Correction Paroles WNYU 89.1 FM: NY Live - 2Face (A-Butta & L-Swift) Freestyle in the Winter of 1996 over Fugees - “How Many Mics” par Fugees

Featuring(s) : Freestyle in the Winter of 1996 over Fugees - How Many Mics

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Mr. Mayhem &amp; DJ Riz ft. 2Face (A-Butta &amp; L-Swift) - “WNYU 89.1 FM: NY Live - 2Face (A-Butta &amp; L-Swift) Freestyle in 1996 over Fugees - ‘How Many Mics’”

These lyrics be on some whatever sh*t.  Natural Elements got
Your heart with bangers and Beretta clips.  Yo, how you setting it?  Ayyo
Lyrically blessing it, my hand sparks—that’s when the jam starts
I’m leaving landmarks on n***as like the Milli’ Man March.  Yo, son, I slams
Like my man Starks, throwing fear in you and your man heart
Like burglars, used to bag b*t*hes up near Ursula, and had
Them hoes sitting on a n***a wood like furniture.  We’re verbally
Burning ya with circular style like calligraphy, lyrics be
Liquidy when we perform lyrical wizardry.  Son, no diggedy
Physically, n***as of my stature can’t fail.  You got
The smarts of Dan Quayle, I work wonders with Champell’.  You can’t
See me and L-Swift, so teach your hand to understand braille
Flipping the mic—right—coming through like fan mail.  Yo, son, f**king
With me is risky like cocaine-crack hand-to-hand sales, electrify
Like track rails.  Yo, son, some n***as act frail, yo, they rap stale
Rougher than bad jails, get extorted or blackmailed.  Lyrics be
So dope, they measure our skills on gram scales.  Yo, son, my sweet
Lyrics be dripping rapidly and leaving ant trails, but, yo
This ain’t no picnic.  Yo, son, check the slick sh*t, nasty like porno flick chicks
With thick tits, splitting lyrics like slit wrists.  I gets
More green than b*t*hes with syphilis p*ss gets.  Yes, with
The quickness, we bless this sh*t like bishops and flip scripts
From the Fortress abyss, kid, so, yo, dig this.  Yo, check it

I make you forfeit like a four-fifth, my crew fortifies
The Fortress, causing static like a cordless phone
Off-the-dome, I gets hot like the sauce gets
I hit skins and sport Timbs made out of Gore-Tex, plus
I grab the mic and start busting often.  Emcees
I’m dusting/Dustin like Hoffman, something to bump up in your Walkman.  Lyrically
I’m scorching, so take precaution when I’m talking
Flow like the north winds and cause distortions like abortions
n***as is ass-out-thick like porno flick endorsements

Yo, son, of course it’s the
Style-finesser, lady-fly-undresser
Quickest to grab the St. Ides, lyrically test ya when I bless ya
Like Websters, I got vocab for your ass, I let
My fo’-fo’ blast like po’-po’ stash.  Your sh*t’s irrelevant
Like stripping hoes who don’t show no ass at nightclubs
My mic shine like thousand-watt lightbulbs, I make
A mic budge, I’m hitting hoes without no fight gloves, so peep it
I sip a quart of Seagram’s so I could see my world end
I got you… yo, gots to whip a Sterling, gots to
Whip a Sterling so I could see my world end.  Ayyo
My crew be breaking down walls like Berlin, yo

