The Ill-Breed - Act Up lyrics

[Verse One] I load up the mic and I start shooting, pow Stray sounds hit the ground by the pound And gets the party moving like a shooter Jam packed, on attack, Ill Breed by the stack My atmosphere, true ghetto but I got Stamina Heads up like the Damaja I cram my mind with non-swine My rhyme pack a full clip to blow your crew's mind Who's design got magic funk Tragic for punks coming through with the bad sh** The buddah from Bucktown Bag a b**h and then back to Shaolin grounds 95 is for the function Three dimension in the solar so far My cloud is like a superstar So far I got your ears open like a motherf**ing crowbar No more I cry My thoughts are numb to the ways of the world outside I know who you are No talent MC, I'ma give the third degree Idolize me, to the T Ill Breed TV and movie Move me? Never Too clever In any kind of weather I'ma ela-vate Wait, too late Checkmate Ayo bring in the break [Hook] {x2} (Act up!) The blunts make me do that (Go wild!) My n***as make me do that (Act up!) The stunts make me do that (Go wild!) The ghetto make me do that [Verse Two] Truth or dare, I'll take the dare, don't care My [?] be outta there, I'm outta fear Sway this sway when I sway Ill Breed about to take the U.S.A And ain't nobody, better Funk like cheddar, boy k** that set up I got my trigger man spinning MC's like a fan I'm Dapper like I'm motherf**ing Dan And I can pull the tec or the Macs Lay 'em on they backs And write 'em off like Fed tax I'm the government man I got the true plan Cause my grill got the true tan Bland MC's need seasoning Salt, need to halt, it's all your fault Jam after jam, my brand's the flim flam And take a high post stance I can blow the amps Knock out, first round The champ of all champs Professional MC to the next century Who the Ill Breed? That's me Six rhymes in the chamber Head banger Doing more damage than a b**h and a hanger Rap singer You'll get the finger Party bringer Brain stinger Ghetto ringer [Hook] [Verse Three] I'm that man Who can have the sh** drop all plan Use the urban land, who's that man? The Ill Breed flip it to you in 3D Making sushi out of doo-doo MC's Swinging they bats, raw lyrical attacks Fake jacks, be fake like they macks And jaw japs be daily (Buck, buck, buck, buck, chic-chic pow) Be daily Flava Like my n***as, Beatminerz delivers sh** that makes bone shivers Move it out no move it in Now move it out, no move it in We moving to win Now move it on got Shaolin and Crooklyn Manhattan to Bronx and Queens lit It's like that y'all. Ill function. For '95, live [Hook]