Lyrics
Livin' off borrowed time, the clock ticks faster
That'd be the hour they knock the slick blaster
Dick Dastardly and Muttley with sick laughter
A gun fight and they come to cut the mix master
I-C-E cold, nice to be old
Y2G steed twice to threefold
He sold scrolls, lo and behold
Know who's the illest ever, like the greatest story told
Keep your glory, gold and glitter
If I have half of his niggaz'll take him out, the picture
The other half is rich and don't mean shit-ta
Villain, a mixture between both with a twist of liquor
Chase it with more beer, taste it like truth or dare
When he have the mic, it's like the place get like, 'Oh yeah!'
It's like they know what's 'bout to happen
Just keep ya eye out, like, Aye, aye captain
Is he still a fly guy clappin' if nobody ain't hear it?
And can they testify from inner spirit? (No)
In living, the true gods
Givin' y'all nothing but the lick, like two broads
Got more lyrics than the church got, 'Ooh Lords'
And he holds the mic and your attention like two swords
Or even one with two blades on it
Hey you, don't touch the mic like it's AIDS on it
It's like the end to the means
Fucked type of message that sends to the fiends
That's why he brings his own needles
And get more cheese than Doritos, Cheetos or Fritos
Slip like Freudian
Your first and last step to playin' yourself like accordion
When he had the mic, you don't go next
Leaving pussycats like wild hoes need Kotex
Exercise index won't need Bowflex
And won't take the one with no skinny legs like Joe Tex