Yo, I close
Your show like curtains, flows be working like overtime, A-Butta
Controls your mind, foul like hitting below the line, my soul’s divine
Hold a nine, make mentals reciprocate the way
We verbally articulate, many manipulate, lyrics
Precipitate, divine minds shining like nickel-plate.  It’s A-Butta
Swift Swift making cells disintegrate, so check this
I grab the mic and swing like tennis rackets, I play emcees
Like Perry Ellis jackets and say a whole sentence backwards
Emcee dopest the be I—that means I be the dopest
Emcee—why?—I’m thick like sweet thighs in knee-highs
Sparkle like green eyes, be sharper than three knives, so f**k
A Peace Prize.  I’m mentally letting the heat rise.  Butta and Swift
Be getting slicker than n***as with three wives.  I want pockets
With creampies, canines tighter than Levis
Emcees we despise, most of these guys we demise
Repping the East Side until the day that we die.  n***as be fake
Like imitation 1-2-5 FILA sweatshirts
The expert who make you bop your head until your neck hurt
I spit lyrics while n***as let the TEC squirt, I make
Your intellect irk when I shoot skills like Shawn Respert
I let the paper stack like secretary deskwork

Yo, son, I’m coming off
Like project hoes’ GUESS skirts, I do my best work
When I gets twisted.  Son, I gots you lifted like holy spirits
In a chapel during Christmas, I spit good lyrics—f**k a bible
I treat audiences like disciples, living off
Survival instincts, my ink sinks and life becomes a mystery
Like human existence.  I keep it long-distance
Like a phone line, I flash a chrome nine and keep a soul wine
… cosigns, I warn emcees like post signs
Divide the world like coastlines.  I used to smoke dimes
Now I caress, hold and control dimes.  I… wait for showtime
But, yo, all I vision through my eyes is more crime, so, yo
If my n***a A-Butta Fo’ sho’ got the flow rhymes, so bring it on, yo

