J-Treds, Gaston, Wiseguy, Problemz, The Bad Seed, P Dap, and DCQ Freestyle (Scenes of the Underworld)

[Intro: J-Treds]
Whoo! Yo, yo. Okay, come out. Yo, no cruddy skills, it’s Eddie Ill, D.L. That’s how it is. D.L. and Eddie Ills. Wiseguy said we prevail. Check him out. Y’all ready for this? Double take: what you know about that? Yo, it stay fresh. Check him out. Yo, yo

[Verse 1: J-Treds]
I’ll grab the mic and work wonders by casting spells
And leave cats wondering, “Why we catching L’s?”
Got ‘em puzzled by the wordplay, had to burn chase
Some are gas, thinking they that fly ‘cause they’re birdbrains
On the bugged tip with their head in the clouds
I’ll bring ‘em down to Earth, show ‘em what Treds is about
I’m creating better rhymes that can make minds see
That I’m ahead of my time like fake IDs
Dropping new shit—that’s why you never heard me slipping
‘Cause I do work. Most don’t do shit like dirty women
Fake crab rappers thinking they got a tight verse
Son, they might strike first, but I’m the last laugher
The one who’s left standing, so heads can’t win
Versus the champion. Don’t try and diss the J flow
I’ll make you a believer—don’t even try and front
I’ll drop a verse and you’ll change faces like Mr. Potato

[Verse 2: Gaston]
Ayyo, give me that mic
And watch me keep it like a secret and won’t release it
‘Til I see fit. The cops couldn’t beat it out of me
Rodney King would be proud of me. I’m ill, take out emcees
And stick ‘em with the bill. I got skills, hip hop’s my trade
But wouldn’t trade it for the world—I love it more
Than my girl. I used to curl up under the record covers
We kept each other warm. Never met another to turn me on
Like a rap song—my love is that strong
I latched on young. Now I’m strung. Save your five mics
Just give me one. I’ll show you how it’s done

[Verse 3: Wiseguy]
We’ll show ‘em how it’s done with a terrifying tandem
Wiseguy and Gaston with the impact of a handgun. More like a magnum
The magnum force ripping rappers off, taking their pride
Sort of like a pocket book by your side
Wiseguy, I grab the mic but stride in Pride like Kitty
I’ll rock cities-wide with somebody getting with me
I’m not jiggy like Biggie, but
I flip styles like Bill Bixby ‘cause I’m
Nifty. I got, like, a hundred and fifty
Raps I come with. Like a batch, rhymes hatch
Out my head. Wiseguy verbally unleaded
I’m a living legend. Nobody’s forgetting
The rhymes I say is breathtaking while I’m taking a F
Writing rhymes until I go deaf
Yo, I got intellect, look at the mic with introspect
Wiseguy. You’re in debt ‘cause y’all pay your fee
You appreciate greatly the freestyle I got
Rock, send shockwaves up your block
I’ll hit you in the crotch with one of my unorthodox
Type of style and grammar
Swing a mic sort of like hammer from Thor
Yo, I refuse to listen to Shama Lama, I’m raw
Wiseguy lyrically hardcore, a connoisseur
A freestyling metaphor coming off the brain
On the D.L. with my nigga D.L
And Eddie Ill. These other DJs ain’t got any skills
Compared to him or me. Wiseguy
W-I-S-E-G-U-Y
Mess with me, you die—a suicide mission
Fry niggas like chicken, leave heads spinning like Michelin
Tires. You ain’t ready for the mercenary for hire
You need to retire ‘cause I told you that
Hip hop ain’t dead with niggas like
Wiseguy, Gaston, Problemz, J-Treds, and every other brother
They tried to step up, but we’re Undercover like Malik Yoba
Yo, you’re just a toy Yoda. I’m a Range Rover
We taking over. Wash it down with a grape soda

[Verse 3: Problemz]
You bitch-ass niggas better be on your P’s and Q’s
When the rugged rebel represents ‘cause that spells bad news
Been in it to win it ever since I was a little bastard
Banging on tables, but now my literature is mastered
To hell with the ass kicks—leaving niggas in wooden caskets
You’d think my name was NASA the way motherfuckers get blasted
Screws is mad loose and none want test
There isn’t a rude boy, but if you do, don’t want that bulletproof vest
Got to hold down the fort like Mr. Rock
Leaving a trail of chalk upon the sidewalks of New York
Packing a ducky four-fifth upon my waist
Any nigga that want to take it to my face’ll get sprayed like mace
So what? Nigga, you don’t want no parts of this
Prob’ spark up the mic and smoke your ass like a arsonist
I’m one of the illest motherfuckers from the Heights
Crown to be specific. Crazy gifted with the lyrics
What? P-R-O-B-L-E-M-Z. What?
For the ’93 plus 2 plus 3, uh

[Verse 4: The Bad Seed]
Sometimes I ain’t happy, so, therefore, I won’t smile
I’ll stand stone-faced, that I’m-in-the-zone face
That I’m-‘bout-to-pull-the-underbooger-and-wet-the-whole-place
Type nigga to smack you in your mouth, erase your whole taste
You ain’t know by now? Well, hold up. You ‘bout to find out
I go a step further from blowing your mind: I’ll blow your mind out
Time out, wait a second. I’m the equivalent to
A platinum-selling artist already and ain’t even made a record
Makin’ Records that label you gon’ pick it up on
Guarantee drama, roll up the lah—get your drugs on
From the sound of it, your whole rap style is counterfeit
I analyze and I’m amazed at the garbage I found it in
What is y’all niggas? Men or some mice? You spend your time
Trying to be mean, but, every time I pick up the mic device, I’m nice
From the city so night, they named it twice
New York, New York to be precise. Mouth grills is made of ice

[Verse 5: P Dap]
Yo, I’m from a desert better known as Queens, ghetto-repping
My jurisdiction naked ass—what I’m addressing
I could do that. I got the status and I got experience
Inspired by niggas within my radius but not familiar with
Getting a beat down. I’m sleep-bound
Caught up in the Seven-Sign style of mine, shady town of mine
I’m professional and I got medals/metals for being ghetto-smart
Honors in fine art to bring you vocal onslaught
A bogart like big, green tanks. Make you walk planks
When I’m finished, I’ll put the check in the bank, and what?
Blame it on the shady V side of me ‘cause I’m too much
Equivalent to guns when bust
Good for doing the impossible like breaking out of handcuffs
Some mighty fellow introducing one of the five boroughs
Inadequate niggas’ll burn in my inferno

[Interlude 1: DCQ and P Dap]
P Dap: P Dap coming through. Y’all know. Haha
DCQ: Sound stalker DCQ. Check it

[Verse 6: DCQ]
Medina Green’s on campus
And don’t none of you motherfuckers forget it
I’ll hold this down for my motherfuckers spitting
Who need to come home and taste plates with me
Yeah, I fuck with you ‘cause I respected you
[A little I to?] Medina Green
They can’t separate the team. Our culture’s Islam
So what the fuck they gon’ tell us?
Can’t outdate us. You’re on your hiatus
I’ll deal with perpetrators—it ain’t nothing. Just hold your head
Fuck the physical, we run this with the mental
[?] forever love you, respect due
Study them lessons and remember what I told you