Look into the rhymeRum to the rippleSing boo,But at times I come in triple.Blaow, blaow put the heater to your headNow your dead.Wyclef don’t give a *beep* if your dead.Raaaaah, raaaahLet me attack just like the black catYou in the wrong neighborhood, check the map.Hooo, you’ve got to go for backupTo do what you gotta do.So you’ll be back with France CUTraitor in your crew is mafo heatPut the poison in your teaand kill the toad, But I’ll be back with the centipedeI’m on some new technique, drunken bambooAwoo hoo a hoo, I’m taking all crews what.Competition, stimulation for the rap manLosers check your tootersWhile I’m suckin’ on your girls hooters.Don’t play macho, while you got the gunCause if you got to reload . . .[CLEF]Wyclef the multi-talentedAverage heads can’t handle itI’ll bring it to you liveOnly if you want it.Me and my guitar go back like the days of the RMC’s[C’mon check out my melody]The W-Y-C-L-E-F, WyclefThrough any contestI’m victoriousStill keep it real, if you will and manifestThrough your skills, not by how many shells you peel.[PRAZ]I’m a bring down the ruckusPlay the nutcrackerRough-neck rednecks make me no botherTime after time, ask Cyndi Lauper,Boss, you don’t want to fuckk with my partnersMotion, commotion, what’s your proposalUphold two-fold, the crew is disposalLike utensil, false idental,I autograph my lyrics with a number 2 pencil[LAURYN]I’m the L, Won’t you pull itStraight to the headWith the speed of a bulletCuttin’ jokers off at the meeky-freeky gulletLyrical sedative, keep niggas medativeHead rushers I give to creative kids and fiendsDreams of euphoria,Aurora,To another galaxyPhallic-syBe this microphone, but get liftedLyrically I’m giftedBurn on in without the roach clip (it)Henders, mind-benderPleasure sender,So frequently your nerve endings belong to meWrongfully you put me down not receiving the full capacity of my smokeWack niggas chokeFrom the fumes that I emote,Or emit shitSee even I feel the mahogany LNatural hallucinogenTurning boys to men againWith estrogen dreamsRelease blues, yellows and greensFrom Brownsville to Queens[DIAMOND-D]I creep like a theif, no doubt the man’s swiftI’m more magnificent than Lee Van CliffYou stand stiff and got the nerve to let your man riff[We know where to run]And start flakin’ like dandruff.C’mon son my steelo’s tightCause by far I’m the best producer on the micOn the right, analytical conceptions
With precision and leave lyrical incisions.