The Fugees

"...I get mad frustrated when I rhyme
Thinking of all them kids who try to do this
For all the wrong reasons
Seasons change, mad things rearrange
But it all stays the same like the love doctor Strange
I'm tame like the rapper,
Get red like a snapper when they do that
Got your whole block saying "True dat"
If only they knew that,
It was you who was irregular,
Sold your soul for some secular
Muzak that's wack,
Plus you use that loop over and over
Claiming that you got a new style
Your attempts are futile, ooh child
Your puerile,
Brain waves are sterile
You can't create, you just wait to take, my tape's
Laced with malice
Hands get calloused
From grippin' microphones from here to Dallas
Go ask Alice if you don't believe me,
I get Inner Visions like Stevie
See me, ascend from the chalice like the weed be
Indeed be like Khalil Muhammad
MC's make me vomit
I get controversial
Freak your style with no rehearsal
Oh, contraire mon frere
don't you even go there
Me without a mic is like a beat without a snare
I dare to tear into your ego,
We go, way back like some ganja and pelequo
Or Coleco, Vision
My mind makes incisions in your anatomy
And I'll back this with Deuteronomy
Or Leviticus, God made this word
You can't get with this
Sweet like licorice,
Dangerous like syphillis, yeah..."

HOW MANY MICS

The Fugees

One Love

iLL