Get U Awn

Intro: (Masta Ace) Yeah, one two It’s Masta Ace, Punchline, Chords (yea) Uhu, uhu, yeah Check it Vers 1: (Masta Ace) My plan and intention, be the man of invention To spit shit and make ya’ll stand at attention If I can I’m lynchin’ every cat in the game Whether he’s lackin’ the fame or got a platinum name See I’m cool like a fridge when I’m under pressure A lot of rappers on ice but none are fresher I don’t see why wanna step inside the ring That’s worse than Eddie Murphy when he try to sing So you ain’t got no chance in a victory lap I don’t feel that shit you tryin’ to kick to me cat So you keep on rappin’ about them furs and minks I heard your little single every version stinks The remix, the accapella, the instrumental It’s so sad that I’m ‘bout to get sentimental I’mma shit in your toilette, leave your ass a floeter Cause my song still bubble like a glass of soda Chorus: We want, it’s on, shit come on It’s a sick song, spit bombs, get you awn Vers 2: (Punchline) I suggest when I’m live on the set, don’t test Y’all cats be careful, I’m careless I show no remorse when I spit on your squad I’m such a cold ass nigga that my nipples are hard, check it That spotlight y’all ain’t ‘posed to have it I grab it and son y’all cats like foster parents I come through, you vacate your own turf I’m Punchline, same guy that rocks with Wordsworth Give me a slut that fucks and a new Benz truck Make it a 4-door I’m tired of being cooped up My whole crew’s ruff in Timbs and Nike fitted After this year I’ll retire my mic like the Wizards Keep your distance, come close and you’re a goner I spit hot shit and turn booths into saunas I play the corner I’m a young a street performer I warned ya, I smoke weed I’m bi-polar Chorus: We want, it’s on, shit come on It’s a sick song, spit bombs, get you awn Vers 3: (Chords) Dawg, I don’t need a crew, we can mano-a-mano Guaranteed I’ll leave you looking like Ronald McDonald And there’s no use in kissing my ass You couldn’t get a line in my hook if you was fishing for bass Mystery man, popped up, split you in half Taking the whole thing back like history class True emceeing, shit man I’m European But most people don’t believe I’m a human being I snack on rappers like they’re apple jacks Cause everything they know is a Snapple fact Conveyor belt, I do it back to back Kick em and pass em like a hackysack Plus my lung size will bring out the midget in you I smoke bongs the size of a didgeridoo Passed most you assholes with a single or two You’re not a rapper just because you’re wearing Timberland boots (hell naw) Like I said, shit I bless the cabbage Til people on the street think I’m Fester Addams And my face shrivels up like California prunes Women still faint when I storm the room It must be the natural charm I guess my mother had a gene and just passed it along So after I’m gone you can drink the pain away While I drive home thru a tinker tape parade, bitch! Chorus: We want, it’s on, shit come on It’s a sick song, spit bombs, get you awn