Beastie Boys - Too Many Rappers New Reactionaries Version Featuring NAS скачать mp3

Mic check, mic check One, two, three Too many rappers and there's still not enough emcees It goes three, two, one MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done Like ladies and gents, attention Nas in the house with Beastie Boys We can turn it out Perpetrators, we can point 'em out So if you got something on your mind, let it out (Verse 1) Yo! I've been in the game since before you was born I might still be emceeing even after you're gone Strange though, I know, but my skills still grow The 80s, the 90s, 2000s, and so On and on until the crack of dawn Until the year 3000 and beyond Stay up all night, and I emcee never die 'cause death is the cousin of sleep Because I'm back with a bang, boogie oogie oogie Strawberry Letter 23 like Shuggie Oh my god, just look at me Grandpa been rappin' since '83 I'm supersonic like J.J. Fad got Crazy-ass shit pullin' out the bag Don't forget the tartar sauce, yo! 'cause it's sad All these crab rappers, they're rapping like crabs I have carte blanche, the vagabond Nas is the narcissist My pockets are rotund I'm no killer But compared to you, I'm more realer You ain't a shotta mobster or a drug dealer A slug peeler, you're not Mafioso, no You ain't got the cut-throat in ya, beginner I ain't tryin' to hear your racket You work a police dog, you snitch, you rat You wear that jacket How many rappers must get dissed? Gimme eight bars and watch me bless this I'll start to reminisce when I miss The real hip hop with which I persist Like rum in mojitos Bullets and banditos Matzo balls in soup Jackets and troop Yes, y'all! This is one is for the history books Nasty Nas, what's the word? Count it off in the hook (Chorus) One, two, three Too many rappers and there's still not enough emcees It goes three, two, one MCA, Adrock, Mike D, that's how we get it done Like ladies and gents, attention Nas in the house with Bestie Boys We can turn it out Perpetrators, we can point 'em out So if you got something on your mind, let it out (Verse 2) 'Cause this the type of lyric that goes inside your brain To blow you bullshit rappers straight out the frame My lyrics spin 'round like a hurricane twister So get your hologram on off of Wolf Blitzer Too many rappers to shake a stick at I ought to charge a tax for every weak rap I had to listen to 'Cause we've been makin' stacks like Stax Records My squad, we got a pack We never coming wack To all you crab rappers, and hackers, and circuit-benders Tweaked on Splenda I take the cake, I stole the mould The golden microphone, well that's mine to hold And why all these biters all up in my crotchspace Sniffin', puffin', huffin' And mean muggin' with the Blimpie Bluffin Back up off me, sucka! You ain't sayin' nothin'! I'm broader than Broadway I was the project hallway Dual tape recorder Lacing oratorials all day I'm just gettin' started on this beat, this is foreplay And when the song's finished, I can sing along with this By the way, I have a strong fetish for Christian Louboutin steppers I hear Russian blondes the wettest But anyway I better pay homage to my fellas And that's what's on my mind And the rhyme, who's next up? Mike D, the man of mystery History in the making and now we're taking Titles, awards, and accolades Scare the competition as I sharpen my blades We come together like peanut butter and sandwiches Like pen and paper, like Picasso and canvases Rockin' stadiums to shitty bars Go back in time, send a fax from my car