I Don’t Know

[Chorus: Abstract Rude + Aceyalone]
Whoo! I don't know what you came to do (All right)
But we come to blow some wigs this evening—am I right about it? (Oh, you're right, you're right)
(Go 'head!)

[Verse: 1: Abstract Rude + Aceyalone]
Way down in the ghetto, deep (Deep!)
A young lion got up out of his sleep, and went over
To the drum-machine so that he could make a beat (Boop, boop, boop)
He thought he cold-tweaked (Oh, my goodness)
And it sounded unique (Hey, that's kinda cool)
He clapped his hands, did a dance, and stomped his feet (Whoo! Wee!)
And after a couple of hours of progression, three other brothers
Came over and they proceeded to session (Yo, we gonna get the cypher goin' on?)
And you know how black folk are (You mean, "Black folk is")
It only take two or three of 'em to have a little bit of church—it works (Come on) (Amen! Amen!)
With two or three assembled, the snare, kick, high-hat, and cymbal
It'd be a miracle if I'm there with a mic, even unprepared (We're prepared)
Intricate sampling is like improv—never thought you'd
Hear a drum-machine do that (Do that)
Precisely the reason why players shouldn't tell samplers, "You wack"
Matter' fact, the impact has created a market for hip-hop; rap
Will get props—and everyone eats, gets jack for beats
Trouble is some hollow wig that mixed them
Down with Hollywood—they highly wood (Ooooh)
Tryna live highly good
In the wildest hoods of the Southland, three black man dwell
And the style goes with the track and you're trapped into a spell
When the mind opens, I'm thought provoking—you're broken down
To your atoms—my sound swallows, you be lookin' around to follow
I got something to say to you (Well, say it!)
A little something about my favorite crew (Who's that?)
You know them as A-T-U (A-T-U)
A little portion of the way we do (Check it out)
Well, about the way I grab this mic and you tell you all, "I'm freshness" (Freshness)
Suitable dance, you in a trance, tellin' you, "Ain't no restin'" (No rest)
Takin' you to the dungeon where the pungent smell of herb
Brightens up your vibe, metamorphecise your word
Ain't none to it but to do it, do it all music calls
Me in the middle of my sleep, so I creep to drum-machine
Some lil' thing inside of me, I could be wasting valuable time
But instead, I'mma drag rainbow-bread—and I rhyme

[Chorus: Abstract Rude + Aceyalone]
I don't know what you
Come to do this evening—but we? (All right)
Come to blow some wigs this evening, am I right about it? (Go ahead)

[Interlude: Aceyalone]
That's right, that's right, that's right, 'cause I'm Mr. Big-Wig
Himself—the wig-master, and
All these emcees talk 'bout freestyle in the '90s
Ain't nobody freestyle and can't nobody freestyle
And they don't know what's happenin'

[Verse 2: Aceyalone]
Who are we? Who we be? We be the new invasion
Speakin' that tongue of a mystic language, eyes on the rays of the new horizon
Usin' our minds in the ways they're praising—see, I'm a raisen, uh
But without the hat and the shoes and the cane and I rap and I sing
The blues the same way, like Billy did, silly kid
Lemme tell you how it goes; we flows, we blows 'em out the wa-wa'
Out the stream, know what I mean? Know how I sings, "We the kings of
This, here"

[Chorus: Abstract Rude + Aceyalone]
I don't know what you came to do (Ahaha)
But we come to blow some wigs this evening
Am I right about it? (Oh, yeah, oh, yeah)
(We gon' do it, know what I'm sayin'? 'Cause that's what we talkin' 'bout)
(Go ahead)
(Let's do it)

[Bridge: Aceyalone + Abstract Rude]
We go on (On)—and on (And on)
Aceyalone to the briz-ay, ca-dizone (And on and on and on)
We go on—and on (We will never fall the fuck off, we promise)
(A-come on, come on, come on)
(We will never fall the fuck off, we promise)
(Keep on and keep on and on and on)

[Verse 3: Aceyalone]
You see
This is a musical scissor
That'll probably cut you up in half and leave you kind of tore up
If, in fact, you stiffen your back
And grow up (Grow up), this is a blow up
See, my rhymes are hard but they easy, sometimes
They're abrasive and sometimes they're greasy, I put that
On everything I love, every mic I ever touched
It blew up—see, it might get hit with shrapnel, call me Captain
One-Man-Rap-Show, all right? 'Cause I fall from the side
To a stride, to a hang-glide like a kite
But a kite got a string attached and the mic got my hand
And my hand got my arm on my shoulders—I'm the boulder-thrower
And I'm the colder, lower fad of a hip-hop world gone mad
Got a real black face and I pack my bass inside my bag
I'm a dragon-fied dragon, you down in the sky where I whip my black flag
Zig-zag, tic-tac-toe-tag—tag-team with me and my dreams
I'm mean, I'm a fiend—I take every style I got to the extreme
Next thing you know; they got my flow and they wanna put a hit on me
So many emcees really think that skills is free
Well, I deal from the bottom of the deck, I gotta put them all in check
I spot them, I shoot them, and after I shot 'em, I'm ridin' off into the sunset
Now, I should be in The Guinness Book of World Records
'cause every time they put on a instrumental record, I wreck it
I reckon that I was connectin' the wires
Took a plug out your body when I fire
I can propel my physical shell till the point of no return
Till the joints burn, till I come to terms with you idiots
Subsidiary affiliates, degenerates, I'mma call them hip-hop-cops
And take to the place where hip-hop stops, and some of you know-nots know not
What to do—and who to even do it to
I done it to you, now ya runnin' to ya crew
Now, dookie floats and suckers lie, and booty-poop rappers choke and die
They poke and pry, and peek on in, now, lemme tell you what he gon' win
He won one ass-whoopin' and two two-by-fours
Across his head, that three day weekend workin' on all his flows
Now, I got news, hoes, but it ain't from The Daily Gazette
Yo, I got a way I work this mic that'll get your woman wet
No sweat, I hold on to your wig like a beret
You was swimmin' in shallow water and ya got caught in my net
Wanna leave? Not yet, chump, yo, you gotta call your parents
It's apparent, and I'm showin' it all with y'all
I shoot to give like I was Mr. Claws, now; applause

[Bridge: Aceyalone + Abstract Rude]
On—and on (Alright?)
Project Bliz-ow, what is the kiz-zow? (Gs for life)
On—and on (And it won't stop and it don't stop)
(And on and on and on and on and on)

[Chorus: Abstract Rude]
I don't know what you came to do
But we come to blow some wigs this evening (Oh, we gon' blow 'em)
Am I right about it?

[Bridge: Aceyalone + Abstract Rude]
Gotta come up, I gotta come up (Wine and rhythm)
Gotta come up, I gotta come up (Hip Hop Kclan!)
Gotta come up, I gotta come up (C.V.E.!)
Gotta come up, I gotta come up

[Verse 4: Riddlore?]