Lyric The Ebonic Plague

featuring Ras Kass

[Yogi] Yeah...HA...Cru...

[Mighty Ha] Mic checka da one the mic check three
[Yogi] Cru in you baby...
[Mighty Ha] Mic checka da one the mic check three...

[Yogi]
Mix it up with the big Y.O.
Comin from the Laf Isle with fat funk flow
So yo how you feelin ? Tell me how you feelin
Mad drug dealin mad caps peelin
I do my thing drink a Budweiser
And I seen more *bush/Busch* than Dan Anheiser
Twist the caps of you fake John Gottis
Watch the pump shottie, make you look like Kwame
Cru s about to drop the dirty understand the cipher
Got nothin to lose so I m-a do like a lifer
Niggaz couldn t *catch up/ketchup* with the mustard, disgusted
Drop the shit that gotcha brains dusted, bust it
This is how it flow in the Bronx Zoo ya ll
Beef up a step and style with a fall
Nothin but the rough, understood?
Got me in double extra large bulletproof wit the hood
Sittin at the bar sippin Becks
Plus I got the "two turntables and a microphooooone" on deck
So who s next? Rugged Ras
Flossin ice, and drop that soul on dat ass
The IBF got my rhymes ranked cuz they hittin
Plus I m all around like Scott Pippen
Here it is, east west, I mean China to Mexico
If you love the way it s goin down let me know
Fuck it, Harlem knows the ledge
All my Bronx niggaz know the wedge, full-fledged
Uptown! Plus we got the Cali love
Y.O.G., truly yours the Breakfast Club

[Ras Kass]
Yo punk...
I was hot as 97 in 73
D.O.B. my pedigree multiple felonies see
You spit phlegm I spit fumes
Across the ruins of kiosks hoverin sand dunes
A miniature man-nume, it s National Lampoon s Alien Vacation
I m abductin muthafuckin rappers to my inner space station
(What?) For sheezy,
When Ras Kass get to swervin off gnac, believe me
I hit below the belt
Bustin niggaz balls like Riddick Bowe versus Gulotta
Hell yeah I m a rida
Ain t nuttin sweetie, cancer causin like saccahrin
Action, intoxicated chinky-eyed black men
An nowadays fools forget what they actually named
Besides a loyal cadets and priceless briquettes
Basically, I don t give a shit how rich ya get
I ll have you in the car talkin to yourself
Like Alanis Morisette with turets
(Oh wee..that s right...) I like sisters with vaginas so...
(Can we get freaky toniiiiight...)
Donald Trump wouldn t let you shine his shoes my man
If you pissed off you dyin with your dick in your hand
Plus when shit hits the fan, I mean when Ras reach the crowd
And verse to verse, switch my aura then rotate Earth
And fuck that servin emcees and livin bummy
I m on some show me the money and still educate the dummies

CHORUS
It s all about me for you and you for me
And playa if ya do for two we do for three
You think it s bout the cash, the cars and jew-el-ry
We livin in the age of the ebonic plague (2x)

[Chadio]
You see the words is meshin through this lyrical aggression
Punks pop shit we Joe Pesc em no question
Cru session, no time for second guessin
Frontin or fessin , we full court pressin
Testin , any in our way learn a lesson
Forever in my Stetson, chrome plated Wesson
We ain t got no time for excuses and reasons
Bringin nuttin but butta in all four seasons
Wanna blow my nose when I m sneezin , wit hundred dollar bills
Foes I m squeezin , breezin
Through your nearest town wit the frown expression
Those Bronx streets left a lastin impression
Now think about this, imagine Cru rhymers
Like this world with no clock bein timeless
Pure dope when it come to the oratorical
Stay on the low wit a dime that s adorable
Got the rap shit covered like long johns
Big brother Ant taught me how to bear arms
L.A. to D.C. I gets my P.C.
Keeps me a fifth of B.C.
And we gon drink to your pass peeps that flashed heat
Never no more, when I pull I blast he
Think you could deal? You crazier than Bjork
Belong up on Fantasy Isle with Mr. Rourke