[Tame One]

Hah! The former back of the classroom talk-trasher

Blastin off at ya without help from NASA, has ta

blow a nigga's chest up like asthma

with raptures and fresh ass raps from wack bastards

West district politickin like Gibson

Make a pick-up, and then escapes from New York like Snakeplitzkin

with trees tied to the thighs of down shorties clearing Customs

Ready to cuss and bust on any nigga fuckin with production

(This ain't my bag)

Back in the Bricks tricks and kids dig the music as we dooz it

(God damn yo!)

And lose it, when we play niggaz the new shit

(That's that shit!)

Cross this T, watch me dot your eye

Stay on your P's and Q's, niggaz I've mastered my high

And when the snake bites and hype blinds your eyesight

At last, the Artifacts, will bug and have the last laugh



We're comin through all studio sessions

Bringin 40 motherfuckers, pissin all over your conference tables





[El Da Sensai]

Like this right here

Rhyme style criminal, with the lyrical missile

Wack niggaz the issue bless, catchin wreck, to your chest

Rock even Budapest, who the best, on the spot

Blitzin niggaz wicked from the cornerback, slot for props

MC's pop, but run up close into my strategy

Task be, easily complete major catastrophe

I be the rhymin holocaust, with the sauce to toss

those who fakin jacks in rappin know they fallin off

Is it the way we lay the forte, display my caliber

Slayin my challengers, used to be a dancer, now a flow, balancer

Manufacture raptures, dip into my tricks

Pullin out treats, and singles comin by the hits

Shit done by Vic, units for the nine-six

MC El the Sen, with Da Way Like This



We kickin over your crossaints

Smack