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[sound of Keith Murray intro from Mary J. Blige 'What's the 411' tape 
which I could swear has been set to B.I.G.'s "Who Shot Ya" based on 
the sound of the beat (Artifacts assure me that this is Mary J. 
Blige)] 
"My subliminals, mixed with criminal chemicals 
Got more mily syllables than alphabet cereal..." 
*car door slams* 
Tame: I gots ta get this bag of bam ba zi, fuck this! 
"You know who the fuck I am so get off that old bullshucks!" 
--> Redman (scratched sample) 
"He ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, daddy ain't 
shit" 
--> Redman (scratched sample) 
[Tame One] 
If I had it my way, every wack MC would die Friday 
Makin Saturday a better day 
Sunday wouldn't start your week off til Monday 
One day tunes I wrote yesterday will be tomorrow's scriptures for 
today 
At high noon, Boom Skwad Gods with knowledge 
Holler at apostles, who squalor in despair, despisin those who follow 
Swallowin pride like St. Ide's while you stare... take a drink 
Don't think in a eyeblink I won't start my hijinks 
and hijack a flight [Yeah right, when?] 
Tomorrow night, cause off the record with the treble and the bass 
I chase my lyrics through the rap race 
Last place is simply not an option in my case 
Waste not want not because I front not 
The Notty keeps his lyrical shotty cocked 
and locked up at your temple, over instrumentals 
("It's all in your mind") you No. 2 like the pencil 
The Boom Skwadron, Godson, who got the Bop Gun 
The top gun, from the jump like Datsun 
I got one, candy-coated rote rhymes skits I shit on when I get on 
Then flip the scripts like I had Zips on 
It's on like electrical, my symmetrical 
alphabetic keeps my competition ridin on my testicles 
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, ain't nobody shit") 
You to the rescue, let me test you 
Who the best crew, most definite 
has to be the Skwad cause I'm the President 
All you misrepresenters with your twelve inches need pinches 
Wake the fuck up and check out what this is 
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit, your momma ain't shit, ain't nobody 
shit") 
I can't see nuttin but victories 
MC's think they can get to me, then bring it 
Cause once I pass the blunt to my Lieutenant then we in it 
For the infinite, no play play 
The notty headed Newark nigga from NJ and the Sensai 
represent fully, playin bullies out for yappin 
Thinkin you'll be rappin, get tapped and say you scrappin 
While I been waitin hatin fake MC's that make they bacon 
with passion, rippin up they stickers for reaction 
Practicin on rap has-beens, I'm down with the Biz like Backspin 
Dissin Mikes like the Jacksons 
Thick like the lips on that Fugee chick 
Hard like the dicks in booty flicks 
Dissin niggaz like a snooty bitch (trick) 
I only pop a coochie if it smells Gucci 
Get the lucci hit it for months and then smoke blunts with the 
hoochies 
("What's the flavor Dunn" - Tame) 
You know the flavor like blue cheese 
on how I make crews bleed and school MC's who try to do me 
("He ain't shit, you ain't... ahh motherfucker") 
"Do me baby, do me baby" 
("he ain't shit, you ain't shit...") 
"bom ba zi, it ain't over motherfuckers" 
("He ain't shit, you ain't shit") 
Outro: Rhino CMZ 
75water, H2O, PE, alcohol, oil 
Dependin on temperature, what's the hot shit? 
Rhino, Tame, Boom Skwad, Hidden Descent 
INI, Reflections, check the Twins 
Aight God, recognize what's fake 
Time to turn platinum to purple chrome 
Green purple yellow red white chrome

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