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Fugees - How Many Mics

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Отправь SMS с текстом 55788-105-4840 на номер 5537.

Предложение действительно для Российских операторов.

Intro: wyclef jean

Pick up your microphones

Pick up your microphones

Chorus: wyclef/pras

How many mics do we rip on the daily

Say, me say many money say me say many many many

How many mics do we rip on the daily

Many money say me say many many many

Verse one: lauryn hill

I get mad frustrated when I rhyme

Thinkin of all them kids that try to do this for all the wrong reasons

Season change mad things rearrange

But it all stays the same like the love doctor strange

Im tame like the rapper get red like a snapper, when they do that

Got your whole block saying true dat

If only they knew that, it was you who was irregular

Soldier soul for some secular muzac thats whack

Plus you use that, loop, over and over

Claiming that you got a new style, your atempts are futile, oooh child

Your puerile, brain waves are sterile

You cant create you just wait to take, my take

Laced with malice, hands get callous, from ripping microphones

From here to dallas go ask alice if you dont believe me

I get innovisions like stevie

See me, a sin from the chalice, like the weed be

Indeed we like kalid mohammed mcs make me vomit

I get controversial, freaky style with no rehearsal

Au contraire mon frere, dont you even go there

Me without a mike is like a beat without a snare

I dare to tear into your ego, we go, way back

Like some ganja and palequo or colecovision

My minds make incisions in your anatomy

And I back this with deuteronomy or leviticus

God made this word, you cant get with this

Sweet like licorice, dangerous like syphillis, yeah

Chorus

Verse two: wyclef jean

I used to be underrated, now I take iron, makes my shit constipated

Im more concentrated, so on my day off with david sanonburg I play

Golf

Run through crown heights screaming out "mazeltoff!"

Problem with noman before black Im first hu-man

Appetite to write, like frederick douglass with a slave hand

Street pressure, word to papa I aint going under

One day I have a label and make deals with tommy mottola

Mama always told me, "your one in a million,

Always watch our back, never tango with haitian-sicilians"

Now I got a record deal, how does it feel?

Im never gonna survive unless I get crazy like seal

Cause the whole worlds out a order

So at night the feins dance on grease with john travolta

One got slaughtered as he caught blood from his mouth

The other tried to duck and caught a left with my guinness stout

Brother, brother cant you get this through your head

Its a setup by the feds, their scoping us with their infrareds

Chorus

Verse three: prazwell

Too many mcs not enough mikes, exit your show like I exit the

Turnpike

Dice and dynomite like dolomite, double dos been like I dont dick

Van dyke

Starlight to starbrite the freaks come out at night

Like my man wyclef-"i wear my sunglasses at night"

And my ponage with martial encourage

Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my garage

And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin to brooklyn

Beat the trails broken flipping tokens to hoboken

A clean getaway like alec baldwin

Driving in my fast car playing tracy chapman

Chorus

Many, many money many many many

Many, many money, ha, ha, ha

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