I See

Ah Pharoahe Monch yeah

I said; yes yes y'all to the beat y'all

We tryin' to teach the young and get the loot

And steer it like havin' a ball

Hey hey hey

We try to walk a little bit like this I say

I hate rap promoters I start to motor

Talk from Southside to North Minnesota

Dre gramm of yea with a small cup of soda

Never get the women with the underarm odour

Sky town Motorola holder who rocks bolder than all

To fall when they try to call me the cold shoulder

Try to tell these younger kids to come a little older

The more is about to happen and we need our little soldiers

[Verse 2: Ras Kass]

I riggedy rock, I riggedy wreck shot

Nah hahaha I'm fuckin' with y'all

I fall through parallel universes with a gun

And murder myself the games strength like Jet Li in The One

Get bean you slum-slumming

Sippin' a little some-something

Pop and Big Pun it's nothing to front, get the dappin'

Something up in here y'all gon' make me lose my mind

Use my nine, and do my time

I do my grime, and spit rhymes freaky, hear it out

For new hoes and constant rappers the shiekiest

Be beneath me, no rapper could defeat me

Like puttin' your face in faeces, I talk shit

Who I be? Real nigga with the fake I.D

O.G., B.G., L.A., N.Y.C

The matrix is radio and T.V

[Chorus: Pharoahe Monch (& Ras Kass)]

I see; designer glasses, titties and masses

For luxurous beats, that bumps, that move the masses

Desastrous beats that strife V.I.P.-passes

It's on (It's on?) It's on

(I see; sex money and why murder and crime

Good time, soldiers that cry for lust and the shine

Bitlies bitches that break ballers

All us wanna be shakola's callin' call us)

[Verse 3: Pharoahe Monch]

Basic I was too advanced to advance

Now who's the chansellor?

You couldn't scrap if you was one of Big Daddy Kane's dancers

The answer but not for the '76's

I put your lips on, stick ya dick in your mouth

And put your lips, where your dick was, sideways pushin'

Punks try to prevoke chess styles and push me

Queens shit (Come on!) Queens shit (Come on!)

Fuck around and get your motherfucking screen split (Come on!)

[Verse 4: Ras Kass]

Thorough, on turntables for technicians to play it

Hi-Tek lady for Pharoahe Monch to slay it

I triple all waited Ras whiplash

(Why I grow voices) wrapping this wraf with big wax

Really, hah, I refuse to rock consumers

Cause sworn groupies get mad and spread rumours like

"Do you hear what I hear"

[Pharoahe]

I heard gay rappers that thugged, a lot of nerve

[Ras]

Can you believe that shit Monch?

[Pharoahe]

Word, word, I heard a lot of murderers ain't really murderers

And it's absurd was they frontin' like they never heard of us

[Ras]

Niggas playin' king-pin but only perps service oil

Playin' they want beef but really only heard of wars

If you want to party trunk and wanna get crunked

Throw ya hands up! Bitches, throw ya hands up!

[Chorus x2]