作词 : Cross, Williams (Canibus) “You wanna face lift? This is what it takes ‘Bis A beat that'll make a ***** think an earthquake hit” The blue-collar rapper, enigmatic, democratic Rap-savvy fanatic that could smash any match-up High when I wrote this, bring welding goggles to my show My flow glow brighter than any diamond that you know I walk among you, draw energy from you The Art of Sun-Tzu, he used to bust too I'm like a Shaolin monk on crunk Holding himself up with his thumb on a stump Get a Hummer for the summer to stunt And just sit in the front while my lungs become one with a blunt Futuristic old-schooler, look like JFK Jr. when I suit up Jacob ‘The Jeweler' with a new cut Can-I-Bus! I ain't got what I want yet How could you respect one of the best, what? I can't get no, grab the mic, *****, let's go Bet me who got the best flow, you end up with less doe Open your vest, let your chest show I'ma open your chest, let your breath go with a .38 Special Keep it on the low, don't let the press know Behind the scenes they put me on death row and won't let go Brace yourself while I break the chains My beats bang so hard they erase the plains (Chorus x4) This is full battle rattle, attack you Salute or I'll smash you, Can-I-Bus bust to blast you (Canibus) The 100 Bar Monster spit without hawkin' up Smash your whole roster, **** what it cost ya' **** what it cost me, join the army smoke Bob Marley The sergeant major honorably discharged me For my sinsemilla and my hemp incense Inspiration, why it's only worth ten percent Another day in the life for Mr. Can-I-Bus My life too rough for me not to recognize love The soldier's back to blow a ****ing hole through Rap I wish they'd let me out the cage and stop holding me back You might say the only thing holding me back is myself It ain't hard to tell what's holding me back is my sales I don't make record for girls, I spit for the borough But I'm an artist in an ignorant world World class athlete trained to attack beats Mixtapes smash the streets, try to patch the leaks ****** try to battle me but lose, they got limited views I remember when I was primitive too I sit and talk with the inquisitive youth, ‘cause I be spitting the truth Sometimes I ask them, “What you listening to?” Lyrical Fitness is the proof, let me put you in the booth Nottz'll play the beat-loop, let me see what you can do The older advise the younger when they recognize the hunger I do a couple reps with the mic to get pumped up Monkey-bar sit-ups, blood rush to my head I write rhymes upside-down with an astronaut pen Spit a hot sixteen at Mach 10, take it up a notch then Launch everything when I'm locked in You in the kill-zone boxed in Tried to play jump rope with skis on and got dropped when you hopped in The Last Mohican, smoke you in the first season You don't speak it but it's no secret Peep it, you lightweight like rice-cakes Anybody under twenty-one that touch the microphone is mic-bait Hungry ****** start to get tight-faced, that's when the fight breaks A sixty second round is a nice pace Work a ***** out ‘til he spit up white paste Tell him he can hide the bruise on his face with nightshade If you looking for a battle you came to the right place This is Mic Club and over here I'm the Mic Ace (Chorus) 4X
作词 : Cross, Williams (Canibus) “You wanna face lift? This is what it takes ‘Bis A beat that'll make a ***** think an earthquake hit” The blue-collar rapper, enigmatic, democratic Rap-savvy fanatic that could smash any match-up High when I wrote this, bring welding goggles to my show My flow glow brighter than any diamond that you know I walk among you, draw energy from you The Art of Sun-Tzu, he used to bust too I'm like a Shaolin monk on crunk Holding himself up with his thumb on a stump Get a Hummer for the summer to stunt And just sit in the front while my lungs become one with a blunt Futuristic old-schooler, look like JFK Jr. when I suit up Jacob ‘The Jeweler' with a new cut Can-I-Bus! I ain't got what I want yet How could you respect one of the best, what? I can't get no, grab the mic, *****, let's go Bet me who got the best flow, you end up with less doe Open your vest, let your chest show I'ma open your chest, let your breath go with a .38 Special Keep it on the low, don't let the press know Behind the scenes they put me on death row and won't let go Brace yourself while I break the chains My beats bang so hard they erase the plains (Chorus x4) This is full battle rattle, attack you Salute or I'll smash you, Can-I-Bus bust to blast you (Canibus) The 100 Bar Monster spit without hawkin' up Smash your whole roster, **** what it cost ya' **** what it cost me, join the army smoke Bob Marley The sergeant major honorably discharged me For my sinsemilla and my hemp incense Inspiration, why it's only worth ten percent Another day in the life for Mr. Can-I-Bus My life too rough for me not to recognize love The soldier's back to blow a ****ing hole through Rap I wish they'd let me out the cage and stop holding me back You might say the only thing holding me back is myself It ain't hard to tell what's holding me back is my sales I don't make record for girls, I spit for the borough But I'm an artist in an ignorant world World class athlete trained to attack beats Mixtapes smash the streets, try to patch the leaks ****** try to battle me but lose, they got limited views I remember when I was primitive too I sit and talk with the inquisitive youth, ‘cause I be spitting the truth Sometimes I ask them, “What you listening to?” Lyrical Fitness is the proof, let me put you in the booth Nottz'll play the beat-loop, let me see what you can do The older advise the younger when they recognize the hunger I do a couple reps with the mic to get pumped up Monkey-bar sit-ups, blood rush to my head I write rhymes upside-down with an astronaut pen Spit a hot sixteen at Mach 10, take it up a notch then Launch everything when I'm locked in You in the kill-zone boxed in Tried to play jump rope with skis on and got dropped when you hopped in The Last Mohican, smoke you in the first season You don't speak it but it's no secret Peep it, you lightweight like rice-cakes Anybody under twenty-one that touch the microphone is mic-bait Hungry ****** start to get tight-faced, that's when the fight breaks A sixty second round is a nice pace Work a ***** out ‘til he spit up white paste Tell him he can hide the bruise on his face with nightshade If you looking for a battle you came to the right place This is Mic Club and over here I'm the Mic Ace (Chorus) 4X
