The Lineup

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Wordsworth] Yeah, yo, class is in session I'm in the lunchroom, what a connection to have "Who's the best?" – there's a such thing as dumb question to ask Words, I'm on the Dean's List (Why?) You got to be serious For cats that missed gym and missed the regents to see me spit Teachers don't check or edit They check your head and read it Got extra credit—read off the teacher's pet to get it Dump your trays, so we can just bang for these beats It's so crowded, people sitting on the table for seats Students ain't returning to class or concerned if they pass (Why?) Because they learning more from me than they learn from they class Rhymes in my mind, plus my binder—know where to find us The picture won't even wind up, 'cause if I line up... [Verse 2: C-Rayz Walz] Another face in the line-up—unusual suspect The angel bang you Change your square, rectangle My mouth is a gun, known to blast crews I stay spitting like Chinese dudes in fast food We come through with skills, kill the many raw Now give me mines, for real, like guilds with Freddy claws And catch another line punch from the buttercrunch (Line drawn) Brother shine funk, sound the gutter, grind drunk (Wreck us) Cold fool, bash crews, take they boombox With dynamite sticks in my hand and "boom!" box Explosive and I'm only igniting—trust me Nobody wants this, like diarrhea—why you fighting? [Verse 3: J-Treds] These are my school days—J killin' it, tainted Kool-Aid And dues paid, came in mastering my tools of the trade Ain't cool that the game's cruel and the rules are the same But my love of spittin' fire's what fuels the flame This played fool tryna play fool, so either upgrade Or get treated the free-lunch way (Eat 'em up, J) 'Cause when there's pangs in my stomach, you gon' see the fangs coming With the fangs comes the beast—that's the change a-coming 'Cause we the freestyle authors, with a free trial offer You want a piece? You want to see your child in fosters? Well, we advice caution, 'cause we a dream sequence "The Lineup" – we awesome, illest team defense [Verse 4: Thirstin Howl III] Got my own lunch table, I don't go to this school Even teachers raise they hands to talk to the dude School guards act hard — still 'nuff shook They know my book bag full of everything but books Walk the halls with my shorty, drinking a 40 The dean could've caught me, but I heard the walkie-talkie Absent every day, considered a truant In a class by myself for spitting this music Pencils kept sharp, ink pen weapons Rambo, radio – Melle Mel "Message" Twelve semesters uncompleted, hundred reasons I'll never be shit? Then we shall see, bitch [Verse 5: Vast Aire] I cut class like I like swords (Swing!) If you ain't hard like the boulevard, erase your boards Hesitate and get sent to the void (But if survives) Man, he caught the keloid First of all, you's a wind-up toy I don't battle MCs — I kill androids Teacher said, "You too loose in the head – You don't get a graham cracker, you go straight to bed Play time's over, go straight to special ed" (Fuck) "Play with Simon, do as he says" Professor X taught me best How to levitate SP-12's at recess "The Lineup" – yo [Verse 6: Breezly Brewin] Aiyyo, check my phonics Fo' sho' get demonic All crazed, I'm all day— get all A's in hoes economics I blast rhymes, it's on, and some chicks want mine Some Fast Times, some Sean Penn at Ridgemont High Tell 'em you're fresh man like Carmelo (Carmelo) We the super seniors — you get souped, you see us Vote for yours, get strong, eat your veggies And get beat, the wedgie — you learn your turn You're over, lost in thorns Then you're real queer, so you get so weak You're meek, on some 'male cheerleader that won't sneak a peek' I can't respect it — see, my peeps are rep-to-death kids I'm effervescent — heads, I give a "F" for effort [Verse 7: MF DOOM] Who could turn a study hall into a bloody brawl When they get it twisted, like the funnies on a Silly Putty ball? Ask not about the dome steam, the mask is hot And he's not human, or your home team mascot Ras clot, how them fools sound? The twelfth-grade dropout who trespass on school grounds Giving back and for the kids like Nickelodeon Who mainly pay me; fill out a app for custodian With his record, that's the only job of hire Way before the metal detectors and barbed wire Supposed to have graduated with the bunch of '89 They hated; he made 'em wait on the lunch lady line Told us, "You better stop or her head'll pop" The only class he ever passed was metal shop It's where he used to practice his tactics to spit oil Don't drink the milk—the shit's spoiled