Eddie Ill & D.L. - Prince Po, Mr. Complex, and Percee P Freestyle (The Time Has Come!) lyrics

[Intro: Prince Po] Uh, yes. Another mission, another quest. Prince Po. Now you know. Uh, uh, uh. What? Yes. No doubt, represent the South. This is how we do, yo. Off the top like this, yo. Yo [Verse 1: Prince Po] I'll represent my man Eddie Ill and D.L Let's excel, jet propel Hover over New York City, keep you sh**ty This is how I keep it running with the grimy and gritty Uh, that's how I was grew up, brought up This is how I get you n***as caught up In a situation like this. Watch me thrust Bust. Only in God I trust. Us n***as ain't taking no shorts, catch you n***as On court ‘cause there's a battle that's fought And won. Just begun, sh**'s done J's straight from the basement—son of a gun The shogun coming off the top of the melon Busting down your cerebellum—you better tell him Prince Po representer of forty projects Uh, kick it specific and visualize the objects That's coming out of my mouth from the South Uh, peace to my n***a [?], no doubt Rest in peace. That was my dog from uptown Uptown set. Uh, we get down Uh, how that sound off my melon? Off my top, never storytelling I keep it simple when I kick the instrumental Keep it ripping as I do it for your mentals Off the top, uh, Queens never will stop Hip hop forever until the next drop It's all good and gravy, no “if” ands/or “maybes” Catch me in a hooptie, catch me in a Mercedes It don't matter—I got G's in my pockets n***a, how you feeling, n***a? How you rock it? Why you clocking? You on my dick for something? As I do it like this, we keep it Pumping like soles Coast to coast, don't brag or boast Known as the underrated—America's most From here to Japan, I can't stand When n***as won't see me come through and stand On my own ‘cause I'm bad to the bone To the bone gristle until they blow the whistle The game's over. Your sh** should have been tight n***a, come and see me next year, aight? Motherf**er [Verse 2: Mr. Complex] Yo, I be up in places, be up in faces Running these mics like razors. Well, let me jog Your mind with this fat style that you sweat unless you a reptile Then I disregard your rap and have new linoleum You face Napoleon complex from the lyrical Complex Take you out of the content ‘cause I ain't want to battle I just want to bat a little with a baseball. You know? Like a friendly game Like the Dodgers and keep a friendly name like Mr. Rogers Spit in front of me like Chucky, you're an Enemy like Chuck D Chuck a little something at your ten-men crew. If someone's still standing there I chuck another—catch a spear. But I'm not spearchucker, motherf**er You say, “It ain't fair.” I say, “You know what else ain't fair? Life” Know what else ain't fair? You got a gun. I got a knife But you ain't got no bullets. My knife is of plastic You moths s**, but I got more sk**s, so to end you, get your a** kicked [Interlude 1: Mr. Complex and Percee P] Mr. Complex: It's like that, it get drastic. Complex, what? Percee P: Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's the monarch of the subterranean. Legendary, lethal lyricist, the Rhyme Inspector Percee P. That BX sh**. Check it out, y'all. Uh, uh [Verse 3: Percee P] In the industry, some mimic me and my image, B, my chemistry The flow infinitely with no limit, G, I'm gimmick-free Shed the knowledge. The mental-dead'll frolic, so as heads in college The men are ‘bolic, researching writers, rhymes are writ with garlic Some say, “Percer rhyming may burst ya ego When hit, they hurt ya way worser.” The Ray Mercer I'm dusting—n***as urgently need emergency surgery Every word'll leave third-degree burns from combustion Leave eyes black, guys smacked—your size, Mac—for wisecracks Through the lies, cats known to replies back die, Jack I'm like a wide screen: showing drama. Word to mama When the rhymer cause more trauma than a homicide scene I know this n***a named Ricky. His girl Nikki want to get with me Said, “Stick me—just a quickie. Lick me and leave a hickie” Turf: BX. Scorn kids, leave their borns with Birth defects. Uh, mics fell from my delivery Of soliloquys. I'm deadly as k**er bees But more iller, G, got you feeling me like Braille Huh. It's like this and like that, y'all. Black I'm back to smack these wack new jacks who rap, y'all [Outro: Percee P] Uh. Yeah, yeah, shouts to my crew: Hardcore's Finest. [?] rhymer. My man Plain Pat, Dub-L. The Vinyl Dogs, y'all. Peace