[bad word] 

Mic check, mic check
One, two, three
Too many rappers and there's still not enough emcees
It goes three, two, one
MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done
Like ladies and gents, attention
Nas in the house with Beastie Boys
We can turn it out
Perpetrators, we can point 'em out
So if you got something on your mind, let it out

(Verse 1)

Yo! I've been in the game since before you was born
I might still be emceeing even after you're gone
Strange though, I know, but my skills still grow
The 80s, the 90s, 2000s, and so
On and on until the crack of dawn
Until the year 3000 and beyond
Stay up all night, and I emcee
never die 'cause death is the cousin of sleep

Because I'm back with a bang, boogie oogie oogie
Strawberry Letter 23 like Shuggie
Oh my god, just look at me
Grandpa been rappin' since '83
I'm supersonic like J.J. Fad
got Crazy [bad word] [bad word] pullin' out the bag
Don't forget the tartar sauce, yo! 'cause it's sad
All these crab rappers, they're rapping like crabs

I have carte blanche, the vagabond
Nas is the narcissist
My pockets are rotund
I'm no killer [bad word] to you, I'm more realer
You ain't a shotta mobster or a [bad word] dealer
slug peeler, you're not
Mafioso, no
You ain't got the cut-throat in ya, beginner
I ain't tryin' to hear your racket
You work a police dog, you snitch, you rat
You wear that jacket

How many rappers must get dissed?
Gimme eight bars and watch me bless this
I'll start to reminisce when I miss
The real hip hop with which I persist [bad word] in mojitos
Bullets and banditos
Matzo balls in soup
Jackets and troop
Yes, y'all! This is one is for the history books
Nasty Nas, what's the word?
Count it off in the hook
 [bad word] 

One, two, three
Too many rappers and there's still not enough emcees
It goes three, two, one
MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done
Like ladies and gents, attention
Nas in the house with Bestie Boys
We can turn it out
Perpetrators, we can point 'em out
So if you got something on your mind, let it out

(Verse 2)

'Cause this the type of lyric that goes inside your brain
To blow you [bad word] rappers straight out the frame
My lyrics spin 'round like a hurricane twister
So get your hologram on off of Wolf Blitzer
Too many rappers to shake a stick at
I ought to charge a tax for every weak rap I had to listen to
'Cause we've been makin' stacks like Stax Records
My squad, we got a pack
We [bad word] wack

To all you crab rappers, and hackers, and circuit-benders
Tweaked on Splenda
I take the cake, I stole the mould
The golden microphone, well that's mine to hold
And why all these biters all up in my crotchspace
Sniffin', puffin', huffin'
And mean muggin' with the Blimpie Bluffin
Back up off me, sucka! You ain't sayin' nothin'!

I'm broader than Broadway
I was the project hallway
Dual tape recorder
Lacing oratorials all day
I'm just gettin' started on this beat, this is foreplay
And when the song's finished, I can sing along with this
By the way, I have a strong fetish for Christian Louboutin steppers
I [bad word] blondes the wettest
But anyway I better pay homage to my fellas
And that's what's on my mind
And the rhyme, who's next up?

Mike D, the man of mystery
History in the making and now we're taking
Titles, awards, and accolades
Scare [bad word] as I sharpen my blades [bad word] together like peanut butter and sandwiches
Like pen and paper, like Picasso and canvases
Rockin' stadiums to [bad word] bars
Go back in time, send a fax from my car
 [bad word] 

One, two, three
Too many rappers and there's