The Mic's My Piece

**Intro** [DJ Evil E] Yo, this is DJ Evil E, and you just checked out "Bust A Move" from the Spin Masters. [Radio DJ] Yo Ice, why don't you tell'em what's coming up next? [Ice-T] Yo, you got to kick some of that Maestro Fresh Wes. You know that one, Let Your Backbone Slide? Yo, homebody is opening for us at the show, man. Yo, homeboy's dope, man. Check THIS out [Maestro Fresh Wes] I'm a ruler, that's how I reign I do to rap what the Mona Lisa does to the frame Written and ridden, my rhymes are like rodeo I ain't kiddin', they jock my portfolio Played it wise, hit the studio Rock international, now they call me Julio MCs have died, because I have killed them Some older than me but yet children Some veterans knew the feel Because rap is not a joke, this game's for real Sucker boys cuss me, females rush me When I'm off the set, my homeboys they touch me Wes, you ate 'em up like a feast No need to use an Uzi when the mic's my piece CHORUS "Bang Nine" "Murderin' MC's" "Bang Nine" "Murderin' MC's" "Bang Nine" "Murderin' MC's" ** Scratching by DJ LTD ** REPEAT [Maestro Fresh Wes] Some use a Uzi, some a machete You wanna test Fresh Wes, well I'm ready The mind is a Magnum, the rhyme is a bullet The mic that's a trigger *BANG* and I'll pull it Too late for prayer, D is a slayer Wes rocks the mic like a hoop to Isiah The player, the Piston, MC's are risking You'll get decked like Clay decked Liston *BANG* Where did the punch come from? Was it before, or after the drum LTD will be the referee Saying 'punk tell me how many fingers you see' The M-I-C is my P-I-E-C-E The Maestro needs no Uzi Like a beast I feast when my rhyme's released Not gonna cease *BANG* cause the mic is my piece A bag of LSD and my DJ does needles Lyrical dope my group ain't feeble Zero degrees centigrade, thirty-two farenheit Cold getting paid and you're a parasite Paraphrase, no parallel, you're paralyzed You're paranoid, you play my record, you plagiarize A paragon, the paramount protagonist You're the paranormal paragraphing analyst Move, you might get mobbed There's a method to my madness, don't mock my monologue I'm like a beast when my rhyme's released, not gonna cease *BANG* cause my mic's my piece CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes] I walk around town looking at these clowns Thinking about my cold crisp bills of brown I stress the color brown, this is what I mean I'm not American, my hundred dollar bill ain't green I'm from North of the border, keep it in order Beats like a freak from the Latin Quarter Though I'm down with the T-O scene I don't hang with no polo team No charade or parade, I'm here to envade X-rate, excel, escalate this escapade I'll pass your girl like she don't exist Exercise the diss while she Exorcist Extreme 360, necks will be snapped She rode my rhythm, received whiplash Executed, extracted, she was attracted To the Maestro, UHH, she's distracted You're distressed, she's hyperactive You're jocking and still jack? You must be wack kid That's why I laugh, you felt my wrath The aftermath, the bloodbath of paragraph Every title you held has been stripped Lost love, torn ego, with a busted-up lip When I start firing I never cease I get hyped, when *BANG* the mic's my piece CHORUS [Maestro Fresh Wes] Yeah Like Franco Columbo, I'm jumbo, large How could one so low try to obtain my status Don't they know how long I've been at this? Call me a new jack, that's a diss New jacks don't rock like this That's absurb to me, don't say a word to me I'm from T-O that's why you dunna heard of me Yesterday, but now you're listening Cause I'm exploding like nitroglycerine If I was from New York I know you would have rocked to my rhythmn, five years ago I had to try a little harder than average Just to get a break, but now I'm doing damage Think that you're a star? Sorry Charlie Got beef? Talk to Farley Cause what I manifest is a masterpiece Dope rhymes are released when the mic's my piece Some carry knives some carry guns Two thousand brothers in the jam all trying to be number one Looking serious, flexing, posing You rub shoulders, step on toes and it's *BANG* over You might get jacked You must be wishin' this is fiction, but these are facts I mean Too many want to brawl, I think I heard it all Hip hop today is a live game of Murderball Some want to party, but some are too cool I fought against one of the brothers from my high school Real sad funeral, ask any pupil I speak now before this quadruple Some minds are so shallow, roads are so narrow Follow my flow before you flunk like Daryl The mic is my weapon, with it I ain't 'fessing No half stepping, I'm progressing Even when I die these lyrics will last So roll over Beethoveen, here's a b-boy blast Show pain another day, I leave you in awe This arrangement bust an orchestra I'm the Maestro, my symphony can't cease Too damn hype! *BANG* when the mic's my piece CHORUS