Intro [DJ Evil E] Yo, this is DJ Evil E, and you just checked out Bust A Move from the Spin Masters. [Radio DJ] Yo Ice, why dont you tellem whats coming up next? [IceT] Yo, you got to kick some of that Maestro Fresh Wes. You know that one, Let Your Backbone Slide? Yo, homebody is opening for us at the show, man. Yo, homeboys dope, man. Check THIS out [Maestro Fresh Wes] Im a ruler, thats how I reign I do to rap what the Mona Lisa does to the frame Written and ridden, my rhymes are like rodeo I aint kiddin, they jock my portfolio Played it wise, hit the studio Rock international, now they call me Julio MCs have died, because I have killed them Some older than me but yet children Some veterans knew the feel Because rap is not a joke, this games for real Sucker boys cuss me, females rush me When Im off the set, my homeboys they touch me Wes, you ate em up like a feast No need to use an Uzi when the mics my piece CHORUS Bang Nine Murderin MCs Bang Nine Murderin MCs Bang Nine Murderin MCs Scratching by DJ LTD REPEAT [Maestro Fresh Wes] Some use a Uzi, some a machete You wanna test Fresh Wes, well Im ready The mind is a Magnum, the rhyme is a bullet The mic thats a trigger BANG and Ill pull it Too late for prayer, D is a slayer Wes rocks the mic like a hoop to Isiah The player, the Piston, MCs are risking Youll get decked like Clay decked Liston BANG Where did the punch come from? Was it before, or after the drum LTD will be the referee Saying punk tell me how many fingers you see The MIC is my PIECE The Maestro needs no Uzi Like a beast I feast when my rhymes released Not gonna cease BANG cause the mic is my piece A bag of LSD and my DJ does needles Lyrical dope my group aint feeble Zero degrees centigrade, thirtytwo farenheit Cold getting paid and youre a parasite Paraphrase, no parallel, youre paralyzed Youre paranoid, you play my record, you plagiarize A paragon, the paramount protagonist Youre the paranormal paragraphing analyst Move, you might get mobbed Theres a method to my madness, dont mock my monologue Im like a beast when my rhymes released, not gonna cease BANG cause my mics my piece CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes] I walk around town looking at these clowns Thinking about my cold crisp bills of brown I stress the color brown, this is what I mean Im not American, my hundred dollar bill aint green Im from North of the border, keep it in order Beats like a freak from the Latin Quarter Though Im down with the TO scene I dont hang with no polo team No charade or parade, Im here to envade Xrate, excel, escalate this escapade Ill pass your girl like she dont exist Exercise the diss while she Exorcist Extreme 360, necks will be snapped She rode my rhythm, received whiplash Executed, extracted, she was attracted To the Maestro, UHH, shes distracted Youre distressed, shes hyperactive Youre jocking and still jack? You must be wack kid Thats why I laugh, you felt my wrath The aftermath, the bloodbath of paragraph Every title you held has been stripped Lost love, torn ego, with a bustedup lip When I start firing I never cease I get hyped, when BANG the mics my piece CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes] Yeah Like Franco Columbo, Im jumbo, large How could one so low try to obtain my status Dont they know how long Ive been at this? Call me a new jack, thats a diss New jacks dont rock like this Thats absurb to me, dont say a word to me Im from TO thats why you dunna heard of me Yesterday, but now youre listening Cause Im exploding like nitroglycerine If I was from New York I know you would have rocked to my rhythmn, five years ago I had to try a little harder than average Just to get a break, but now Im doing damage Think that youre a star? Sorry Charlie Got beef? Talk to Farley Cause what I manifest is a masterpiece Dope rhymes are released when the mics my piece Some carry knives some carry guns Two thousand brothers in the jam all trying to be number one Looking serious, flexing, posing You rub shoulders, step on toes and its BANG over You might get jacked You must be wishin this is fiction, but these are facts I mean Too many want to brawl, I think I heard it all Hip hop today is a live game of Murderball Some want to party, but some are too cool I fought against one of the brothers from my high school Real sad funeral, ask any pupil I speak now before this quadruple Some minds are so shallow, roads are so narrow Follow my flow before you flunk like Daryl The mic is my weapon, with it I aint fessing No half stepping, Im progressing Even when I die these lyrics will last So roll over Beethoveen, heres a bboy blast Show pain another day, I leave you in awe This arrangement bust an orchestra Im the Maestro, my symphony cant cease Too damn hype! BANG when the mics my piece CHORUS
maestro, wes, bang, piece, mics