The Ebonic Plague Lyrics - Singles - Cru

Yeah Ha Cru 

Mic checka da one the mic check three 

Cru in you baby 

Mic checka da one the mic check three 

Mix it up with the big Y.O 

Comin' from the Laf Isle with fat funk flow 

So yo how you feelin'? Tell me how you feelin' 

Mad drug dealin' mad caps peelin' 

I do my thing drink a Budweiser 

And I seen more Busch than Dan Anheiser 

Twist the caps of you fake John Gottis 

Watch the pump shottie, make you look like Kwame 

Cru's about to drop the dirty understand the cipher 

Got nothin' to lose so I'm-a do like a lifer 

Niggaz couldn't catch up with the mustard, disgusted 

Drop the shit that gotcha brains dusted, bust it 

This is how it flow in the Bronx Zoo ya'll 

Beef up a step and style with a fall 

Nothin' but the rough, understood? 

Got me in double extra large bulletproof wit' the hood 

Sittin' at the bar sippin' Beck's 

Plus I got the "two turntables and a microphone" on deck 

So who's next? Rugged Ras 

Flossin' ice, and drop that soul on dat ass 

The IBF got my rhymes ranked 'cause they hittin' 

Plus I'm all around like Scott Pippen 

Here it is, east west, I mean China to Mexico 

If you love the way it's goin' down let me know 

Fuck it, Harlem knows the ledge 

All my Bronx niggaz know the wedge, full-fledged 

Uptown! Plus we got the Cali love 

Y.O.G., truly yours the Breakfast Club 

Yo punk 

I was hot as 97 in '73 

D.O.B. my pedigree multiple felonies see 

You spit phlegm I spit fumes 

Across the ruins of kiosks hoverin' sand dunes 

A miniature man-nume, it's National Lampoon's Alien Vacation 

I'm abductin' muthafuckin' rappers to my inner space station 

(What?) For sheezy 

When Ras Kass get to swervin' off 'gnac, believe me 

I hit below the belt 

Bustin' niggaz balls like Riddick Bowe versus Gulotta 

Hell yeah I'm a rida 

Ain't nuttin' sweetie, cancer causin' like saccahrin 

Action, intoxicated chinky-eyed black men 

An' nowadays fools forget what they actually named 

Besides a loyal cadets and priceless briquettes 

Basically, I don't give a shit how rich ya get 

I'll have you in the car talkin' to yourself 

Like Alanis Morisette with turets 

(Oh wee that's right ) I like sisters with vaginas so 

(Can we get freaky toniiiiight ) 

Donald Trump wouldn't let you shine his shoes my man 

If you pissed off you dyin' with your dick in your hand 

Plus when shit hits the fan, I mean when Ras reach the crowd 

And verse to verse, switch my aura then rotate Earth 

And fuck that servin' emcees and livin' bummy 

I'm on some show me the money and still educate the dummies 

It's all about me for you and you for me 

And playa if ya do for two we do for three 

You think it's 'bout the cash, the cars and jew-el-ry 

We livin' in the age of the ebonic plague 

It's all about me for you and you for me 

And playa if ya do for two we do for three 

You think it's 'bout the cash, the cars and jew-el-ry 

We livin' in the age of the ebonic plague 

You see the words is meshin' through this lyrical aggression 

Punk's pop shit we Joe Pesc'em no question 

Cru session, no time for second guessin' 

Frontin' or fessin', we full court pressin' 

Testin', any in our way learn a lesson 

Forever in my Stetson, chrome plated Wesson 

We ain't got no time for excuses and reasons 

Bringin' nuttin' but butta in all four seasons 

Wanna blow my nose when I'm sneezin', wit' hundred dollar bills 

Foes I'm squeezin', breezin' 

Through your nearest town wit' the frown expression 

Those Bronx streets left a lastin' impression 

Now think about this, imagine Cru rhymers 

Like this world with no clock bein' timeless 

Pure dope when it come to the oratorical 

Stay on the low wit' a dime that's adorable 

Got the rap shit covered like long johns 

Big brother Ant taught me how to bear arms 

L.A. to D.C. I gets my P.C 

Keeps me a fifth of B.C 

And we gon' drink to your pass peeps that flashed heat 

Never no more, when I pull I blast he 

Think you could deal? You crazier than Bjork 

Belong up on Fantasy Isle with Mr. Rourke