Ring the alarm, another sound is dying, whoa, aye

[x3]



Ring the alarm, I don't wanna stay calm cause

I'm about to rip this psalm

When the mic is gripped my lyrics do split up like

Bombs from Vietnam

Cause I'm sweet, neat, I don't romp or skinteet

Lyrics I lick with my tongue

And rhymes I nymn with my teeth

This lyrical prophet you can't stop this from the West Indies

You can tell I'm a lyrical prophet from the words spoken and broken up

In these books and scrolls that I unfold

The knowledge I use does make me bold

The intelligence in my system

Converts itself and becomes wisdom

Born in Trinidad, not Tobogo, land of steel pan and calypso

Cyop is a buck and a buck is a cyop

That's the real true thing and a natural fact

This lyrical man you can't hold me back

From the red, the white, and also the black

Island, which is my land, my place of birth

You can tell by the tongue that's swung

And the lyrical structure in me verse

So all MC's don't cross this border

Cause by now you should know sort of

Lyrically wise but now I despise

All youth that's out of order

Don't try to test any of the Schnikens

Cause I'm not done with the lyrical boxin'

The beatin' and the lickin'



Ring the alarm, another sound is dying, whoa, aye

[x3]



You two-facety, you can't face me

And my rhymes you'll bite and learn

Soon you'll acknowledge my lyrical substance just like a bookworm

Chip FU, then you will extend and show all the youth them

That me big boutcha under roots and culture

And the bad bull in the pen

Because when I grip the mic (yes, man)

All MC's they do stop yes and hush

Any mic I touch, any mic I brush, any mic I clutch

With these lyrical styles of such

And if I do unleash a lyrical masterpiece

Lyrics never cease, then a piece I'll unleash and make it brief

Please don't bite yes or thief

C-H-I-P FU is my name, it will stay just the same

Give me any mic on stage in a rage I'll engage

And drop rhymes just the same

Quote for quote, note for note, did you comphrehend

So jack it up and pull it up operator

Wheel and come again

Cause MC's try these rastafarianic raps and sound like wanna-be's

But a wanna-be's not what I want to be

See the FU-Schnickens have to be

The true prophets free

Free to preach FU-Schnick prophecies

We thee untouchable, matchable, stoppable MC's for unity

Me, a rastafarian, no not me but I do stun

I'm not faking Jamacian, so all MC's you better run

Because Mr. Chip FU man a come

And me sitdong pon de riddim sitdong pion de vibes

A de hartical don

True me full up a style and me wicked and wild

With peer pattern watch how me chat it in a verb

And capsize it in a noun

Uno better give I and I respect

When this Trinidadian I come

Sing out



Ring the alarm, another sound is dying, whoa, aye

[x3]



Phenomenon one, phenomenon two, phenomenon three

Come follow me

POC FU's the rough-neck chicken and I'm the wild Apache

See I'm the C the H the I the P

Down with the P the O the C, the K the U the N the G

The M the O, yes and the C

And when the M the I the C is in my H the A-N-D

I preach and teach and educate all ghetto youth about unity

But wait, let me get set not to sweat

But to get something straight

All MC's come out with good styles

And all of them do sound great

But ring the alarm and don't stay calm

Because I won't procrastinate

These lyrical styles that I compile

To preach and teach and educate me

A new jack brother (who's that)

When you were at the parties rapping and scratching I did a chat

On tape, on tape and cassette, you'll hear me live and direct

Yes and who never hear me yet when you hear my voice it's perfect

So just pack up because your lyrics are weak when you speak

Don't step so just back up, wake up, take off the make-up

The mic because I'll break up

MC's limbs from limb, slim me trim

You see me, I don't follow no style and I don't follow no pattern

So take head to this lesson I bring or the lesson I brought

Which was taught to one and another

All slack MC's better ring the alarm

In other words, run for cover