[Chorus]I'm the jack of all trades, master of one Black and underpaid, blastin this mic gun Put it to your temple, and pop yo' pimple Break you down like kempo, I'm trained in the arts[Aceyalone] I specify in rockin my page from the heart I dig down deep within my psyche Information excites me, the knowledge invites me When I, throw on my Nike's and step to it nicely Huh, it's unlikely any man could out-mic me Lightning, please strike me like it did when I was a child Hit me with a hundred thousand volts and make me smile You name it I can aim it, catch it and tame it, explain it Take it and paint it in beautiful technicolor Directly from another place you could expect no other To stand by these trues and break these rules We defy the laws of cool and sang these blues and bring this news[Chorus][Aceyalone] I'm that hip-hop SPOKESman, I ain't a coke man A good folks man, he reached for the mic and broke his hand It's not my problem, it's not my fault It's not my concern, I don't give a **** about Them dirty fingers, reachin for the scepter All up in yo' head but I'm not Dr. LectorOr Dr. Phil, but I still got to killwhite widdle, black widdle, fat little pill To take for your enjoyment, to get psychadelic I don't sell it I spill it out, and tell it so angelic My rap gat makes your brain splat Blow up, everything that's holdin up your hat It's firin the pistons gas, in the engines **** a foot in the door, we takin off the hinges When my, dash is broken, glass is broken And class is open, and it's still left smokin[Chorus] Okay Mr. Pick to Ten, is it sickenin?[Aceyalone] What kind of little box you thinkin in? Think again Draw a blank, you saw a tank But didn't see my soldiers on the flank movin up another rank The Hip-Hop Hall of Fame went up in flames When they, mention my name it's tension in they brains An extension of the game and, I stake this claim And break these chains and this one's for the last train I'm the jack of all trades, master of one And the thing I mastered is blastin this mic gun Put it to your temple, and pop yo' pimple Break you down like kempo, I'm trained in the arts We got one verse left to rock this beat And seperate the good **** from the weak So, get in the groove, and feel the sound And once you're inside spread yourself around From the bottom to the top, top, to the bottom I'm, gonna rock 'em, while, I still got 'em I rock this hour with style and power And this, is yo' MC hourI don't know if, all of you have heard But it's up to YOU to rip.. {*vocals fade out*
[Chorus]I'm the jack of all trades, master of one Black and underpaid, blastin this mic gun Put it to your temple, and pop yo' pimple Break you down like kempo, I'm trained in the arts[Aceyalone] I specify in rockin my page from the heart I dig down deep within my psyche Information excites me, the knowledge invites me When I, throw on my Nike's and step to it nicely Huh, it's unlikely any man could out-mic me Lightning, please strike me like it did when I was a child Hit me with a hundred thousand volts and make me smile You name it I can aim it, catch it and tame it, explain it Take it and paint it in beautiful technicolor Directly from another place you could expect no other To stand by these trues and break these rules We defy the laws of cool and sang these blues and bring this news[Chorus][Aceyalone] I'm that hip-hop SPOKESman, I ain't a coke man A good folks man, he reached for the mic and broke his hand It's not my problem, it's not my fault It's not my concern, I don't give a **** about Them dirty fingers, reachin for the scepter All up in yo' head but I'm not Dr. LectorOr Dr. Phil, but I still got to killwhite widdle, black widdle, fat little pill To take for your enjoyment, to get psychadelic I don't sell it I spill it out, and tell it so angelic My rap gat makes your brain splat Blow up, everything that's holdin up your hat It's firin the pistons gas, in the engines **** a foot in the door, we takin off the hinges When my, dash is broken, glass is broken And class is open, and it's still left smokin[Chorus] Okay Mr. Pick to Ten, is it sickenin?[Aceyalone] What kind of little box you thinkin in? Think again Draw a blank, you saw a tank But didn't see my soldiers on the flank movin up another rank The Hip-Hop Hall of Fame went up in flames When they, mention my name it's tension in they brains An extension of the game and, I stake this claim And break these chains and this one's for the last train I'm the jack of all trades, master of one And the thing I mastered is blastin this mic gun Put it to your temple, and pop yo' pimple Break you down like kempo, I'm trained in the arts We got one verse left to rock this beat And seperate the good **** from the weak So, get in the groove, and feel the sound And once you're inside spread yourself around From the bottom to the top, top, to the bottom I'm, gonna rock 'em, while, I still got 'em I rock this hour with style and power And this, is yo' MC hourI don't know if, all of you have heard But it's up to YOU to rip.. {*vocals fade out*
