Fuck You

[Kool Keith] + (Ced) (Whassup?) Yo, it's just that We the we the best in the United States And they don't wanna give it to us But we the kings, we the real kings And all that other bullshit you get, is counterfeit So you know, stop buyin them other bullshit records (Stop gettin that plastic) and be dedicate.. Raise your hands in the air and become (that plastic hip-hop) Dedicated Ultra fans! You know what that means? You can't buy no other records {*laughter*} (Ohh shit!) [Kool Keith] Yeah fuck 'em! These motherfuckers ain't shit Tryin to rhyme and tryin to get, NASTY~! I know the game when I'm steppin in bullshit You better quit, when you're makin a fake hit You ain't hard, buggin and so rough You're jack doo-doo, and soft as cream puff I know MC's who feel proud and black though I know many; their ass sound whack though Tryin to walk up, don't give me no pound FUCK YOU, cause you ain't down Busting a move and that fucked up freestyle I go mad wild, lyrically so wild Look up stepchild, I fuckin support you But you sound whack, now I have to abort you CAUGHT YOU, jerking off in the bathroom Bitin my fresh rhymes in back of the classroom Copyin, bitin shit off the master Lookin for dope rhymes but I'ma come after Hittin your brain like a motherfuckin blackjack Rappers on stage, steppin to me they're wick-whack Weak-ass rhymes show get off the stage black Fuck up the mic girl you're bitch now get back Fuck it! I see the bitches on the mic You treat 'em the same, like niggas on the mic No pity; you shouldn'ta got in the game It's like rappin to win, with a fucked up name Like Pussy P, who the fuck is he or she? Yeah them niggas is whack! Fuck 'em Fuck 'em.. fuck 'em.. fuck 'em.. fuck 'em.. Fuck 'em.. fuck 'em.. FUCK YOU! [Ced Gee] Yo, fuck them! I put their rhymes in a pooper scoop They can't rap, they sound like doo doo and Fruit Loops Rap for money fame women and videos They need to sit down write better material Like this, for a motherfuckin freestyle Lose they jheri curls cause they're not real Niggas, from the motherfuckin Bronx and Killin in Brooklyn, with rhymes that's stompin The competition, to me they're like children You pick up the mic you get treated like pilgrims Back on the boat, on a mission to another land Takin you out's like beatin up Peter Pan Boy, I hear you like to copy Rap in yo' country, that shit sound sloppy Learn how to rap like a pro with a real flow Straight up South Bronx original rap tone Takin my time as I teach better rappin buddy So be quick like a kid with some Silly Putty So back up, think what are you doin You live in a fantasy, you're soon to ruin Your career, you hear? I'm not here to scare But I'm here to share what I feel is fair Yeah~! Y'all know what that is Yo TR tell 'em {*scratching: "Fuck you!"*} [Ced Gee] Yeah, y'all know what time it is All you rappers out there, livin foul Perpetratin what you're not Tryin to be hard, tryin to be soft, butter soft Act a clown, makeup fallin down Put the shit down and be yourself, y'knahmsayin? That's what it's all about in the 90's Be yourself, PEACE! [Outro] I know, and you know (yeah) That no matter what we done We'd like to tell everybody how we feel about it all And if we've offended anybody in any way We don't give a shit!!