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featuring Ras Kass 

[Yogi] Yeah...HA...Cru... 

[Mighty Ha] Mic checka da one  the mic check three 
[Yogi] Cru in you baby... 
[Mighty Ha] Mic checka da one  the mic check three... 

[Yogi] 
Mix it up with the big Y.O. 
Comin' from the Laf Isle with fat funk flow 
So yo how you feelin'? Tell me how you feelin' 
Mad drug dealin'  mad caps peelin' 
I do my thing  drink a Budweiser 
And I seen more *bush/Busch* than Dan Anheiser 
Twist the caps of you fake John Gottis 
Watch the pump shottie, make you look like Kwame 
Cru's about to drop the dirty understand the cipher 
Got nothin' to lose so I'm-a do like a lifer 
Niggaz couldn't *catch up/ketchup* with the mustard, disgusted 
Drop the shit that gotcha brains dusted, bust it 
This is how it flow in the Bronx Zoo ya'll 
Beef up a step and style with a fall 
Nothin' but the rough, understood? 
Got me in double extra large bulletproof wit' the hood 
Sittin' at the bar sippin' Becks 
Plus I got the "two turntables and a microphooooone" on deck 
So who's next? Rugged Ras 
Flossin' ice, and drop that soul on dat ass 
The IBF got my rhymes ranked cuz they hittin' 
Plus I'm all around like Scott Pippen 
Here it is, east west, I mean China to Mexico 
If you love the way it's goin' down let me know 
Fuck it, Harlem knows the ledge 
All my Bronx niggaz know the wedge, full-fledged 
Uptown! Plus we got the Cali love 
Y.O.G., truly yours the Breakfast Club 

[Ras Kass] 
Yo punk... 
I was hot as 97 in '73 
D.O.B. my pedigree multiple felonies see 
You spit phlegm I spit fumes 
Across the ruins of kiosks hoverin' sand dunes 
A miniature man-nume, it's National Lampoon's Alien Vacation 
I'm abductin' muthafuckin' rappers to my inner space station 
(What?) For sheezy, 
When Ras Kass get to swervin' off 'gnac, believe me 
I hit below the belt 
Bustin' niggaz balls like Riddick Bowe versus Gulotta 
Hell yeah I'm a rida 
Ain't nuttin' sweetie, cancer causin' like saccahrin 
Action, intoxicated chinky-eyed black men 
An' nowadays fools forget what they actually named 
Besides a loyal cadets and priceless briquettes 
Basically, I don't give a shit how rich ya get 
I'll have you in the car talkin' to yourself 
Like Alanis Morisette with turets 
(Oh wee..that's right...) I like sisters with vaginas so... 
(Can we get freaky toniiiiight...) 
Donald Trump wouldn't let you shine his shoes my man 
If you pissed off you dyin' with your dick in your hand 
Plus when shit hits the fan, I mean when Ras reach the crowd 
And verse to verse, switch my aura then rotate Earth 
And fuck that servin' emcees and livin' bummy 
I'm on some show me the money and still educate the dummies 

CHORUS 
It's all about me for you and you for me 
And playa if ya do for two we do for three 
You think it's 'bout the cash, the cars and jew-el-ry 
We livin' in the age of the ebonic plague (2x) 

[Chadio] 
You see the words is meshin' through this lyrical aggression 
Punks pop shit we Joe Pesc'em no question 
Cru session, no time for second guessin' 
Frontin' or fessin', we full court pressin' 
Testin', any in our way learn a lesson 
Forever in my Stetson, chrome plated Wesson 
We ain't got no time for excuses and reasons 
Bringin' nuttin' but butta in all four seasons 
Wanna blow my nose when I'm sneezin', wit' hundred dollar bills 
Foes I'm squeezin', breezin' 
Through your nearest town wit' the frown expression 
Those Bronx streets left a lastin' impression 
Now think about this, imagine Cru rhymers 
Like this world with no clock bein' timeless 
Pure dope when it come to the oratorical 
Stay on the low wit' a dime that's adorable 
Got the rap shit covered like long johns 
Big brother Ant taught me how to bear arms 
L.A. to D.C. I gets my P.C. 
Keeps me a fifth of B.C. 
And we gon' drink to your pass peeps that flashed heat 
Never no more, when I pull I blast he 
Think you could deal? You crazier than Bjork 
Belong up on Fantasy Isle with Mr. Rourke

Видео-клип к песне The Ebonic Plague

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