Crumbs On The Table – D-Nice – letras

Is that a turntable? Well get on it it’s your turn)Who gets laid the chicken or the egg?How about the MC that has just been ledTo a renegade teacher preacher then he got stompedCause I’m a feature straight from the BronxProductions better known as Boogie DownIf I was a king right now I’d get crownedThe Nice is a teacher not a prince or a rap lordI even write my rhymes on a blackboardTo get specific, and probably make you understandWhat makes the 808 planIt’s simple, I’m a round it off like thisThat’s how many stupid MC’s I’ve dissedBut if the commence to try me I won’t buy itI’ll look them up and down and I’ll say « Don’t even try it »Cause I can go on and on without breathingThe TR, another form of BDP-eatingMC’s like Chunky, moving real bluntlyShaking and baking MC’s like a junkyFiending, hitting MC’s like they was cocaineCalling them John Doe, meaning they have no nameI’ll spin you like a quarter, drink you like waterHit below the belt with things you never thought ofI lay down the law that I am a slaughterI roll like a tital wave, so you oughtaFloat like a sailboat, move like a speedboatIn water, now watch you soakInto a rhyme of mine until you hit the bottomIt’s heavy like an anchor, it’s no problemFor me to just bake you, eat you like a cookieI am a profressional, boy, you’re just a rookieI’m here to sing a song, but some are not ableCompared to me you’re just crumbs on the tableIn my prime, more vocal than I’ve ever beenI’m not an amateur, sort of like a veteranSplit from the bums, arriving from a long tripNow I’m back to just cold ripMC’s like confetti, eat ’em like spaghettiI chill for a year and yet I’m still readyTo house MC’s, sink ’em like a boat willI roll heavy, thick like oatmealSo now you know the 808 is showingI do damage in just one momentHere’s a little message to those who want to hang outJust remember that I give pain outThe TR-808 relates to a terrorizerNever hiding, clever always memorizingPoetry, history, math, or even paragraphsI’m not into b-boying, just hoeingShowing, blowing MC’s like the wind doesI might lay you, sort of like a hen doesCause your rhymes are weak and unstableCompared to me you’re just crumbs on the tableYou must think, before you even get soupI’ll put you on the corner and sell you like a prostituteLike a street whore, make you want more and moreMove you to the side, up and down like a seesawPulling out a gun is uncalled forBut I’m with it, so go for yoursYou may even try to diss, but I call it flatteryI pack more volts than a Duracell batteryCharging MC’s, smooth like the breezeScott made me funky, yo, that was one themeOr topic, showing I be rockingEvery little city I play I leave a heat waveBurning up the industry, never try to get with meI’m the type of person that never needs rehearsingJust a little sex, a six pack of Beck’sAnd my room to move about, and a Guiness StoutTo make me feel able, chilling, and stableSometimes I’m on the mic, sometimes I’m on the turntableI’m superb, sort of like herbA man of my word and I’ve never been served