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Текст песни Maestro Fresh Wes - The Mics My Piece

Maestro Fresh Wes - The Mics My Piece слова песни




** intro/skit skipped **[maestro fresh wes]Im a ruler, thats how I reignI do to rap what the mona lisa does to the frameRid em and written, my rhymes are like rodeoI aint kiddin, they jock my portfolioPlayed it wise, hit the studioRock international, now they call me julioMcs have died, becuase I have killed themSome older than me but yet childrenSome veterans knew the fearBecause rap is not a joke, this games for realSucker boys cuss me, females rush meWhen I off the set, my homeboys they touch meWes, you ate em up like a feastNo need to use an uzi, when the mics my pieceChorus"bang on""im murdering mc""bang on""im murdering mc""bang on""im murdering mc"** scratching by dj ltd **Repeat[maestro fresh wes]Some use a uzi, some a macheteYou wanna test fresh wes, well Im readyThe mind is a magnum, the rhyme is a bulletThe mic thats a trigger *bang* and I pull itToo late for prayer, dee is a slayerWes rocks the mics like a hoops to isaiahThe player, the pimp that mcs are riskingYoull get decked like clay decked liston*bang*Where did the punch come from? Was it before, or after the drumLtd will be the refereeSaying punk tell me how many fingers you seeThe m-i-c is my p-i-e-c-eThe maestro needs no mcLike a beast I beat while my rhymes releaseI can say *bang* my mics my pieceA bag of lsd and my dj does needlesLyrical dope my group aint feebleZero degrees centigrade, thirty-two farenheitCold getting paid if youre a parasiteParaphrase, to parallel youre paralyzeYoure paranoid, you play my record, you plagerizeI paragon, the paramont vocabulistLyrical ? ? ? ? ? ? paragraph cant handle thisMove, you might get mobbedTheres a method ot my madness, dont mock my monologueIm like a beast when my rhymes released, like a sayss(? )*bang* cause my mics my pieceChorus[maestro fresh wes]I walk around town looking at these clownsThinking about my cold crisp build to brownI sweat the coloured clown, this is what I meanIm not american, my hundred dollar bill aint greenIm from north of the border, keep it in orderBeats like the freak from the latin quarterThough Im down with the t-o sceneI dont hang with no polo teamNo charade, a parade Im here to envadeX-rate, excess, escalate this escapadeI fancy girl like she dont existExercise the dip, watch the exorcistExtreme 360, necks will snapShe wrote my rhythmn, received the whiplashExecuted, extracted, shes attractedTo the maestro, uhh, distractedIn distress, shes hyperactiveBe jocking and still jacking, you must be wack kidThats why allow the sultan to rapThe aftermath, the bloodbath of paragraphEvery title you held been stripped offLove torn ego with a busted up lipWhen I start firing I never ceaseI get hyped, when *bang* the mics my pieceChorus[maestro fresh wes]YeahLike franklin, columbo, Im jumble-laI can run so low, try to obtain my statusDont they know how long Ive been at thisCall me a new jack, thats a disNew jacks dont rock like thisThats absurb to me, dont say a word to meIm from t-o thats why you dun heard of meYesterday, but now youre listeningcause Im exploding like nitroglycerineIf I was from new yorkI know you would, have rocked to my rhythmn, five years agoI had to try a little harder than the averageJust to get a break, but now Im doing damageThink that youre a star, sorry charlieGot beef? talk to farleycause what I manifest is a masterpieceDope rhymes are released when the mics my pieceSome carry knives some carry guns2000 brothers in the channel trying to be number oneLooking serious, flexing posingYou rub shoulders, step on toes and its *bang* overYou might get shafted? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Too many want to brawl, I think I heard it allHip hop kept niggas alive, gave prefer to ballSome want to party, but some doI propagate against one of the brothers from my high schoolReal sad funeral, ask any pupilI speak know this before this quadrupleSome minds are so shallow, roads are so narrowFollow my ? ? ? ? before youre blunt like pharoahThe mic is my weapon, with it I aint messingNo half stepping, Im progressingEven when I die these lyrics will lastSo roll over bethoveen cause the b-boys blastinShow pen another gay, I leave you in aweThis array could bust an orchestraIm the maestro, my symphony cant ceaseToo damn hype! *bang* when the mics my pieceChorus

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