Fat Jon - Ken Boogaloo, Sub-Conscious, Karim, Yeshua DapoED, L.I.F.E. Long, and Many Styles Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1) lyrics

[Intro: Ken Boogaloo] Check it out, one time. Yo, Big Boogaloo, the Wee Bee Foolish crew. One time, check it out, uh, uh, uh [Verse 1: Ken Boogaloo] Consider me the epitome of what New York City be Look in my eyes and you see Brooklyn vividly You want to compete with my fleet? You must be kidding me I'll fly your dome from BK to f**ing Italy Ken Boogaloo pull strings like Bo Diddley My flavor's Major. Y'all n***as is Little League So I suggest you just slide to the side Take heed, take notes as I provide Them vibes that you need to get you open wide Over track I glide. You know my flow is live You need to go and buy my joint and ride Around town, knocking the sound, bobbing your crown My crew's locking it down. Ain't no stopping it now A bunch of emcees up in here, rocking the house [Interlude 1: Sub-Conscious] Uh. Wha-what, wha-what? A-wha-what, wha-what? Check it. Yo [Verse 2: Sub-Conscious] Yo, Eddie Ill, I'm ready, spill I'm on the D.L. f** sea shells Ayyo, my oral spit coral up in pieces This be the deep-dish thesis. Sub-Con Get scripted. What? I've developed And framed the mindstates before my mood gets shifted I'll sift my thoughts ‘til they're liquid, extract The citrus for sippage and ship it upstream To flush through the aqueducts the fiends lust for Pillage hillsides with an image like Mount Rushmore I got a face for my oasis. I'll spill Something distilled and distinguished. The ill linguist Serve contenders like Martina Hingis The wordsmith emerge script up through your visions Abruptly with volcanic rhythms. I'll laminate Your minds with the magma, smother contaminated Surfaces with new crust and bust merciless like Ed McMellon and his peoples did Diallo with Hollow-tipped descriptions worth full scholarships To all them Ivy League colleges. Polish my thoughts like A thirty-page thesis, put footnotes and acknowledgements Never bite no one. That's word to Conan O'Brien—be up Late Night, frying my brain cells Modern like Tame and El, digging through my wick For artifacts to yoke cluttered thoughts into cardiac Speed shutter scenery, quick flicks. Sharpen up To spit the hardest, n***as, like diamond-studded drill bits I'm flooded with hybrid styles that's undiscovered We way beneath the oceans and promotion budgets It's Sub-Conscious, I'm unsurfaced, unseen Like true freedom for blacks and AIDS vaccines What? [Verse 3: Karim] Mmm. It's like that Tight, fat with the raps. If you watched Star Wars and Rambo, I'll diss you—you wouldn't Strike Back Tight, fat coming off the handle Cats panhandle lyrics underground, in the station Waiting, cats lose patience, inculpating Syncopation. Thinking how I'm sinking Coming through, cats be fakes this industry. f** it My ministry come through—not for ducking Corrupt cops get bucked quicks, uncovers Keep it on the D.L Off the head, E For Eddie. Cats ain't ready with this lyrical Machete. Cut cats in half. The nicest With the devices off the head like blind mices From the butcher's wife, y'all couldn't produce the cuts as Nice as this. Descended from Isis. Just bless The mic devices off the top of the skyscraper I hate y'all wack cats, exterminate ya Pack jacks—f** it. It's in your nature. You never Pull it. You never do sh**, the smooth sh** Coming through with a crew that's loose with the lips [Interlude 2: Yeshua DapoED] Uh. Yeah. Uh. Uh. Check it out, one time. Yeshua Dapo on the mic, one time. Yo [Verse 4: Yeshua DapoED] Brothers need To mention me for the start of the century Tracks telling me when to react. Eventually raps Are formed. Tentatively, that's the norm But, sometimes, I'll bring it back like that. I'm Rocking mics aggressively ‘cause that's my specialty Formulate the recipe to let you see what fresher be I emcee impressively, especially when It's me or Bless pressing bu*tons on the MP The energy tempts me to bring it back to the Days when raps were designed to say how wack you were If you're spectacular in a soundboard Perhaps it's the a**ortment of raps you're down for After ya. Caught up in the downpour You're asking yourself what you're hanging around for Imagine if I hadn't been holding it down for The crew—with a little energies, we kick down doors Like that. Uh [Verse 5: L.I.F.E. Long] Yo, yo, yo, yo, it's like Still rhyming over black, tinted-out sets while Shadowboxing with the silhouette of d**h gasping for breath Trying to find my light throughout a tripled stage of darkness My main object is to wipe cats off sets, leave ‘em Flying over minefields and aircrafts programmed To make their seat eject. Understand the sk**s When I connect like dots, my Stronghold flock Be terrorizing your block With all type of ill sk**s, got the red dot on your dome Meaning: to mark spots to k** emcees With lyrical murder poems when I'm chilling first Leaving emcees stunned and in the back of the hearse. I Delete my own curse in studios on the fast-forward For Eddie Ill & D.L., yo, on the D.L When I throw missile-like lyrics to my left, yo Many Styles. Now let me take my breath [Interlude 3: Many Styles] Yo, yo. Many Styles. Level X. Off the top like this. Like this [Verse 6: Many Styles] Y-y-y-y-y-y-yo, b-b-b-b-bu*ter flow You are now being introduced to stutter mode I flip scripts, rip primitive liquids, hit with legitimate spit that I kick, baffle therapists, dumb psychiatrists Why would you want to try to diss the rhyme that I inflict? Iron fist break your chest You take in cess and flexing like you wrecking tape decks? I don't think so. Flow will make Your ship sink. I can Think black holes and then enter thoughts Injure competitors of all sorts You could never enter the presenter. You'll get broken Approaching golden microphones that I'm holding. Your style Is stolen, bitten. Ripping, dissing, dismissing Competition, stomp with precision backwards With precision, I stomp, dissing competition The rhythm gets sliced and diced. I rip mics With a thin slice of insight How bubonous, pitiful, ludicrous imbecile New to this ritual influenced the lyrical, mutinous spiritual Unions with ridicule? You and your typical b**bing Of difficult doing human. I orbit Space not yet seen by men And uncover uncharted lands Walk on waters for the out-of-order Rhyme. Take my aura Combined with soul, rip flows in half and land