Mr. Live, Ray Rip Ya’ll, Tony Stanz, and Rok One Freestyle (Scenes of the Underworld)

Lyrics

[Intro: Mr. Live] Yeah, yeah. Who we got here? Mr. Live, The 10th Letter. Me and some fellow emcees came to rip this here, know'm saying? Eddie Ill, D.L. One time for your mind. Uh. Check, check it out. See, always don't know, dice-dissing like that. Yo [Verse 1: Mr. Live] It's the nigga with a hundred names. My 10th Letter always Get the broadsword—jump up, split you four ways Leave you piled in your mother's doorway. Pieces of you All up and down your hallway. Here's some more ways Flipping the verb. I'm fixed to let your herbs suffer the cards Don't question ever. The fire Mr. Live, never to find your sanity I'll be the illest. You bought me in Now I'm doctoring your death just like Kevorkian You bought me in the worst way. What's left to say? I'm from Fort Greene, where niggas don't play. Everyday I dig a new gravesite, split the earth, marry that ass Blast with the lyrical master. My agenda: Bend the microphone, send a bone to your woman Eating Spanish-type cooking up in Bushwick, Brooklyn Now listen. You're missing with your picture on a milk box Without a clue. My fam, tell 'em how we do It's like this and-a like that and-a Mr. Live bending down a microphone stand-a [Interlude 1: Mr. Live and Ray Rip Ya'll] Mr. Live: Big Ray. Uh Ray Rip Ya'll: Big Ray. AKA Bad News. AKA Stop Rhyming. Check it [Verse 2: Ray Rip Ya'll] Trying to battle Me is like fucking a fat bitch with broke legs on your deathbed The concept be fucking up your head The metaphors I use surpass lyrical laws Force leaving you lost in my subordinate clause Your style's behind time like a West Coast dawn I'm a hard po-poem manifested in physical form Submerging out to follow binary data like doors Turn y'all hard drives to Microsoft And y'all wack niggas getting rich is out of hand Like my dick when I be fucking my main bitch You out of your element. My lyricals got more hidden messages That negro spirituals, but the question at hand is: Can I rock this? Are Italians obnoxious? Are Dominicans sockless? Watch this lyricist Get downright trifling 'cause I'm hardheaded Like the statues on Easter Island Specifically, you're an asshole. You probably go home Put on tight, little drawers with stars and play with a magic lasso I stuff your props up your ass inside of a post made and flash Concepts to read, bitch, under glass If my words ain't ammunition, then what is then? I turn newfound born-again Christians into minute men missing [Interlude 2: Tony Stanz] Tony Stanz represent uptown [Verse 3: Tony Stanz] Yo, you trying to calm me with the verse? That's controversy Lord have mercy all of a sudden like Percee Up here, and don't even have to rehearse—the Best rhymes I ever said came off my head And I can't even remember those. On the third day Of December rolls more than a quarter of a century Soon to mention me in your everyday conversation Play this shit more than station Now infatuation turn to love a long time ago A strong rhymer flow to anything. Many bring Bullshit to the table. Take that home and redo it I go through it. I thought you knew it, yo As these cats presents to split hip hop right down the middle Leaving question marks like a riddle Rhymes I fiddle close the gap between the haves and have-nots I run up in spots, bringing reality to the forefront Your hunter's over for the priceless iceless Real microphone controller solar igloo to a Eskimo Been posing stone. I fucked up the oatmeal Niggas really want to know why I don't tote steel? Mind your business [Interlude 3: Rok One] Mind your business. What is this? Rok One making foes shit brick. Yo [Verse 4: Rok One] Admit it, bro. You didn't know I'm hitting foes with ammo The word surgeon converting Riddick Bowes to Van Goghs It's doubtful that you'll survive under my scalpel. I'm scarring kids Leaving emcee battles with a mouthful of ear cartilage You want a part of this? I'll add you to my pile of carcasses And prescribe death to your tribe like a corrupt pharmacist Got your seeking armistice from this Lower East Sider But I keep spitting rhymes and there's no sign of ceasefire Putting holes in your white flag—fuck the money you might have As an emcee, your ass acting skills don't come with a price tag I'd like to help you out but if I tried, I'd be bluffling See, I ain't MacGyver, son—I can't make something out of nothing Keep my name out of your mouth or bless the shit that I do Kids are like, "What's your secret, Rok? We want to rip it like you" Well, you can call it strategy. Suckers ain't got the balls to battle me Soon you and every member of your crew all will flatter me I'm bringing assault and battery to your anatomy Don't trick yourself with foolish beliefs of immortality 'Cause I'ma let you know you ain't a god of this Earth To take me out, you'll have to hit a little harder than Nerf Take the worst part of my verse. It's ill enough to cause your squad To disperse. You disgraced hip hop and forgot what it's worth So now I'm here to establish law and order. I was born to slaughter Weak lyricists and leave those suckers drawn and quartered I'm the executioner reminiscent of the olden days Emcees get blown away, bombarded by hip hop's Enola Gay I write flammable phrases to flip over beats To leave you flaming like a gay man down on Christopher Street Quick to defeat a team of the best soldiers. I'll serve emcees So much at once that, the next night, they're having leftovers So chow down, bow down, and worship me like the emperor Emcees are working backwards, causing a decrease in temperature When I get on the mic, I'm causing too much heat to monitor Forcing scientists to add degrees to the thermometer So sick, I need a fucking dose of penicillin Responsible for more injuries than pitbulls left with unattended children [Interlude 4: Rok One] Bitch. Like that. Make a gay emcee switch [Verse 5: Tony Stanz] Are you tired of these Fatone flowing faggots? Is it more than you can stand? Stencils like a driver, keep it real, man Fuck the capes. I appear on tapes in different shapes Arresting fake players for the assaults and also rapes Of fat tracks, saying they moving cracks and making stacks Interrogating them bitch-ass niggas like, "Just the facts!" We know you fucked up like poking holes in [?] Investigating suspicious that many consumers harbor [Interlude 5: Ray Rip Ya'll] Check it out, y'all. Big Ray [Verse 6: Ray Rip Ya'll] You bite too much, you might as well chew and swallow You're riding on wack tracks like Tonto with a poncho These commercial niggas, I don't fear them They ain't worth the skin off a bad circumcision Ray will swindle, fuck up your mental. It's essential I turn all Big Willies into Mr. Window Destroy your rotation like a retarded b-boy Your decoy keep my ears sharp like Leonard Nimoy The only way you'll shine: if your body start to glow Like you was Bruce Leroy, make your ears grow keloids Half of y'all are chickenheads with dicks, a bunch of birds Stick my dick in your ear, so fuck what you heard Even if I was castrated, I'd grow a bionic dick That'll have all you feminists sick and throwing all types of fits Keep in mind you was wack all along, on every song So put your bib on, sit back, and eat a fat schlong [Interlude 6: Mr. Live] Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yo [Verse 7: Mr. Live] Now back to the bouncing 5'8", thick and stout Mr. Live the baddest, Chippendale status That is to say I go to work like Daddy Kane, [?] [?] Your lot to love it. Had your ass steady cumming Something about the way I lick you love, but it Bluffing on me mean I take a plane and then a train downtown Mr. Live love and makes your head spin 'round I'm bringing it forward, Lord. The intercourser force you to shake Have you confessing to it on the next Ricki Lake Lord, whatever you want, let's make it happen The fortified'll give you good cabin stabbing Yeah, yeah (Yeah, yeah)