Ultramagnetic Mc's - f** You lyrics

[Kool Keith] + (Ced) (Wha**up?) Yo, it's just that We the we the best in the United States And they don't wanna give it to us But we the kings, we the real kings And all that other bullsh** you get, is counterfeit So you know, stop buyin them other bullsh** records (Stop gettin that plastic) and be dedicate.. Raise your hands in the air and become (that plastic hip-hop) Dedicated Ultra fans! You know what that means? You can't buy no other records {*laughter*} (Ohh sh**!) [Kool Keith] Yeah f** 'em! These motherf**ers ain't sh** Tryin to rhyme and tryin to get, NASTY~! I know the game when I'm steppin in bullsh** You better quit, when you're makin a fake hit You ain't hard, buggin and so rough You're jack doo-doo, and soft as cream puff I know MC's who feel proud and black though I know many; their a** sound whack though Tryin to walk up, don't give me no pound fu*k YOU, cause you ain't down Busting a move and that f**ed up freestyle I go mad wild, lyrically so wild Look up stepchild, I f**in support you But you sound whack, now I have to abort you CAUGHT YOU, jerking off in the bathroom Bitin my fresh rhymes in back of the cla**room Copyin, bitin sh** off the master Lookin for dope rhymes but I'ma come after Hittin your brain like a motherf**in blackjack Rappers on stage, steppin to me they're wick-whack Weak-a** rhymes show get off the stage black f** up the mic girl you're b**h now get back f** it! I see the b**hes on the mic You treat 'em the same, like n***as on the mic No pity; you shouldn'ta got in the game It's like rappin to win, with a f**ed up name Like p**y P, who the f** is he or she? Yeah them n***as is whack! f** 'em f** 'em.. f** 'em.. f** 'em.. f** 'em.. f** 'em.. f** 'em.. fu*k YOU! [Ced Gee] Yo, f** them! I put their rhymes in a pooper scoop They can't rap, they sound like doo doo and Fruit Loops Rap for money fame women and videos They need to sit down write better material Like this, for a motherf**in freestyle Lose they jheri curls cause they're not real n***as, from the motherf**in Bronx and k**in in Brooklyn, with rhymes that's stompin The competition, to me they're like children You pick up the mic you get treated like pilgrims Back on the boat, on a mission to another land Takin you out's like beatin up Peter Pan Boy, I hear you like to copy Rap in yo' country, that sh** sound sloppy Learn how to rap like a pro with a real flow Straight up South Bronx original rap tone Takin my time as I teach better rappin buddy So be quick like a kid with some Silly Putty So back up, think what are you doin You live in a fantasy, you're soon to ruin Your career, you hear? I'm not here to scare But I'm here to share what I feel is fair Yeah~! Y'all know what that is Yo TR tell 'em {*scratching: "f** you!"*} [Ced Gee] Yeah, y'all know what time it is All you rappers out there, livin foul Perpetratin what you're not Tryin to be hard, tryin to be soft, bu*ter soft Act a clown, makeup fallin down Put the sh** down and be yourself, y'knahmsayin? That's what it's all about in the 90's Be yourself, PEACE! [Outro] I know, and you know (yeah) That no matter what we done We'd like to tell everybody how we feel about it all And if we've offended anybody in any way We don't give a sh**!!