Scenario - 7 MC's Mix

Lyrics for Scenario - 7 MC's Mix

Here in 1992, we present the fabulous "What's the Scenario" remix Whereas, there are seven MCs, six which are in physical form, one Which is in spiritual essence, and He goes by the name of, uh... (Hood!) Check the rhyme, punk that is, so get God eff it (Shit!) I lick buck shots, Hood, madman, I rip up stages Lay down your wages, I'm wild like Larry Davis Extra extra, pick up a clip I tear ass out the frame (Huh?) and grab my dick (Oh!) I'm a rock 'em sock 'em robot, kid, I drop bombs I'm rugged and deadly, so I shit on the petty A baseball bat, a bastard, I'm bad news I'm crazy and clever, cut throats of crews I'm death on the phono, my skills are porno You say, "Oh no," you bitch-ass homo I bag up weight, electrifyin' on prime time I slaughter slob, I'm the greatest of all time Sick-ass brother, nasty-ass nigga Pump slugs in your face and dump that ass in the river Two tears in a bucket, fuck it, kick the can Say what, say what? I'm a bad, bad man Quick is how I flip from the tip of the lip Punchin' out hits like Gladys Knight and the Pips The Five-Foot Assassin has just raided your area Your booty rhymes are wack, and that's the reason I ain't hearin' ya So, roll out the red carpet 'cause I'm king of this "Vanilla Ice platinum"? That shit's ridiculous Excuse my French, but profanity is all I knew And to you other sell-outs, oh, yeah, F you too And let it be known, I'm not the one to step to You're better off callin' D-Nice to your rescue Freestyle fanatic, probably the best around As for corny MCs, like Chuck D, I shut 'em down I am the artiful don of hip-hop, and I won't stop The Five-Foot Assassin has come to wreck 'nuff shop So do like Michael Jackson and "Remember the Time" Put on your dancin' shoes or somethin', 'cause you sure can't rhyme Big up, big up, enter new identity Next to say somethin', call your posse to me What does it take to check a technique? Many styles, many styles Hostile heat brings burst of energy Mollow in the dance, it's the new identity One-two mic check, select for the roughnecks That tend to run, bet I come correct In my cyphers of blocks, I bring box to connect with knots So I can throw dreadlocks Maintain the rock, don't stop the rock Maintain the rock, don't stop the rock Kick it right, D-Nice, and what's it not? I would rock longer, but fear is fear So C. Brown, are we in the clear? (Yeah!) C. Brown, are we in the clear? Yeah, makin' moves, y'all (Who, y'all?) On and on and on (Check it, check it out) To the break-a-break of dawn (Who's that?) Yes, one of the L-O-N-S And A Tribe Called Quest, East Coast to West Remix mad kicks more than Metallica Tall MCs fall like the Battlestar Galactica Stampin', stompin', rompin' Compton (People all over the world) are promptin' (Styles!) Pick a style, any style, strong, how? Representation, sensationalization Scenario for the radio BLS and Kiss-O (Here we go, yo!) Yeah Force Main Source LP on the rise And look at colorless teeth through original eyes And I'm out like child, ooh-ah, ooh-ah (Ooh-ah, ooh-ah) There it is, baby paw Flyin' in on a limb, slim trim, T-I-M Here I am, dear, I am, don't run from a Grimm Psych, we be right, be polite for my mics like I'm Ike See sick, see psych And slip away, and off to the Poconos Spot picks the pros, pipes in the birdie pose Yamaha, hey, hi, me Let's flip the funk, now it all sounds (Hey!) Enough, enough, Miss Bidded, I'm with it If I did it, I was litted and probably shouldn't have quit it 'Cause yo, my corporate status at nights like Gladys Bed, rest, spacesets, and yo, I'm like the maddest Male, not female, hell from Unadale Bounce to b-ball 'cause beats are bein' yelled In the hallways, always ringin' with a ho This is my two times nine on the scenario Check it out, everybody, rhymes and mics Black men's gettin' loot, doin' what they like Eight black rebels in the public eye If you listen very close, I will tell you why Hood, Phife, Milo, Dino, and C. Brown Shaheed, myself, and Busta Bust down Will commence to rock, so bring all the flocks Interrogation for the knockin' of the box The boombox ruler controls the medulla None come cooler, I went like Shula So bust out the room, let you start to pursue a Intensified mind, non-blunt consumer Tip will come booty when it's only a rumor The mean is so deep that it starts brain tumors Peace to Hood Baby from the midnight crooner Smoke 'em up later, if not, then sooner Hey, what we gon' do in '92 Even though we had fun in '91? When you feel my laser beam comin' down When I burn up your sound, leavin' cracks in the ground What's goin' on, my man? Goddamn, I know my brain is hurtin' Listen up, Busta, rhythm will hit 'em, then I get 'em Rip on 'em, shit on 'em, hit on 'em, then I will sit on 'em Open up your mouth if you want the food To get rude, flip mode 'cause I'm in the mood Haha, haha, yeah, man, that's how it goes Body get fucked up, blood comin' out the nose Give me a Band-Aid, what are you askin' for? More, holy and sacred and pure Adverse, zig-zag, check it in the Busta new rap Rhymes, Busta rhymes, or Busta's written rhymes Yeah, y'all, in '92, I'm packin' my Roach spray, anyway, take a lick A Tribe Called Quest lead us out the new school Mad Matter when she'll sing Rar, rar, rar, to my dragon Baby, stop whinin', I see my influence still shinin' More praise to '92, uh-oh And I'ma go, "Yo, that's the scenario"