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Microphon Master

Das EFX
Popularity ยท Low
๐Ÿ‡ฌ๐Ÿ‡ง English ยท Original

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Lyrics

You know that thing offend you You know that thing offend you You know that thing offend you You know that thing offend you You know that thing offend you You know that thing offend you Yo, we 'bout to get this one off, son 'Bout to make it my peeps, knahmsayin'? Knahmsayin'? Microphone master, funky rhyme Microphone master Microphone master Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live Straight from the sewer of the 41st side Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live Straight from the sewer of the 41st side The Infamous Mobb, Infamous Mobb Infamous, Infamous, Infamous Mobb The Infamous Mobb, Infamous, Infamous Infamous Mobb and Doctor, now listen Stick you for the only pot you got to piss in Rapper's school, keep the key in the ignition When we get back, nigga, we shinin' glistenin' When we get back, nigga, we shinin' glistenin' When we get back, nigga, we shinin' glistenin' Yo, 7th do his thing with precision, no time for broke livin' I'm tryin' to see a dish in, and food to fill my kitchen Some faggot kids snitchin', givin' info We do a drive-by in a stolen black Benzo We tint the window, bullets'll flurry through your system Your man ran, lucky for him, because we missed him We catch him on the rebound, but see now I'm tryin' to get this money and you tryin' To stop me, what's it gonna be now? You stand up to my crew and get laid down On the ground with the big four-pound, you hear the sound On the other side of town, where caps get peeled Break you off love-love, give you somethin' to feel Delf and 'Pex, Mobb Deep, niggas holdin' it down Runnin' fiction-ass MCs, genre-bound Eager to please rap kids, get back smacked with pistols Forced to exile, livin' in now, funky style Well, ease out, selector, I bring it on again This for all my niggas doin' time up in the fuckin' pen Y'all been, I can't forget my niggas who got left back F that, and all my honies chillin' out in Lefrak City, see, we gets busy with no follow-up Stomp each illy, throw the towel up, ayo, Havoc, roll the olive Bound up, it's the Infamous with the sewer Go to Queens and get my weed, 10x10, is that blue? 1-2, 1-2, uh Blew ya, out the box like Kelly Comin' from the under with the thunder like Shelley Really, we comin' deep, it's Mobb the Mobb Rhymin' is my job, you can wind up gettin' robbed Either way, in the day or night, it don't matter It's me, that nigga P, Havoc and the jabber-jabber Yo, we bring you raw without a doubt It's the Infamous and Doc, expect the three-and-out Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, funky rhyme Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live Straight from the sewer of the 41st side Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live Straight from the sewer of the 41st side Ayo, what you gonna Ayo, what you Ayo, what you gonna do with that black deuce? Ayo, what you gonna do with that black deuce? Ayo, what you gonna do with that black deuce-deuce? Hit you up, take the cash, you ain't slug-proof, duke Takin' yours to survive, it's only matter of time I'm snatchin', livin' grimy, runnin', never look back The root of evil got me actin' like that Life ain't a game, the streets is Mortal Kombat I wasn't blessed with the silver spoon Since my born, I've resumed to find some warm rooms Now you's a customer, cop here for natural born hustlers That's what he thought, son, stupid kid, you get extorted Stop smilin', but still, don't nothin' move but the money The infamous gat clappers and mic masters And I'ma hickity-hit ya with the hickory-dickory Stickin' niggas style, twisted off the liquor So I'm Icarus to books, iggity off the hook Blow this shit down, son, we keep a nigga shook Look, I got it made like long, fatigue on My man slipped up and got bagged for three ones Oh my God, it's wiggity-squad in the place Where the Mobb niggas can get robbed like base Go taste the terror, flood the leather in the Beamer The O.E. abuser, can't fuck with FEMA The 'Nam pop singer from the land of box slingers Where niggas hide and gun smoke from niggas' Glocks linger I rip shit for fun, so come one, come all Caesar get mad, burn like Jamal By the rhyme telepherson from the cellar to the attic To the Bronx, Krazy Drayzie, Prodigy, and pistol advocate Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live Straight from the sewer of the 41st side Microphone master, funky rhyme maker Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live Straight from the sewer of the 41st side