Here in 1992, we present the fabulous “What’s the Scenario” remix
Whereas, there are seven MC’s
6 which are in physical form, and 1 which is in spiritual essence
And he goes by the name of, uh… (Hood!)
Check your rhyme, punk that ass or get got, F it (Shiittt!)
I lick buckshots
Hood — madman, I rip up stages
Laid out on your wages, I’m wild like Larry Davis
Extra! Extra! Pick up a clip
I tear ass out the frame (Ha!), 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
I 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 waste, electrifyin’, I’m prime-time
I slaughter slime, 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 & 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 gettin’ this
Vanilla Ice platinum? That shit’s ridiculous
Excuse my French, but profanity is all I knew
And to you other sellouts — 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 MC’s, like Chuck D, I Shut ‘Em Down
The Artical 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”
(Do you remember?)
Put on your dancin’ shoes or somethin’
‘Cause you sure can’t rhyme
(Big up! Big up!) Enter new identity
Next to say somethin’ ’cause you pass it to me
What does it take to check a technique?
(Many styles! Many styles!)
Hostile heat brings bursts of energy
Milo In De Dance is the new identity
One-two, mic check
Select for the ruffnecks that tend to want, bet I come (Correct!)
In my cyphers on blocks, I bring box to connect with knots
So I can grow dreadlocks
Maintain the rock! (Don’t stop the rock!)
Maintain the rock! (Don’t stop the rock!)
Kickin’ right inna your what’s it not
I could rock longer, but fair is fair!
So C. Brown — are we in the clear?! (Yeah!)
C. Brown — are we in the clear?! (Yeah!)
Makin’ moves, y’all! (Moves, y’all!) On and on and on!
(Check it, check it out!) To the break of, break of dawn
(Who’s that?!) Just one of the L.O.N.S
And A Tribe Called Quest, (East Coast!) to West
Remix mad kick, more than Metallica
To all MC’s fall like the Battlestar Galactica
Stampin’, stompin’, rompin’ Compton
(People all over the world!) I’m promptin’
(Style!) Pick a style, any style, Strong Isle
Representation, sensationalization
“Scenario” for the radio, ‘BLS and KISS, so
(Here we go, yo!) Yeaaah!
Force, Main Source LP on the rise
In livin’ color, let’s see through original eyes
And I’m out like shout! Ooh-ahh! Ooh-ahh!
(Ooh-ahh! Ooh-ahh!) There it is, baby pah!
Flyin’ in on a limb, slim trim, D I am
There I am (There I am!) Don’t run from a grim
Sike! We be right, be polite for my mics
Like I’m like (See sick! See sike!)
And slip away, and off to the Poconos
Spot picked the clothes, hype swing the pretty pose
Yamaha (Ay-Ha-May!)
Let’s flip the funk, now it all spells (Hey!)
Enough, enough, Ms. Fitted, I’m wit’ it
If I did it, I was blitted, and probably shouldn’t have quit it
‘Cause yo, my vocal status at Knight’s like the Gladys
Bed rest, spread test, and yo, I’m like the maddest
Male, not female, hail from Uniondale
Bounce the 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 mens gettin’ loot (Doing what they like!)
Eight black brothers in the public eye
If you listen very close, I will tell you why
(Hood!), Phife, Milo, Dinco and C. Brown
Shaheed, myself, and Busta Bust Down
Will commence to rock (Rock!), so bring on the flocks (Flock!)
Interrogation for the knockin’ of the box
The boom-box ruler controls the medulla
None come cooler, I win like Shula
So bust out the move as you start to pursue her
Intensified mind, non-blunt consumer
Tip will come booty? (Well, it’s only a rumor!)
The meaning’s so deep that it starts brain tumors (Tumors!)
Peace to Hood, baby, from the midnight crooner
Smoke ’em up later, if not then sooner
Hey! What we gon’ do (Dooo!) in ’92?
Even though we had fun (Fuuun!) in ’91
Wonderful my days, herb dream comin’ down
Ponna-ponna! New sound leavin’ cracks in the ground
What’s goin on, my man? Goddamn! And now my brain is hurtin’
Listen up! Busta, rhythm will hit ’em then I get ’em
Flip 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
Flipmode, ’cause I’m in the mood
Ah-heh, ah-heh! Yeah, man, that’s how it goes
Body drippin’ with blood comin’ out the nose
Give me a Band-Aid, what are you askin’ for?
(More!) Only your sacred and pure
Adverse, Zig-Zag, check it and the Busta new rap
Raps, Busta Rhymes, or bust this written rhymes
Yeah, y’all, in ’92, I’m packin’ my roach spray (Anyway!)
Take a lick, Tribe Called Quest, Leaders of the New School
Mad brother when stealthy
RRAOW! RRAOW! RRRAAAOW!
To my dragon babies, stop whinin’
I see my influence still shinin’!
More crazy in ’92, uh oh, time to go, yo
That’s the Scenario!
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