Terra N Ya Era

You looking in the mouth of madness, skilled out since I had this

I'm talking bout nothing but pure D badness

My acceleration is compatible to a bima

My pockets looking greener, from the funky cold medina

Don't tell me bout the things that you done did cause I done did it

Don't tell me bout the skins that you done hit, cause I done hit it

And once I rock these, with a style that's cock deis

Good God, I get the crowd together like knock knees

Now, I don't act hard, I just mack hard

Baggin' video looking honeys with the big back yard

Yes lord, girls I'm gamin' leaving the microphone flamin'

Throwing up hip-hop signs cause that's the set that I be claimin'

Guerilla war fares for those who love to pull your card

Grimies from Fort Green to Malcolm X Boulevard

Now, if that's what you're hoping then it's the wrong things you're scopin'

I may not rap bout slittin no throats but trust me kid I'll get you open



Verse 2

Here comes a taste of the rawness, like you never saw this

Once I grip the cordless, my victory is flawless

Chaos and havoc, lyrically psychopathic

At times get pornographic, lord man I gots to have it

Then I commit to hit you with this composite that's ultimate

Too legit splendid come get wit' it for your comfort

But then sloppily, rappers try to copy me

Take pieces of my property, and use it all unproperly

And probably, been focusing a while to copy my style

But child what I'll compile is too versatile

I'm too superior, it's sort of like comparing a

Spanking new Desert Eagle to a rusty little derringer

But skip the tool, let's try to deal here with the jewel

That I'm droppin on you, now let me take you all to school

You see, to graduate in hip-hop you must be smart

And no you don't have to know how to paint to make your rhymes a form of art

Poetry and literature is what makes this English fanatic

Now dig this, I drop science but still deal with mathematics

And since I don't be dealing with what's considered a mystery

I learned the dead presidents to pass American History

Got my degree in rapology

Hip-hop had to set me free, look mom, a real emcee

So you want yours now, well don't get caught with your drawers down

Cause word life, this industry is half corrupt just like the Dogg Pound



Verse 3

Rap godfather

Oh goodness gracious, you better make it spacious

For the vivacious, ostentatious, who feel courageous?

I put it on them using my tongue as a sword

But at times get broader than broad for those who insist to get floored

Whatever it takes to see your nerve gone, and word born

Black Caesar gonna get his swerve on

My name should be referred to in medical terms

Cause I get way up in the cut and I'm talking way worse than germs

You like to chase it playin catch like Tom & Jerry

But on the contrary, I'd rather sip the Dom Peri

Lay back in harmony, because it's so bizarre to see

That all the hard core rappers are slowly turning R&B

Well pardon me, you contradict yo'self, I see you not perfect yo'self

You like that type music yo'self, stick yo'self

What happened to black men of pride 'nuff men have died

Nowadays what's been applied, in hip-hop is genocide

That's when the rappers go get the clappers

Can't you see they trying to strap us just to trap us, good god it's backwards

One nation under a groove, that's how we move

It's time to teach the youth get it together show and prove

Me no run with the gun or speak of none for action

When you get done scream I'm the one, it looks like an illusion

I deal with equality so never call my brethren son

Yes mon, me got mad flava just like jerk chicken