3 Mcs – Da Bush Babees – letras

(Mr. Man)Hey yo, MC am IPeople call me ManI’m everywhere like air, so watch as I expandLive and direct from out the Flatbush lands’Cause I got more rhymes than the beach got sand(Lee Majors)(who you be son?)Well yo MC am I; people call me « L »Can’t forget the double-e Major I rock wellIn ’86 used to sport Pumas wit’ Gazelles’96: Yo, I just rock mics and excel(Q-Tip)Hey yo, MC a b people call me airSee me on Jamaica Ave. sippin’ half-and-halfI got a special-issued mic that’s guaranteed steelBustin’ rhymes at the crowd to make the shorties feel(All)(Bust it, bust it, bust it, bust it)It’s the 3 MCsYou know we hold these mics tightWe the 3 MCsWe do it right e’ nightWith a scratchAnd a cutWe ’bout to tear shit up(Mr. Man)See most of y’all really do not know how you should operateYou need to contemplate ’cause you really cannot stop the waitJust cooperateLet me select the pathYou do not know the half simply ’cause you don’t know the mathOn how to automate the graphSo follow the leaderThe 9-Ether–rapper’s get split like amoebaBy the fire-breatherGet burned beyond recognitionIt’s Mr. Man the accurate be blurrin’ up your vision(Lee Majors)I pack a .45 caliber hollow-tipped penMake ’em say « What happen when he be rappin’? »Make a move son. I kill bystanders and allCheck the autops'[y] the words that I dropped in his skullIf you want a nigga draw, pull out your best rhymesMake your same gun-finger turn into peace signCame back with tips swallowedHip-hop Puritan show these niggas how you drop it(Q-Tip)We ’bout to drop it like the Pharcyde or Reggie MillerCamouflage on–rescuin’ rap guerillaTricklin’ down: verb, noun cascadePrecious as jade, never heard the word ‘fade’Positive vibes is way too influentialWack rhyme sayers need to keep it confidentialKick it up like tornadoesTrash cats get tomatoedBeat you like BrunoWatch yo’ eye get the tapeIt was a Friday nightAnd no moves was bein’ fakin’And the people was breakin’And the house was shakin’And it won’t be long ’til e’body knowin’That the 3 MCs was on the mic(Mr. Man)Check me out, boy, in high-speed or slo’-mo’Came down to Earth to rock this ill promo’Never sound wack on tape, ’cause that’s a no-noSo turn me up loudAnd put the needle to the(Lee Majors)With all of thesePimps, players, mafiosos, and G’sMake me wonder « Is there any room for just a MC? »Same shit, different beat; can’t take it no moreYou and your man bought the same rhyme from the same store(Q-Tip)You bought it from the same storeand kicked the rhyme until your throat’s soreNow we got to up the ante much, much moreAllah put us all here for a reasonWe ’bout to change the seasonsFrom these three you’ll never smell treason(Mr. Man)If you don’t get it now, I guarantee you’ll get it laterI make the planet bounce from the poles to the equatorPeninsulas, every island, and the continentsI grab the mic and add flavor like condiments(All)’Cause we the 3 MCsY’all know we hold these mics tightYo, we the 3 MCsWe keep it right all night