调：G# minor
Verse 1
lyrics every
day for a couple of weeks
My techniques will eventually kill
you just like red meat
The Bhagavad Gita beliefs
I speak be so deep
Most critics get mad because
there's nothing to critique
Whenever I'm rapping or rhyming
with irrefutably remarkable timing
I'm like, Charlie Chaplin pantomiming
If you John Blaze, or you James Flames
or you Jack Cremation,
I'm Germaine Propane (Germaine Propane)
No pain no gain in this rap game
For the fortune and fame
in order to remain
Most real MC's, learn
to adapt to the change
or get washed away like tears in the rain,
in the rain y'all
Wyclef, Product, Pras
Verse 2
ride everybody just ride
Just ride, just ride,
(Pro)When you in the streets
and you're driving in your V
if you can see what I see,
you're prepared for the jackers
(Can)Old school,
(Pras)Everybody got to
Verse 3
if you wanna know, how I kick a flow
I'ma let you know
It's difficult, cause I'm a part spiritual,
part para- physical miracle
And I'ma blackout in a minute too
Spitting like Bone- Thugs like "Nigga- what?
I'm- fin- to- get- a- gun and stick- em- up"
then crush a Thug's Bones
with a chrome slug
The black Cyrano de Bergerac of rap
with the ghetto Anglo-
Sax' poetic syntax
In fact, nigga don't even
give me dap when I see you
When you see me,
whyling like Beenie on the speakers
"Zim zimma - - who got the fire
for my reefa?"
Product, Pras, Wyclef
Verse 4
a bid a nigga was in your crib
And the whole time you thought
your girl was celebate
(Can)Old school old school
(Clef)Just ride, just ride,
ah just ride e'rybody just ride
Just ride in the hood, just ride,
all my . uh, ah just ride
Verse 5
Em
at a velocity that'll
break your stopwatch if you clocking
me My concrete jungle
is like 'Jumanji'
Iller than what you seen in the cinema
A five foot eight,
nigga with more horsepower than twelve cylinders
My brain consists of twin Pentium chips
Double the clock speeds of a 586
And nothing about my physical
matrix is BASIC
I kick flavour beyond what your
tongue is capable of tasting
You'll be so surprised you won't
believe your own eyes
It's like a Jamaican seeing
the snow for the first time
Rhymes of a sort,
that distort space and time
It's like explaining colour to a man
Verse 6
that was born blind
Em
Product
(Pro)Crimes on the street,
come from a lack of eatin
It's not my cup of tea, but I'll give
them the BEST
Motherfuckin BEST
And if you still out here I kick yo'
ass tomorrow
(Can)Old school,
old school (c'mon!)
(Pro)And if you still out here,
I kick yo' ass tomorrow
(Can)Old school,
old school (c'mon y'all)
(Pro)Frontin like you buyin food but
you buyin crack bottles
Em
Verse 7
(Wyclef)
Ah just ride, ah just ride
Ah to the South,
down South
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
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