Hip-Hop

[Verse 1]
I've been doing this since the days of way back
Turntables, mics and black to keep the pockets fat
New York; number one shit talker
Keeps it dyn-o-mite like my name was Jimmie Walker
I've been rhyming since the days of pumas
Runnin' thru girls bloomers, giving wack MCs brain tumors
Grand Puba, Stud Doogie fashion and letting 'em guess
Steppin' thru New York in gore tex
He hits the beat hard like rough sex
Then lays it down and I flow on top smooth as a Lex
We stay true to the hip hop; that's what we giving
Cause rhyming is the way I make my living
I remember days of making porous tapes
Banging in the halls, writing on walls
Cuttin' school to make tapes, smoking Ls to the door
It was on the momma love came home

[Verse 2]
Now we on wax, but those rows and stack
It's time to grab the papers and build the sky scrapers
I'll drop a style off my dome, but I wouldn't call it freestyle, see
I don't rhyme for free
Hit me with a fee cause niggas know my stee
That's just the weight I pull when Doogie be
I hit a flow once I feel the vibe
SD hits the rhythm for the Puba tribe
Yes words for ya, oh-boya like goya
Chocolate chip like ahoy'a, I gets payed like a lawyer
Knock teeth like a dentist, write rhymes like a printist
Over litmus, some resentence, I get payed for every sentence
I run through ya like White Castles do'ya
So be true to the game or I'll play like I never knew ya
Niggas here can get a red penny
Fuck around and catch a bad one like that devil denny
Brothers got more game than Bob Barker
But I'm smoother than Peter Parker
In junior high I kept vodka in my locker
Momma love don't get home til six-thirty
Pack a joint, bus to the room and get dirty
I'm kicking MCs to the curb
Putting niggas outta business like Barney did Big Bird
I got to have it bad, fuck around I'll swallow ya
I'm hungrier than a nigga in Somalia
Grand Puba, Stud Doogie come in handle-wetted
Not going unleaded
My rhymes vary cause I'm good like carry
I pop shit like a cherry, make it blue like berry
I stay thinking, me take shorts is dead and stinking
I dismantled all my niggas down to my last Lincoln, oh
Let me out so I can run my route, plus make the girls pout
Cause I am tripping out, baby; no maybe baby
On top like gravy, run with more motherfuckers than the navy
No faking, I puts the as-salaam with the laikam
While niggas turn and fry like bacon
You can't steal the style cause it's taken
I'll leave you in your boots shaking while I'm counting
All the money that I'm makin'