Twelve Lyrics - Quality Control - Jurassic 5

One, two, Jurassic crew 

What we 'bout to do brothers have no clue 

Three, four, tear down the door 

And give the party people what they came here for 

One, two, Jurassic crew 

What we bout to do brothers have no clue 

Three, four, tear down the door 

And give the party people what they came here for 

Yo, my pleasure principle from the streets of South Central 

Ghetto hip-hop, non-stop fundamental 

Urban curb servin', vocabulary surgin' 

Rebel with the turban and the street corner sermon 

I keep it working for certain, close curtains 

Renegade bought up a troop when I'm dispersing 

That body rock moving, ghetto baby music 

We eat together with the inner city coolness 

Yo, who's this? Slicing a rhyme in square bits 

Burning through open skin like newly prepared grits 

It's tuna fish, I'm bringing the bad news 

And changing your bathroom if you thinking that cash rules 

Pumpernickle blow words like snot speckles 

When shots echo, some duck and hide like Doc Jeckyl 

Like Don Rickles, I'm kicking rhymes that stop heckles 

Correcting all them bombaclot specials 

Yeah, I got my mind on my money for those that comprehend 

And my money on whatever I think I look fresh in 

Questions, is he stepping authentic? 

Controller of the panic, break a senate lieutenant 

Spit it, yo, despite your critic comments 

Knowing it ain't a hotter verse than Zaakir Mohammed 

Whether last or first, or bottom or top 

Now is it stop hip-hop or hip-hop don't stop? 

You need to protect your neck 

You the kind of brother that be chasing checks 

Me and my crew crash through and get enough respect 

Basic bet takers I'm beyond your average thinker 

Breakin' mc down, like my name was Dr.Shrinker 

Passion fake MC's, wearing mink MC's 

On the brink MC's, you need to think MC's 

Bout to sink MC's, don't even speak MC's 

Cause half the shit you kicking sounding weak MC's 

One, two, Jurassic crew 

What we bout to do brothers have no clue 

Three, four, tear down the door 

And give the party people what they came here for 

One, two, Jurassic crew 

What we bout to do brothers have no clue 

Three, four, tear down the door 

And give the party people what they came here for 

I razor sharp with mindset, sunset 'til sun 

I admit, I used to bite people's shit when I was young 

Back in 83rd, before my style was preferred 

Now my connection with the word is preferred 

Primo, my AC, 310, the first confidential, inscribed my initial 

The Z double A K I and R 

Submerge in submarine words near and far 

'Cause I'm too hot to handle, too cold to freeze 

And I'm a diss any nigga that sounds like me 

Yo yo, breeze through the trees, feel the flavor at ease 

Degrees of melodies, typewriter MC's 

They on their Q's and P's within my vicinity 

Department of correctional rhyme ability 

Keep the biters on lock, rock no silk 

Still shock, rhyme around the clock 

From dawn to dusk, my raps is mack truck 

You schmucks is out of luck, I'm ready to run amuck 

Aye yo I'm lampin, I'm lampin, I'm cold stone lampin 

High pitch, beat drumsticks like Lionel Hampton 

The champion, fly shit, the anthem 

Five eleven with dark skin and tantrum 

Handsome never, not even as a kid 

The girls used to say "Yo his nose is too big!" 

Yo, you'll get bruised, kid ghetto blues, you'll never refuse shit 

The show's good, pinching MC's like rosewood 

I'm shrinking you rap characters into dye-cast miniatures 

I'll blast ten of you while my rhymes harass senators 

Through TV monitors, brains and glass dinner jaws 

Verbal vinegar for you biters down at the salad bar 

The combat that's making your mom mad 

I'm feeling a congrat for burning his mom bad 

One, two, Jurassic crew 

What we bout to do brothers have no clue 

Three, four, tear down the door 

And give the party people what they came here for 

One, two, Jurassic crew 

What we bout to do brothers have no clue 

Three, four, tear down the door 

And give the party people what they came here for