Testo Crumbs On The Table

(Is that a turntable? Well get on it, it's your turn) Who gets laid, the chicken or the egg? How about the MC that has just been led To a renegade teacher, preacher then he got stomped Cause I'm a feature straight from the Bronx Productions, better known as Boogie Down If I was a king right now I'd get crowned The Nice is a teacher, not a prince or a rap lord I even write my rhymes on a blackboard To get specific, and probably make you understand What makes the 808 plan It's simple, I'm a round it off like this That's how many stupid MC's I've dissed But if the commence to try me I won't buy it I'll look them up and down and I'll say "Don't even try it" Cause I can go on and on without breathing The TR, another form of BDP-eating MC's like Chunky, moving real bluntly Shaking and baking MC's like a junky Fiending, hitting MC's like they was cocaine Calling them John Doe, meaning they have no name I'll spin you like a quarter, drink you like water Hit below the belt with things you never thought of I lay down the law that I am a slaughter I roll like a tital wave, so you oughta Float like a sailboat, move like a speedboat In water, now watch you soak Into a rhyme of mine until you hit the bottom It's heavy like an anchor, it's no problem For me to just bake you, eat you like a cookie I am a profressional, boy, you're just a rookie I'm here to sing a song, but some are not able Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table In my prime, more vocal than I've ever been I'm not an amateur, sort of like a veteran Split from the bums, arriving from a long trip Now I'm back to just cold rip MC's like confetti, eat 'em like spaghetti I chill for a year and yet I'm still ready To house MC's, sink 'em like a boat will I roll heavy, thick like oatmeal So now you know the 808 is showing I do damage in just one moment Here's a little message to those who want to hang out Just remember that I igve pain out The TR-808 relates to a terrorizer Never hiding, clever always memorizing Poetry, history, math, or even paragraphs I'm not into b-boying, just hoeing Showing, blowing MC's like the wind does I might lay you, sort of like a hen does Cause your rhymes are weak and unstable Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table You must think, before you even get soup I'll put you on the corner and sell you like a prostitute Like a street whore, make you want more and more Move you to the side, up and down like a seesaw Pulling out a gun is uncalled for But I'm with it, so go for yours You may even try to diss, but I call it flattery I pack more volts than a Duracell battery Charging MC's, smooth like the breeze Scott made me funky, yo, that was one theme Or topic, showing I be rocking Every little city I play I leave a heat wave Burning up the industry, never try to get with me I'm the type of person that never needs rehearsing Just a little sex, a six pack of Beck's And my room to move about, and a Guiness Stout To make me feel able, chilling, and stable Sometimes I'm on the mic, sometimes I'm on the turntable I'm superb, sort of like herb A man of my word and I've never been served!