Zealots

[Intro - Wyclef Jean] One two - I'm bout to set this off! Like this, hip-hoppers, check it [Hook - Wyclef Jean] Another MC lose his life tonight, Lord I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa [Verse 1 - Wyclef Jean] I haunt MCs like Mephistopheles, bringing swords of Damocles Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy Abstract raps simple with a street format Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation I feel like Rockwell, somebody's watching me I got no privacy whether on land or at sea And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit It hurts don't it, a refugee come to your turf And take over the earth [Interlude - Lauryn Hill] See my rhymes, are the type of fly rhymes That can only get down with my crew And if you try, to take lines or bite rhymes We'll show you how the refugees do [Verse 2 - Lauryn Hill] Yeah, yeah behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes Two MCs can't occupy the same space at the same time It's against the laws of physics So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top percentile Many styles, more powerful than gamma rays My grammar pays, like Carlos Santana plays "Black Magic Woman" So while you fuming, I'm consuming mango juice under Polaris You just embarrassed cause it's your last tango in Paris And even after all my logic and my theory I add a "Motherfucker" so you ignant niggas hear me Crew remember take notes, as I sow my rap oats And for you biting zealots, here's a quote [Hook] [Verse 3 - Wyclef Jean] You can try but you can't divide the tribe These cats can't rap, mister author I feel no Vibe The magazine says the girl should have went solo The guys should stop rapping - vanish like Menudo Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start For me to get my chance, grab my pen and revamp Do a cameo while everybody do the dance Quick now, cause you running out of luck-a Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka While you munching at your luncheon I'll be planning your assassination, then hit you like the Dutchman [Verse 4 - Pras] I compress sound sets with my rap DBX Then drop vocals on my 456 Ampex Bring terror to the shop of horror As she cry, "mi amor," the phantom dies in the opera And to the younguns who carry gadgets And kill six days a week, then rest on the Sabbath Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me Then get buried like the great Mussolini And for you biting zealots, your rap styles are relics No matter who you damage, you're still a false prophet