[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 n***a 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 d**h just like Kevorkian
You bought me in the worst way. What's left to say?
I'm from Fort Greene, where n***as don't play. Everyday
I dig a new gravesite, split the earth, marry that a**
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 f**ing a fat b**h with broke legs on your d**hbed
The concept be f**ing up your head
The metaphors I use surpa** 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 n***as getting rich is out of hand
Like my dick when I be f**ing my main b**h
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 a**hole. You probably go home
Put on tight, little drawers with stars and play with a magic la**o
I stuff your props up your a** inside of a post made and flash
Concepts to read, b**h, under gla**
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 sh** more than station
Now infatuation turn to love a long time ago
A strong rhymer flow to anything. Many bring
Bullsh** 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 f**ed up the oatmeal
n***as 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 sh** 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 carca**es
And prescribe d**h 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—f** the money you might have
As an emcee, your a** acting sk**s 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 sh** that I do
Kids are like, “What's your secret, Rok? We want to rip it like you”
Well, you can call it strategy. s**ers ain't got the balls to battle me
Soon you and every member of your crew all will flatter me
I'm bringing a**ault 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 s**ers 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 f**ing dose of penicillin
Responsible for more injuries than pitbulls left with unattended children
[Interlude 4: Rok One]
b**h. Like that. Make a gay emcee switch
[Verse 5: Tony Stanz]
Are you tired of these Fatone flowing f*ggots? Is it more than you can stand?
Stencils like a driver, keep it real, man
f** the capes. I appear on tapes in different shapes
Arresting fake players for the a**aults and also rapes
Of fat tracks, saying they moving cracks and making stacks
Interrogating them b**h-a** n***as like, “Just the facts!”
We know you f**ed 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 n***as, I don't fear them
They ain't worth the skin off a bad circumcision
Ray will swindle, f** 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 f** 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 a** 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)