Who Sang 3 MC's? Da Bush Babees
Release Date: 1996-10-11
producer: The Ummah
Hey yo, MC am I
People call me Man
I'm everywhere like air, so watch as I expand
Live and direct from out the Flatbush lands
Cause I got more rhymes than the beach got sand
Who you be son?
Well yo MC am I; people call me "L"
Can't forget the double-e Major I rock well
In '86 used to sport Pumas wit' Gazelles
'96: Yo, I just rock mics and excel
Hey yo, MC A-B, people call me Ab'
See me on Jamaica Ave. sippin' half-and-half
I got a special-issued mic that's guaranteed steel
Bustin' rhymes at the crowd to make the shorties feel
Bust it, bust it, bust it, bust it
It's the 3 MCs
You know we hold these mics tight
We the 3 MCs
We do it right e' night
With a scratch
And a cut
We 'bout to tear shit up
See most of y'all really do not know how you should operate
You need to contemplate cause you really cannot stop the wait
Let me select the path
You do not know the half simply cause you don't know the math
On how to automate the graph
So follow the leader
The 9-Ether--rapper's get split like amoeba
By the fire-breather
Get burned beyond recognition
It's Mr. Man the accurate be blurrin' up your vision
I pack a .45 caliber hollow-tipped pen
Make 'em say "What happen when he be rappin'?"
Make a move son. I kill bystanders and all
Check the autops'[y] the words that I dropped in his skull
If you want a nigga draw, pull out your best rhymes
Make your same gun-finger turn into peace sign
Went to El Segundo
Came back with Tip's wallet
Hip-hop Puritan show these niggas how you drop it
We 'bout to drop it like the Pharcyde or Reggie Miller
Camouflage on--rescuin' rap guerilla
Tricklin' down: verb, noun cascade
Precious as jade, never heard the word 'fade'
Positive vibes is way too influential
Wack rhyme sayers need to keep it confidential
Kick it up like tornadoes
Trash cats get tomatoed
Beat you like Bruno
Watch yo' eye get the tape
It was a Friday night
And 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
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-no
So turn me up loud
And put the needle to the
With all of these
Pimps, players, mafiosos, and G's
Make me wonder "Is there any room for just a MC?"
Same shit, different beat; can't take it no more
You and your man bought the same rhyme from the same store
You bought it from the same store
And kicked the rhyme until your throat's sore
Now we got to up the ante much, much more
Allah put us all here for a reason
We 'bout to change the seasons
From these three you'll never smell treason
If you don't get it now, I guarantee you'll get it later
I make the planet bounce from the poles to the equator
Peninsulas, every island, and the continents
I grab the mic and add flavor like condiments
Cause we the 3 MCs
Y'all know we hold these mics tight
Yo, we the 3 MCs
We keep it right all night