Текст песни Zealots - Fugees
One
two
- I'm
bout
to
set
this
off!
Like
this,
hip-hoppers,
check
it
Another
MC
lose
his
life
tonight,
Lord
I
beg
that
you
pray
to
Jesus
Christ,
why
Oh
Lord,
father
don't
let
him
bury
me,
whoa
I
haunt
MCs
like
Mephistopheles,
bringing
swords
of
Damocles
Secret
service
keep
a
close
watch
as
if
my
name
was
Kennedy
Abstract
raps
simple
with
a
street
format
Gaze
into
the
sky
and
measure
planets
by
parallax
Check
out
the
retrograde
motion,
kill
the
notion
Of
biting
and
recycling
and
calling
it
your
own
creation
I
feel
like
Rockwell,
somebody's
watching
me
I
got
no
privacy
whether
on
land
or
at
sea
And
for
you
biting
zealots,
your
raps
are
cacophonic
Hypocrite,
critic,
but
deep
inside
you
wish
you
had
the
pop
hit
It
hurts
don't
it,
a
refugee
come
to
your
turf
And
take
over
the
earth
See
my
rhymes,
are
the
type
of
fly
rhymes
That
can
only
get
down
with
my
crew
And
if
you
try,
to
take
lines
or
bite
rhymes
We'll
show
you
how
the
refugees
do
Yeah,
yeah
behold,
as
my
odes,
manifold
on
your
rhymes
Two
MCs
can't
occupy
the
same
space
at
the
same
time
It's
against
the
laws
of
physics
So
weep
as
your
sweet
dreams
break
up
like
Eurythmics
Rap
rejects,
my
tape
deck,
ejects
projectile
Whether
Jew
or
gentile,
I
rank
top
percentile
Many
styles,
more
powerful
than
gamma
rays
My
grammar
pays,
like
Carlos
Santana
plays
"Black
Magic
Woman"
So
while
you
fuming,
I'm
consuming
mango
juice
under
Polaris
You
just
embarrassed
'cause
it's
your
last
tango
in
Paris
And
even
after
all
my
logic
and
my
theory
I
add
a
"Motherfucker"
so
you
ignant
niggas
hear
me
Crew
remember
take
notes,
as
I
sow
my
rap
oats
And
for
you
biting
zealots,
here's
a
quote
Another
MC
lose
his
life
tonight,
Lord
I
beg
that
you
pray
to
Jesus
Christ,
why
Oh
Lord,
father
don't
let
him
bury
me,
whoa
You
can
try
but
you
can't
divide
the
tribe
These
cats
can't
rap,
mister
author
I
feel
no
Vibe
The
magazine
says
the
girl
should
have
went
solo
The
guys
should
stop
rapping
- vanish
like
Menudo
Took
it
to
the
heart,
but
every
actor
plays
his
part
As
long
as
someone
was
listening,
I
knew
it
was
a
start
For
me
to
get
my
chance,
grab
my
pen
and
revamp
Do
a
cameo
while
everybody
do
the
dance
Quick
now,
cause
you
running
out
of
luck-a
Playing
Mr.
Big,
I'm
gonna
get
you
sucka
While
you
munching
at
your
luncheon
I'll
be
planning
your
assassination,
then
hit
you
like
the
Dutchman
I
compress
sound
sets
with
my
rap
DBX
Then
drop
vocals
on
my
456
Ampex
Bring
terror
to
the
shop
of
horror
As
she
cry,
"mi
amor,"
the
phantom
dies
in
the
opera
And
to
the
younguns
who
carry
gadgets
And
kill
six
days
a
week,
then
rest
on
the
Sabbath
Violence
ain't
necessary,
unless
you
provoke
me
Then
get
buried
like
the
great
Mussolini
And
for
you
biting
zealots,
your
rap
styles
are
relics
No
matter
who
you
damage,
you're
still
a
false
prophet
Another
MC
lose
his
life
tonight,
Lord
I
beg
that
you
pray
to
Jesus
Christ,
why
Oh
Lord,
father
don't
let
him
bury
me,
whoa
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