Intro: kamaal (q-tip)Phony rappers who do not writePhony rappers who do not excitePhony rappers, check it out, aightVerse one: kamaal (q-tip)Yo, I was riding the trainAnd this puerto rican kid said simple and plainLet’s battleIt kinda took me by surprisedCuz the brother was moving wit his eyes on the prizeI said screw it, I ain’t got nuttin to lose but umBut I got to do this shit real quick so umHurry up kid, bust your joints and then I’ll bust mineAnd I be out cuz I got to see this hottie, he said okNow check it, check it out, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, that’s what he saidThen I came back and just fucked up his headCuz yo, he thought an mc who was seen on tvCouldn’t hold the shit down in new york cityAiyyo, I showed his ass, then I went off on my taskTo bless her ass uptown, real mc’s will hold it downYea, yea, sonny, to the beat like thatYou wanna bring it to me, where you atVerse two: phife dawgYes, dread, I had a similiar situationWhen this kid tried to tell me I didn’t deserve my occupationHe said I wasn’t shit that I was soon to fallI looked him up and down, grab my crotch and said ballsOf course he tried to bring it on the battling tipAy, you know me, you know I had to come out my shitTrying to lounge at the mall, meet skef and mr waltonFinally I banged his ass wit the verbal assaultHe said a rhyme about his .45 and his nickelbags of weedThat’s when I preceeded to give him what he neededTalking ’bout I need a phillie right before I get loosePoor excuse, money please, I get loose off of orange juicePreferly minute maid cuz that’s exactly what it takesTo write a rhyme, huh, to school your nickels and your dimesBecause an mc like me be on tvDon’t mean I can’t hold my shit down in nycPhony rappers who do not writePhony rappers who do not excitePhony rappers, you know they typePhony rappers, check itVerse three: phife, consequenceIt seems there’s a sanitation, y’all full of thrash talkerSounding good but money can you feed the dog hawkerTalking ’bout your mic days and your breakdancingNot enhancing, you sound tiredOh, shit, I didn’t know you like to play yourself in front’cha friendsSitting there, lying to no endMc’s for me make things happeningTalk about a world but in a form of rappingWho will be the captain of this shipIf it goes down, don’t you know you have to go wit itJust because you rhyme for a couple of weeksDoesn’t mean that you’ve reach the mc’s peakLet me stop sounding all bitterGhetto child, never be a quitterBut don’t be a phony in the litterTake it as a letter from the betterTake it from a man who used to rhyme in busted ass jetta’sC: yo, phife, you need a condomP: word to god, mess aroundI catch aids from mc’s being on my nuts too hardC: cuz on my blvd you better bring your bodyguardP: and what’s your blvdC: lp, I represent naturallyP: so don’t step on the rolly if you know that you’re phonyOr else I bend that ass like elbow macaroniCuz I gotta keep it real (gotta keep it real)A tribe called quest, you see we never half stepC: (so on your mark) get ready, mc’s be jettiMe and phifey be on ya like veronica and bettyArchie, jughead, snuffing mc’sFrom brainslane down to hempsteadP: yes ’quence, see overHis rhyme style is older that a chrysler car novaI’m wilder then the cats from arizonaVillanova, un, un, kentuckyWhos’ the next mc stepping up to try and bust meBring him here and boy, will I ever let him have itC: and when it comes to the microphone, don’t even try to grab itWhat?