Songtexte Microphone Master - Das EFX

You know that thing offend you
You know that thing offend you
You know that thing offend you
You know that thing offend you
You know that thing offend you
You know that thing offend you
Yo, we 'bout to get this one off, son
'Bout to make it my peeps, knahmsayin'?
Knahmsayin'?

Microphone master, funky rhyme
Microphone master
Microphone master
Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers
Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live
Straight from the sewer of the 41st side
Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers
Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live
Straight from the sewer of the 41st side

The Infamous Mobb, Infamous Mobb
Infamous, Infamous, Infamous Mobb
The Infamous Mobb, Infamous, Infamous
Infamous Mobb and Doctor, now listen
Stick you for the only pot you got to piss in
Rapper's school, keep the key in the ignition
When we get back, nigga, we shinin' glistenin'
When we get back, nigga, we shinin' glistenin'
When we get back, nigga, we shinin' glistenin'
Yo, 7th do his thing with precision, no time for broke livin'
I'm tryin' to see a dish in, and food to fill my kitchen
Some faggot kids snitchin', givin' info
We do a drive-by in a stolen black Benzo
We tint the window, bullets'll flurry through your system
Your man ran, lucky for him, because we missed him
We catch him on the rebound, but see now
I'm tryin' to get this money and you tryin'
To stop me, what's it gonna be now?
You stand up to my crew and get laid down
On the ground with the big four-pound, you hear the sound
On the other side of town, where caps get peeled
Break you off love-love, give you somethin' to feel
Delf and 'Pex, Mobb Deep, niggas holdin' it down
Runnin' fiction-ass MCs, genre-bound
Eager to please rap kids, get back smacked with pistols
Forced to exile, livin' in now, funky style

Well, ease out, selector, I bring it on again
This for all my niggas doin' time up in the fuckin' pen
Y'all been, I can't forget my niggas who got left back
F that, and all my honies chillin' out in Lefrak
City, see, we gets busy with no follow-up
Stomp each illy, throw the towel up, ayo, Havoc, roll the olive
Bound up, it's the Infamous with the sewer
Go to Queens and get my weed, 10x10, is that blue? 1-2, 1-2, uh
Blew ya, out the box like Kelly
Comin' from the under with the thunder like Shelley
Really, we comin' deep, it's Mobb the Mobb
Rhymin' is my job, you can wind up gettin' robbed
Either way, in the day or night, it don't matter
It's me, that nigga P, Havoc and the jabber-jabber
Yo, we bring you raw without a doubt
It's the Infamous and Doc, expect the three-and-out

Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, funky rhyme
Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers
Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live
Straight from the sewer of the 41st side
Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers
Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live
Straight from the sewer of the 41st side

Ayo, what you gonna
Ayo, what you
Ayo, what you gonna do with that black deuce?
Ayo, what you gonna do with that black deuce?
Ayo, what you gonna do with that black deuce-deuce?
Hit you up, take the cash, you ain't slug-proof, duke
Takin' yours to survive, it's only matter of time
I'm snatchin', livin' grimy, runnin', never look back
The root of evil got me actin' like that
Life ain't a game, the streets is Mortal Kombat
I wasn't blessed with the silver spoon
Since my born, I've resumed to find some warm rooms
Now you's a customer, cop here for natural born hustlers
That's what he thought, son, stupid kid, you get extorted
Stop smilin', but still, don't nothin' move but the money
The infamous gat clappers and mic masters

And I'ma hickity-hit ya with the hickory-dickory
Stickin' niggas style, twisted off the liquor
So I'm Icarus to books, iggity off the hook
Blow this shit down, son, we keep a nigga shook
Look, I got it made like long, fatigue on
My man slipped up and got bagged for three ones
Oh my God, it's wiggity-squad in the place
Where the Mobb niggas can get robbed like base
Go taste the terror, flood the leather in the Beamer
The O.E. abuser, can't fuck with FEMA
The 'Nam pop singer from the land of box slingers
Where niggas hide and gun smoke from niggas' Glocks linger
I rip shit for fun, so come one, come all
Caesar get mad, burn like Jamal
By the rhyme telepherson from the cellar to the attic
To the Bronx, Krazy Drayzie, Prodigy, and pistol advocate

Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers
Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live
Straight from the sewer of the 41st side
Microphone master, funky rhyme maker
Microphone master, and we's the niggas makin' papers
Microphone master, yeah, 'bout to get live
Straight from the sewer of the 41st side