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