Bumpshit

(album: No Man's Land - 1990)

It's the
Ill Pluster, Phesto Dee
O. Lindsey, T. Massey
So what you wanna be?
Us
Just peep the bump and thump
You ain't got no choice but throw yo hands up

You're stuck
Crucified, you lose, don't try your luck
I cut 'em up
Run through and ruin MC's, they can suck my dick
The Hieroglyphic kingdom bring 'em down to earth
They worthless, worse, this is the beginning
And I'm winning
Offending MC's, they can't accept it
Inside he hide his fear or fury, that shit was weary
And I hear he don't be comin off the top
He better drop and give me 50
Cause if you don't shape up, I take what's mine, and that's your title
What you write I'll demolish
Polish up your skills, just forget all this
Call it quits, it's overwhelmin
You keep failin to impress
You're sluggish, I put a fake MC to rest
I got pages for the courageous, amazes
Fazes my opponent leave the microphone bent
Your flow is basic, you get erased quick
Stick to fantasizin
You're wack, deny the fact that I win
Ease the pain, I still remain the king
I sing a lullaby to nullify the lazy-ass lame famous MC
Even the nameless MC gets unfriendly
So we out to check 'em, direct from O. Lindsey

Why you got to do the kinda shit that I hate?
I find your shit to be fake
Your mind ain't fit to create
Cease, you late at rappin
Accidents waitin to happen
Tryina fade the Adam
They backs is broke when they attack him
Cause I play and mack 'em
See that's an everyday thang
You can peep these hoes jockin in whenever we hang
I gets game from 'em, see Hieroglyphics came from the East Side of O
Gettin jocked when we tried to go
To these funk dictions
With a grudge written overnight rappers come wishin
But Plus hold the mic and slap you with the bumpshit'n
Them hoes jock you the most
Wish I was there when them cowards jumped Donnie and Los
We own all mics in the solar system
You gets dropped when the Souls come repossess props with the older wisdom
And the beat, it just drops, then I hold the rhythm
Souls of Mischief is the cold-est

It's the
Ill Pluster, Phesto Dee
O. Lindsey, T. Massey
So what you wanna be?
Us
Just peep the bump and thump
You ain't got no choice but throw yo hands up

To all you crews, think if we was weak as you
Well, would you listen to a doozy?
You're lucky that we disapprove
And frown at that candy-coated cartoon-clown shit
We don't allow it
(Naw, that would make us some hypocrites)
You scare yourself into poppin lip and jest
Suckers savin face but catch it in the chest
So just abate your haste
To activate your [?] the best rhymer
Stomp your crew out with your bomber
I got the tool, just stay off the drama
Jump but that's madness, my shit's the bump
If I didn't have hits, I'd persist to pump
My mind to capacity till the shit just dump
Out on the sidewalk
And only then would I sqawk
And babble nonsense
Rippin this shit long as I'm conscious
And even in your dreams you fiend and follow it, no haps
You better quit 'fore y'all get with the vocab
-ulary lunchmeat suckers smoke pads
Or somethin, lack the gumption
Get smacked when we up in the house

First of all niggas are fake, they get baked
Tryina penetrate the inferno
I surround the microphone with
Cause to the highest degrees MC's marvel over me
I never reconsider gettin rid of them
They perishin, embarassin as the air gets thin
I stare 'em in they eyes before I wear 'em in
It's no comparison to the immaculate
You get ramshackled with the mic
Lanced with the javelin for rattlin off at the lip
(Get off my dick)
Well you get liquified, stigmatized if you try
It's circumstantial
You niggas are unadvanced with the mic
An avalanche, you don't have a chance, just dance to
The beat, I'm notorious for this
Niggas tryina come to grips
But it's inevitable you'll never know
Execution is your only resoultion
So retrace your steps or face your death

It's the
Ill Pluster, Phesto Dee
O. Lindsey, T. Massey
So what you wanna be?
Us
Just peep the bump and thump
You ain't got no choice but throw yo hands up