Busta Rhymes & Q-Tip - God Lives Through Lyrics
[Hook]"Oh my God!"[Verse 1: Phife Dawg]There's a million MCs that claim they want someBut see I create sounds that make your ears go numbPeace to Sayres Ave., yeah you know how we goMy best friend Steven at the Home DepotLaurelton is in the house, I can't forget SouthsideWalk past MCs like that girl did to PharcydeI'm labeled as the cat's meow, the MC with the know-howAct like you know, not now but right nowBeast of the East, on MCs I have a feastI'd eat that ass like quiche, crack a smile like ShaniceStraight outta Jamaica, seen? Jamaica, QueensBut you could find me out in Georgia, or anywhere in betweenNow if my partners don't look good, Malik won't look goodIf Malik don't look good, then Quest won't look goodIf the Quest don't look good, then Queens won't look goodBut since the sounds are universal, New York won't look goodPicture Phife losing a battle, come on, get off itPut down the microphone son, surrender, forfeitDid I hear something 'bout a crew? What they wanna do?You better call Mr. Babyface so he can bring out the cool in youOr it'll be a sad love song being sung by Toni BraxtonAnd I'll dissect you like a fractionOh, you wannabe top cat MCs, I'll pop you like a zitYou wanna be the champ, you more like Chief Some-shitBig up myself every time when it comes to thisMCs be running scared as if they're watching the ExorcistI kick more game than a crackhead from HempsteadMy styles are milk, man, you'd think that I was breast-fedYou know the steelo when the diggy Dawg is on the sceneI dedicate this to all the MCs outta QueensThat goes for Onyx, LL, Run DMCAkinyele, Nasty Nas and the Extra PYou need a chart, straight up and down man, there ain't no otherNuff respect to all my peeps that made the album coverYo, Tip don't worry none you know I get the party jumpingGet on the mic and break 'em off a little little somethingYo, Tip don't worry none you know I gets the party jumpingGet on the mic my man and break 'em off a little something[Hook][Verse 2: Q-Tip]We got the funk doody don shit, clearly it's the bomb shitSo recognize me, kids memorize meEveryday, I be scrounging, really I be loungingI play the down low, very very incognitoAries is my sign, I know that I can rhymeSometimes I rhyme in riddles, plus I make the honeys wiggleIntellect is the major, some heads like to wagerThe skills on the hill, overlooking dollar billsMan, you're crazy, thinking you can phase meThe Ab doesn't study mere nonsense, moneyLife seems to need me, MCs seem too cheesyWith their doody ass renditions of defeating competitionI rock to the roll man, yes, I'm a soul manBet your bottom dollar Vinia will make you hollerAs you stand at attention, did I forget to mentionMCs will give me twenty if I sense that they act funnyLyrics are abundant, right there, I sound redundantJust mentioning the fact that the area is fatI dwell in the under, so honey it's no wonderThat I get plenty of tail, well I even get whiteI'mma bet hitting head crack, there money, take thatBreaking niggas off, cut their bank, then I'm offWhile my Nikes match my Lo hat, beat joint is mad fatGot the cutter of the box if a kid think he's oxFor tier means creator, the poetry relatorIt's hemmed like Betsy Ross, let me tell you who's the boss[Hook][Outro: Q-Tip]Queens got a...Brooklyn got a...Bronx got a...Staten Island got a...Long Island got the zoneJersey got a...Philly got a...Milwaukee got a...L.A. got a...Oaktown got the zone
