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Verse One: Tash 
Caps get peeled rolling in my force field 
Like a nine with hollow points I keep rap flows that's ill 
So when you walkin down the block you better watch who you approachin 
I'm not your R&B singer, so ain't no need for vocal coachin 
Just a forty and a roach and I'll admit you rock the units 
While y'all niggaz couldn't move me if you worked for Starvin Students 
Downin all beer types, from St. Ide's to Red Stripe (yipes!) 
The menace stuffin mics down motherfuckers windpipes 
Has returrrrned, to burrrrn, it's time y'all niggaz learrrrrn 
I neaturalize y'all niggaz like relaxer in a perm 
with flows that go against the grain with a story so compellin 
I should mind The People's Court, snatch the mic from Doug Llewellyn 
and host my own show, after Bill Cosby comes Ricooooo! 
Transmitting live to all my black people 
Catch my drift, I'm down with my nigga E-Swift 
My name is Tash, I'm from the group that you don't wanna fuck with 
Never shy, sippin on some why ask why 
Smokin thai with this bitch that's more fly than Jasmin Guy 
Hooked up with John Q so let me do my thiiing 
while niggaz rock the play shit that they bought from Chess King 
But still, I train rhymes to flip like a seal 
Niggaz say my rhyme skill on the steel is unreal 
But all I do is chill and swing it when I bring it 
Oh shit that's my nigga show these niggaz how you figure 
Verse Two: Q-Tip 
I bring it to your chest pour all the way live 
And deliver ill verse guaranteed to cause highs 
When we start rappin heads roll like Patton 
With the flood blood clot the Alkaholiks rhyme a lot 
Yo I'm like Grimace when I'm on this rap scrimmage 
ANd I got this magic wand to make your puny soul diminish 
The Abstract delivers, I be the Queens nigga on point 
Mary Jane ain't nuttin but a joint 
They called a nigga up to add a little bit of flavor 
Now I'm cuttin and slashin like Luke's light saber 
Yeah, what? You trapped in the zone 
Where MC's get seared and all spots blown 
And in this rap shit a nigga need to be thicky 
I fuck with the crew who downs the deuce deuce Mickey's 
I'm from the rotten apple, y'all niggaz can't grapple 
And love to the Liks, hit your ass like a tackle 
[Pow, bust my liquid-ass style 
Peace to Mad Lib and my nigga Wild Child] 
Verse Three: J-Ro 
Yo put in the disc E 
While I hit the whiskey 
[Bust a rhyme off the head J] 
The nigga missed me 
I'm in this rap game so I'ma aim to be best 
It's fresh, but off the head it's like the dunk contest 
I don't walk the street, I roll my Jeep in an instant 
I rock the beat to sleep like an infant 
The Likwit crew, comin like this on you 
With that four minute Olde English piss on you 
You're bustin dumb raps off the cap, oh shit 
But I got the pen and pad locked down like a pit 
I let the, ink submerger, into the thin wood sheets 
Beats make my head bop, so I'ma rock it for the streets 
I fill all my days with big butts and boom 
I let my pants hand cause my big nuts need room 
I'm not old school, or new school, I'm modern school, I'm ditchin 
When my girl starts bitchin I gets got like a kitchen 
I fly down like the Chi-town wind 
Cause I got the iller noise to make the hardcore grin 
When, the saints come marchin in 
I'ma roll right by em in the fly Lincoln 
Roughneck niggaz wanna box me down 
Cause I got the ladies lookin like Foxy Brown 
The Liks bring the beer Tip sticks it in your earholes 
I drop the mic and strike the Heisman pose 
Verse Four: King Tee 
Hardcore G, I get hardcore man 
From the underland a fuckin wonderman, bam 
Lunatic potential, an isperential differential 
Confidentially smashin instrumentals 
On this tune I bring raps of doom to the mic 
And put my rear shit in flight, peep 
If the drunk funk don't wanna hump in your trunk 
Man you got some motherfuckin junk

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