D-Nice

D-Nice - Crumbs On The Table

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Who gets laid  the chicken or the egg?
 How about the MC that has just been led
 To a renegade teacher  preacher then he got stomped
 Cause I'm a feature straight from the Bronx
 Productions  better known as Boogie Down
 If I was a king right now I'd get crowned
 The Nice is a teacher  not a prince or a rap lord
 I even write my rhymes on a blackboard
 To get specific, and probably make you understand
 What makes the 808 plan
 It's simple, I'm a round it off like this
 That's how many stupid MC's I've dissed
 But if the commence to try me I won't buy it
 I'll look them up and down and I'll say "Don't even try it"
 Cause I can go on and on without breathing
 The TR, another form of BDP-eating
 MC's like Chunky, moving real bluntly
 Shaking and baking MC's like a junky
 Fiending, hitting MC's like they was cocaine
 Calling them John Doe, meaning they have no name
 I'll spin you like a quarter, drink you like water
 Hit below the belt with things you never thought of
 I lay down the law that I am a slaughter
 I roll like a tital wave, so you oughta
 Float like a sailboat, move like a speedboat
 In water, now watch you soak
 Into a rhyme of mine until you hit the bottom
 It's heavy like an anchor, it's no problem
 For me to just bake you, eat you like a cookie
 I am a profressional, boy, you're just a rookie
 I'm here to sing a song, but some are not able
 Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table

 In my prime, more vocal than I've ever been
 I'm not an amateur, sort of like a veteran
 Split from the bums, arriving from a long trip
 Now I'm back to just cold rip
 MC's like confetti, eat 'em like spaghetti
 I chill for a year and yet I'm still ready
 To house MC's, sink 'em like a boat will
 I roll heavy, thick like oatmeal
 So now you know the 808 is showing
 I do damage in just one moment
 Here's a little message to those who want to hang out
 Just remember that I give pain out
 The TR-808 relates to a terrorizer
 Never hiding, clever always memorizing
 Poetry, history, math, or even paragraphs
 I'm not into b-boying, just hoeing
 Showing, blowing MC's like the wind does
 I might lay you, sort of like a hen does
 Cause your rhymes are weak and unstable
 Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table

 You must think, before you even get soup
 I'll put you on the corner and sell you like a prostitute
 Like a street whore, make you want more and more
 Move you to the side, up and down like a seesaw
 Pulling out a gun is uncalled for
 But I'm with it, so go for yours
 You may even try to diss, but I call it flattery
 I pack more volts than a Duracell battery
 Charging MC's, smooth like the breeze
 Scott made me funky, yo, that was one theme
 Or topic, showing I be rocking
 Every little city I play I leave a heat wave
 Burning up the industry, never try to get with me
 I'm the type of person that never needs rehearsing
 Just a little sex, a six pack of Beck's
 And my room to move about, and a Guiness Stout
 To make me feel able, chilling, and stable
 Sometimes I'm on the mic, sometimes I'm on the turntable
 I'm superb, sort of like herb
 A man of my word and I've never been served
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: Zomba Recording Corporation

Details:

Released in: 1990

Language: English

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