Think about it, if you was there standing looking at me. What would you do, if I hit your face with dog doo-doo?
Now my helmet's on, you can't tell me I'm not in space.
Starstruck with one buck, your girl look like Donald Duck.
Infrareds on little people standing with some big heads, I was Captain Kirk, walkin' with a black t-shirt. LAPD, the nurse asked did my knee hurt? I was in pain, little Martians tryin' ta take my brain, Hospitals came, detectives wrote down my name. I was to blame, my life never been the same. A true story; I tell ya, it'll never bore me. My classmate died, my other friend named Cory Drinkin' 40s, he jumped out the project window, Stabbed himself with a yellow number 2 pencil.
Dallas Mavericks want me as a bald-headed 5' 8" guard with a 95" vertical. Vince Carter respect my legs, ask Shawn Kemp.
Shakespeare's gone, don't even think about it.
I come prepared with the white suit and stethoscope, Listen to your heartbeat, delete beep beep BEEP. Your insurance is high, but my price is cheap.
I drop styles on ears...the public bite 'em. Not many went to school, so the dummies wouldn't write 'em. They say, "Yo Keith! You're Kool, you usin' big words!" I went to college, I'm even more stupid, herb.
They use the simple back and forth, the same, old rhythm That a baby can pick up, and join, right with 'em. But their rhymes are pathetic, they think they copacetic Using nursery terms, at least not poetic.
I get atomic, hypo-galactical... Word to mom, I'm in my own world. Galaxy rays? Powerful.
You need a bad operation. Gimme the scissors, hammer, flame.
I call you once...you never dialed back. Twice...you never dialed back. Saturday morning, live, I'm on Soul Train, talkin' to Don Cornelius. Saturday night, my phone rings... Saturday night, I won't answer. Saturday night, my phone rings again... Saturday night, I don't answer.
Rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp, Rhyme to ill, rhyme to romp, Rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, rhyme to roll, Rhyme to destroy anything, toy boy. On the microphone: I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East Coast.
I wear black while suckers wear pink.
Business money reattaches worldwide Deep inside stops the diamond rocks In a million world, billion world, quitrillion world Rap moves on to the year three thousand
I didn't think of rap with that type of south feel and that look and the hay and all that.
I thought of rap I thought of Grand Master Flash and I thought of about what they went through.
