Sh. Fe. MC’s

Lyrics

[Intro] (Check it out, y'all) [Chorus] We are here to tell the world just who we are Shocking females (MCs, MCs) Shocking females (MCs, MCs) We are here to tell the world just who we are Shocking females (MCs, MCs) Shocking females (MCs, MCs) [Verse 1: Phife Dawg] No need for introductions 'cause I know you know my name and Knockin' MCs out the frame and, puttin' them suckers to shame and I live for hip-hop, so I have no time for fun and games and So just come peep the unique styles that we're displayin' The beats just ridiculous, the lyrics, articulate Feels good, as if a girl had just touched her clitoris Sucker MCs, I'm killin' 'em I'm so sick of seein' 'em silly bounce that on they rhymes Like that red rugby shirt worn by Gilligan Plus the hat, they shit is wack When you see me comin', take ten steps back I makes usage of the pronouns, adjectives, verbs My granny says, "You always had a way with words" And that's because my word is bond, lyrics are laws Sucker MCs look at me like a friggin' eye sore [Verse 2: Posdnuos] Here comes a brother hippin' others on the style they lack I've always rhymed abstract I even know the brother named Abstract I am the earner of the soul and mind Forget the physical, 'cause physical will die with time I'm shaped to vibrate indefinite proportions Of the kids who need the fix (Just listen to the mix) I got the knowledge constant non-stop for the rubbishin' Like niggas usin' Clinton loops as if they owned the publishing Gums be bleedin' from illegal feedin' on my verb I bring the Mardi Gras to your face I outwit vipers in my rhyme cipher I can easily lick them 'cause they victims of the subconscious race Tossin' periods in front of foes reps It's not the one-eight-seven when the 360 slept You swallow the cake from the plate of elevate Or you might get sparked by the crew who got the weight So resuscitatin' rap like the hicks do with Presley Is the kid who peeled the jeans in Orleans off of Leslie Sh.Fe.MC number nine If you let me rhyme nine times infinitely, I will climb I let my Walkman from Sony play cassettes from Rabboni Which guarantees to put me on the narrow road Ayo, that's it from me Plug 3 and Ali, explode (Explode) [Interlude: Q-Tip] 'Bout to get real [Verse 3: Q-Tip] When I rhyme, the effect just ripples You sound sick, I hope your cells get sickles And formulate into real stiff shit Then I bet that ass'll cut the chit-chit 'Cause the Ab' will be sharper than a Ginsu Cutter or your bum nigga's head for the gutter This is not a game and we ain't lookin' for the fame That's not the aim, we came to rip the jam out the frame My inter-reaction with paper is amazin' So needless to say, mad trails are left blazin' A whole lot of bullshit rhymes start to get played But I'm here to say that real rhymes do pay I'm the type of brother that writes until my knuckles get nary And through the dome piece, the rhymes will carry Then transported to my throat then the quotes hit the air As I stand dipped with the wares Rhymes get slot times, move back from the jack It's the verbal constructor, some MCs is wack I make a girl do the bogle, doo-doo brown and all Make a nigga jump up, drink Dom and have a ball I animate the unlively with the verbal combat The Abstract, never the wack Motivator of the many like Moses Movin' through, bringin' danger to the dummies that poses That means you, the sub relator of the sub-culture Like a vulture, I swoop down on clowns, cause confusion all around Mental burdens I bring to MCs who sing they sad songs Money, your dough's not long Mines, on the other hand, is lengthy type The Abstract gets real, real, real [Verse 4: Trugoy the Dove] Real down to Earth, I hit the Long Island Rail You never see me tango with the horn and the tail I got the kit for your mind, I design it like Zender Smokin' mad hope from my neighbors, and the 50/50 luck takes the "S" off my chest 'Cause the "S" on my chest makes a mess Settlin' for Superman, stupid man, put on your glasses Now your asses be slow gassin' like molasses Continue the menu, next on the platter Hey, where that nigga chatter? (He's right here, boy) I gots to see what I got and who I'm gettin' it wit' This ain't no nickel-dime game that I'm peddlin' wit' Mikey Roads said "Stop ridin', it be dividin' Takin' me out how I be vibin'" Niggas actin' hard like gristle But my pops got the pistol, told me if I ever need it, just— Respects to Griff Dog for the razor Much respects to Joe Buck for the favor It's about a million brothers tryin' to be MCs in this world I'm glad I got a baby girl