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The Mic’s My Piece lyrics
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[maestro fresh wes] I’m a ruler, that’s how I reign I do to rap what the mona lisa does to the frame Rid ’em and written, my rhymes are like rodeo I ain’t kiddin’, they jock my portfolio Played it wise, hit the studio Rock international, now they call me julio Mcs have died, becuase I have killed them Some older than me but yet children Some veterans knew the fear Because rap is not a joke, this game’s for real Sucker boys cuss me, females rush me When I off the set, my homeboys they touch me Wes, you ate ’em up like a feast No need to use an uzi, when the mic’s my piece Chorus Bang on I’m murdering mc Bang on I’m murdering mc Bang on I’m murdering mc ** scratching by dj ltd ** Repeat [maestro fresh wes] Some use a uzi, some a machete You wanna test fresh wes, well I’m ready The mind is a magnum, the rhyme is a bullet The mic that’s a trigger *bang* and I pull it Too late for prayer, dee is a slayer Wes rocks the mics like a hoops to isaiah The player, the pimp that mcs are risking You’ll get decked like clay decked liston *bang* Where did the punch come from? Was it before, or after the drum Ltd will be the referee Saying ’punk tell me how many fingers you see’ The m-i-c is my p-i-e-c-e The maestro needs no mc Like a beast I beat while my rhymes release I can say *bang* my mic’s my piece A bag of lsd and my dj does needles Lyrical dope my group ain’t feeble Zero degrees centigrade, thirty-two farenheit Cold getting paid if you’re a parasite Paraphrase, to parallel you’re paralyze You’re paranoid, you play my record, you plagerize I paragon, the paramont vocabulist Lyrical ? ? ? ? ? ? paragraph can’t handle this Move, you might get mobbed There’s a method ot my madness, don’t mock my monologue I’m like a beast when my rhyme’s released, like a sayss(? ) *bang* ’cause my mic’s my piece Chorus [maestro fresh wes] I walk around town looking at these clowns Thinking about my cold crisp build to brown I sweat the coloured clown, this is what I mean I’m not american, my hundred dollar bill ain’t green I’m from north of the border, keep it in order Beats like the freak from the latin quarter Though I’m down with the t-o scene I don’t hang with no polo team No charade, a parade I’m here to envade X-rate, excess, escalate this escapade I fancy girl like she don’t exist Exercise the dip, watch the exorcist Extreme 360, necks will snap She wrote my rhythmn, received the whiplash Executed, extracted, she’s attracted To the maestro, uhh, distracted In distress, she’s hyperactive Be jocking and still jacking, you must be wack kid That’s why allow the sultan to rap The aftermath, the bloodbath of paragraph Every title you held been stripped off Love torn ego with a busted up lip When I start firing I never cease I get hyped, when *bang* the mic’s my piece Chorus [maestro fresh wes] Yeah Like franklin, columbo, I’m jumble-la I can run so low, try to obtain my status Don’t they know how long I’ve been at this Call me a new jack, that’s a dis New jacks don’t rock like this That’s absurb to me, don’t say a word to me I’m from t-o that’s why you dun heard of me Yesterday, but now you’re listening ’cause I’m exploding like nitroglycerine If I was from new york I know you would, have rocked to my rhythmn, five years ago I had to try a little harder than the average Just to get a break, but now I’m doing damage Think that you’re a star, sorry charlie Got beef? talk to farley ’cause what I manifest is a masterpiece Dope rhymes are released when the mic’s my piece Some carry knives some carry guns 2000 brothers in the channel trying to be number one Looking serious, flexing posing You rub shoulders, step on toes and it’s *bang* over You might get shafted ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Too many want to brawl, I think I heard it all Hip hop kept niggas alive, gave prefer to ball Some want to party, but some do I propagate against one of the brothers from my high school Real sad funeral, ask any pupil I speak know this before this quadruple Some minds are so shallow, roads are so narrow Follow my ? ? ? ? before you’re blunt like pharoah The mic is my weapon, with it I ain’t messing No half stepping, I’m progressing Even when I die these lyrics will last So roll over bethoveen ’cause the b-boy’s blastin’ Show pen another gay, I leave you in awe This array could bust an orchestra I’m the maestro, my symphony can’t cease Too damn hype! *bang* when the mic’s my piece Chorus  More Maestro Fresh Wes Song Lyrics
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