what? You trapped in the zone

Where MC's get seared and all spots blown

And in this rap shit a nigga need to be thicky

I fuck with the crew who downs the deuce deuce Mickey's

I'm from the rotten apple, y'all niggaz can't grapple

And love to the Liks, hit your ass like a tackle



[Pow, bust my liquid-ass style

Peace to Mad Lib and my nigga Wild Child]



Verse Three: J-Ro



Yo put in the disc E

While I hit the whiskey

[Bust a rhyme off the head J]

The nigga missed me

I'm in this rap game so I'ma aim to be best

It's fresh, but off the head it's like the dunk contest

I don't walk the street, I roll my Jeep in an instant

I rock the beat to sleep like an infant

The Likwit crew, comin like this on you

With that four minute Olde English piss on you

You're bustin dumb raps off the cap, oh shit

But I got the pen and pad locked down like a pit

I let the, ink submerger, into the thin wood sheets

Beats make my head bop, so I'ma rock it for the streets

I fill all my days with big butts and boom

I let my pants hand cause my big nuts need room

I'm not old school, or new school, I'm modern school, I'm ditchin

When my girl starts bitchin I gets got like a kitchen

I fly down like the Chi-town wind

Cause I got the iller noise to make the hardcore grin

When, the saints come marchin in

I'ma roll right by em in the fly Lincoln

Roughneck niggaz wanna box me down

Cause I got the ladies lookin like Foxy Brown

The Liks bring the beer Tip sticks it in your earholes

I drop the mic and strike the Heisman pose



Verse Four: King Tee



Hardcore G, I get hardcore man

From the underland a fuckin wonderman, bam

Lunatic potential, an isperential differential

Confidentially smashin instrumentals

On this tune I bring raps of doom to the mic

And put my rear shit in flight, peep

If the drunk funk don't wanna hump in your trunk

Man you got some motherfuckin junk