Mike T's Funky Scratch Lyrics - Compton's Most Wanted

Suckas, pack up your shit 

And all your bunk DJ equipment 

Your ass is one-eight-seven when my boy is bent 

So be prepared to be measured for a coffin 

Your fucked up, wick wack scratch is kinda soft and 

Faggots, please I don't think you can tag this 

Cuts deeper than the depth's of Atlantis 

But then they ask, 'how low can you go?' 

No questions this is my DJ's solo 

So freak it, go ahead Mike get kinda funky 

Sharp like a guillotine, kick ass like a donkey 

If there is any contenders you can't match 

My DJ Mike T with his fucking funky scratch 

One more introduction 

In other words I'll keep bussing 

Lyrics after lyrics, so keep on rushing 

Technique Twelve-hundreds is what he's using 

Blow after blow Mike T is one, two-ing and three-ing 

But don't forget about the E and 

Who's got the back up. So punk just slack up 

Don't cross his path cause he'll put you to the test 

Reminds me of the wicked witch from the west 

So for your own safety I think I ought to 

Tell you its curtains and then flip the quarter 

So stay in last place, you just can't match 

My DJ Mike T with his fucking funky scratch. geah 

Back for the motherfucking '91 

My DJ Mike T's in the fucking house 

Down with the MC Eiht, Compton's Most Wanted Crew 

Housing the motherfucking set 

Killing 'em off side by each. Audi Five Thousand