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I see everybody rockin' the same old style And everyone's sportin' the same profile And all of y'all wearin' the same name brands I hear everybody jackin' these played out jams I won't reach for no gun, punk, I use my hands I rock mikes and roll bikes I cross foreign landsI made my bones out in zones Where the twilight be And every time I touch a micI t's Fright Night Part Three For every MC that wanna test and try In your custom made wears Thinkin' you too fly Makin' up in gold chains What you're lackin' for brains It's time to call your ma, Duke Scoop up your remains And finally lay to rest all the shit you stressed Of boastin' and braggin' about the toes you taggin' I'm knock knock knockin' on heaven's door While every rapper that you simmed Is pimped like a whore You see your talk is eighteen Three quarters past four When your doctor slaps my assH ear the lion roar The record sales soared And the world got toured You say what happened to my band I say I just got bored Now they call me Whitey Ford And I say praise the Lord Find me breakin' up your crews Catch me singin' the blues Strummin' and pickin' like I'm BB King It's Abdul Rakim Now watch me do my thing
[CHORUS] Down down, you go Down down, so low Down down, till you hit the floor Keep fallin' down, till you can't get down no more
You go point blank range With the scope he's knockin' The Psycho might change But there ain't no stoppin' The moon's on the rise When the sun start droppin' And y'all need to quit the bullshit you poppin' 'Cause I've been hip hoppin' since BDP Rock the P it's free It's Abdul Rakim And when referring to me You best respect the name Make a quick double take And double check your game 'Cause you about to get dissed I'm checkin' my list When I check it over twice It's like rollin' the dice I hit four-five-six I'm all up in your mix I rock good from Hollywood To the City of Bricks And all these fake cats scream they're keepin' it real While you're makin' your deal We'll be breakin' the seal You be breakin' your vows Like people worshippin' cows And then I hit ya with the who's, what's, where's and how's Like Vinny Barbarino Matt Gachino I'm with my man Rino With the Brooklyn Lordz Crashin' the boards with my soul in a hole I take it back to the future From the days of old I'm too cold to hold Too hot not to burn ya Don't stick your nose in business that don't concern ya Might have to trip And flip like Ike Turner You too old for schoolin', boy, when I'm gonna learn ya
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