Phife:Vibes and Stuff"
I don't know what to say, but here I go freak it
If the papes come, then you know I'll seek it
I'm just a short brotha, dark skin face
Weigh a buck-fifty, 36 waist
My hair is crazy curly
Front like mr. furley
To this day, I still believe that no mc can serve me
Brothas try to front, but everybody know (know)
I get more props than the arsenio hall show
Party animal I was, but now I chill at home
All I do is write rhymes, eat, drink, shit and bone
Found my thrill in amityville, I'm always in the island
Fudge and monkey know the time, they know who keeps 'em smilin
Go out on my own, somethin that I gotta do
Do what the hell I want and have no one to listen to
I'm prompt with my business and I do things on the double
Yo, I'm out like buster douglass, I say peace to mc trouble
Rest in peace
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Monday, January 04, 2010
Verse of the day.
Q-Tip (SH Fe Mc's.
When I rhyme, the effect just ripples
You sound sick, I hope your cells get sickles
You formulate into real stiff (shit)
Then I bet that it cut the chit chit
Cause the Ab will, be sharper than a Ginsu
Cutter or your bum (ass) head for the gutter
This is not a game and we ain't looking for the fame
That ain't the aim, we came to rip the jam out the frame
My inter-reaction with paper is amazing
So needless to say mad trails are left blazing
A whole lot of bull(shit) rhymes start to get play
But I'm here to say real rhymes to pay
I'm the type of brother that writes until my knuckles get nary
And through the domepiece, the rhymes will carry
Then transported to my throat then the quotes hit the air
As I stand dipped with the wares
Rhymes get slot times, move back from the jack
It's the verbal constructor, some MC's is wack
I make a girl do the bogle, doo doo brown and all
Make (niggas) jump up, drink Don, and have a ball
I ainimate the unlively with the verbal combat
The Abstract, never the wack
Motivator of the many like Moses
Moving through, bringing games into the dummies that pose us
That means you the sub relator of the sub culture
Like a vulture I swoop down on crowns, cause confusion all around
Mental burdens I bring to MC's who sing
They sad songs, money, the dough's not long
Mine on the other hand is lent me tight
The Abstract gets real, real, real
When I rhyme, the effect just ripples
You sound sick, I hope your cells get sickles
You formulate into real stiff (shit)
Then I bet that it cut the chit chit
Cause the Ab will, be sharper than a Ginsu
Cutter or your bum (ass) head for the gutter
This is not a game and we ain't looking for the fame
That ain't the aim, we came to rip the jam out the frame
My inter-reaction with paper is amazing
So needless to say mad trails are left blazing
A whole lot of bull(shit) rhymes start to get play
But I'm here to say real rhymes to pay
I'm the type of brother that writes until my knuckles get nary
And through the domepiece, the rhymes will carry
Then transported to my throat then the quotes hit the air
As I stand dipped with the wares
Rhymes get slot times, move back from the jack
It's the verbal constructor, some MC's is wack
I make a girl do the bogle, doo doo brown and all
Make (niggas) jump up, drink Don, and have a ball
I ainimate the unlively with the verbal combat
The Abstract, never the wack
Motivator of the many like Moses
Moving through, bringing games into the dummies that pose us
That means you the sub relator of the sub culture
Like a vulture I swoop down on crowns, cause confusion all around
Mental burdens I bring to MC's who sing
They sad songs, money, the dough's not long
Mine on the other hand is lent me tight
The Abstract gets real, real, real
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