Yo, son, we got this freestyle, son, so, yo
n***as get stuck like crackpipes, yo, my joint be mad tight
Ayyo, emcees lose just like the Heat did last night
To the Knicks.  When I flip the tricks, emcees know I hit
Emcees just like ligaments with my predicaments.  L-Swift…  Yo, son
I be flipping this in ’96, it be ridiculous
I make a mic bleed, I gots my n***as Nightbreed.  I knew
O.J. was innocent, son.  I flow at light-speed.  You know
The deal.  L-Swift be coming through lyrically on the real and…  Yo, we be
Diminishing emcees, so, yo, watch as I go.  Ayyo
I flow the whole nine.  F the po’-nine.  Ayyo… Ayyo, I strike
Like a goldmine, emcees know I hold mine, so what’s
The deal?  L-Swift be coming through lyrically, I be on the real…  Ayyo, son
I let my ho shine ‘cause she the beauty of my earth, so, yo
Since my day of birth, I was worth a thousand and then some.  Ayyo
I rule your turf.  Emcees are soft like Nerf when they toss it
L-Swift, I grabs a microphone with my metaphor, kid.  Yo, I split it
Like divorces.  When I come through, I gets hot like the sauce gets
Lyrically, I fold, so, yo, come back with the snort sh*t.  Ayyo
Ayyo, you sport the Gore-Tex, and I do too, I grabs
A microphone and run through two crews.  My man, peace to Voodoo.  Yo, peace to my n***a
Voodoo.  Yo, emcees be doo-doo.  I got the North Face
With the raw taste, I blast like guns at a horserace.  I got
The Asolo, the grey Polo sweatshirt.  Yo, I
See through emcees like a wet shirt, sharp like a dress shirt.  Ayyo
Expensive like GUESS shirts.  Emcees get hurt if they’re dissing.  L-Swift will flip it just like
Flapjacks, I grabs a microphone and pass back, son.  Yo, you’re on my back
Like a knapsack, I come back with the fat flows, so, my n***a L-Swift
Get on the mic and play emcees like a banjo, yo.  Ayyo
L-Swift got the style, you can’t hang those.  Our styles I be
Spitting, L-Swift be whipping just like slavery, emcees….  Yo, lyrically
We be getting hype when I start to write off of the mind
One time, inclined, lyrically, I gets mine Ayyo
I gets divine and, plus, I shine like a dime on
The floor when it’s sunny, son.  I gots to make this money.  Ayyo
All these emcees be dummy, but they be calling me the honey
Nothing funny.  In ’96, we’re ruling sh*t, so, yo.  Ayyo
I’ve never been a dummy, although never finished school, got
The GED.  Emcees wanna me, L-S-W-
-I-F-T with my man Mayhem, The Flip Squad
L-Swift be banging heads like the original Hit Squad, so, yo.  Yo, I got you
Hooked like a fish rod, so, yo, when I come through, emcees’ll know
I flow like a pro, so, yo, we gots to go, yo.  Yo, my n***a
Automatic in the place, Obsession, but not the cologne
L-Swift will blow your dome, I throw your zone.  Yo, my n***a
Bearfakts, I tear tracks, I.G. Off like my man
I come down.  Understand I need a hundred grand in my side pocket.  Ayyo
I rock it.  L-Swift be the man.  Ayyo, you said it that you rock?  I rocks it
L-Swift, I grabs a microphone so I could blow the spot just like…  Ayyo, you
Blow the spot, but I be a St. like Ides, I glide emcees
Like a highway on a Friday, we do this my way.  Ayyo, you said I’m Crooked I
‘Cause I do it the fly way, you know the style.  L-Swift
Be lyrically buckwild, so duck, child.  I f**k foul.  Yo, duck, child
Yo, last chance, our break says 12:54, I gots more
You on the floor like your whore’s, yo, I come divorce.  Yo, yo, son, I don’t care
It’s 12:24 because I’m crazy lifted
L-Swift, I grabs the microphone.  Lyrically, I shift it.  Yo, I’m Butta
Like biscuits from Bisquick, I flip this, you gets tossed like
A discus.  Yo, it’s the season of Christmas, so I shoot gifts.  Yo, I burn emcees
Like syphilis.  Yo, it’s Christmas, so what’s the deal?  L-Swift
Be coming through lyrically on the real.  You got the money?  Don’t make it
Funny, yo.  Yo, yo, whoo!  You know the deal, you know the deal.  n***as’ll
Pay to see me and L-Swift more than Bowe and Holyfield, so, yo.  Ayyo
What is this?  The Africa.  I grabs a microphone, I be blasting ya
L-Swift be coming after ya just like the…  Yo, this be
A massacre, I be the flow-manufacturer, I’m standing up
With my n***a K.A., emcees we spray, so don’t delay
Like a game.  Ayyo, just like Mayday with the, um, Christopher
Columbus, grabs the microphone and my gun busts.  Ayyo, ayyo
I run this like a goggle, I make your girlfriend g-g-gargle
And swallow ‘cause you follow me.  Tomorrow, you borrow styles.  Ayyo, I pull them
Styles like snorkels when I’m going fishing.  n***as know
The style is like addition—mathematician, I’m hitting emcees
Just like a motherf**king… I don’t know why.  L-Swift be…  I’m dunking
Like Scottie Pippen, you be rifting when I be getting…  Ayyo
Spliffs when I flow.  I don’t care what’s the deal, n***as want me to stop, but I’ma rock
Emcees know the style like tick-tock, this hop hop.  Yo, this be that
Hip hop, my lip drop, I get props to hold the entire
Empire, Tri-State.  My rhymes great, I dilate pupils.  Ayyo, L-Swift is…
I hold a nine straight when I be busting
12:55, no discussion, I be on percussion.  Yo, I’m
Wilding, son, this style is profiling.  Son, have ‘em dumbfounded, yo, like we’re wilding
Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah.  Yo, yo, son, ayyo, we gots to flip this style
My man DJ Riz.  What up to Funkmaster Flex?
The Flip Squad.  I grabs the microphone and hit hard, so, yo
We’re killing it.  Ayyo, I hope you’re taping it.  L-Swift
Grabs the microphone, and I’m not 2Pac, but be breaking tricks, so, yo

DJ Riz: Yo, man, y’all killing this.  I hope y’all taping this ‘cause they’re killing it.  They’re killing it
Mr. Mayhem: Yeah, yeah, Natural Elements, yo, Fortress Fam, aight?

clip

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