Crumbs On The Table Lyrics - Singles - D-nice

(Is that a turntable? Well get on it, it's your turn) 

Who gets laid, the chicken or the egg? 

How about the MC that has just been led 

To a renegade teacher, preacher then he got stomped 

Cause I'm a feature straight from the Bronx 

Productions, better known as Boogie Down 

If I was a king right now I'd get crowned 

The Nice is a teacher, not a prince or a rap lord 

I even write my rhymes on a blackboard 

To get specific, and probably make you understand 

What makes the 808 plan 

It's simple, I'm a round it off like this 

That's how many stupid MC's I've dissed 

But if the commence to try me I won't buy it 

I'll look them up and down and I'll say "Don't even try it" 

Cause I can go on and on without breathing 

The TR, another form of BDP-eating 

MC's like Chunky, moving real bluntly 

Shaking and baking MC's like a junky 

Fiending, hitting MC's like they was cocaine 

Calling them John Doe, meaning they have no name 

I'll spin you like a quarter, drink you like water 

Hit below the belt with things you never thought of 

I lay down the law that I am a slaughter 

I roll like a tital wave, so you oughta 

Float like a sailboat, move like a speedboat 

In water, now watch you soak 

Into a rhyme of mine until you hit the bottom 

It's heavy like an anchor, it's no problem 

For me to just bake you, eat you like a cookie 

I am a profressional, boy, you're just a rookie 

I'm here to sing a song, but some are not able 

Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table 

Related 

Match These Taylor Swift Songs to Her Ex-Boyfriends 

Love Stinks, So Here Are 15 Anti-Valentine's Day Songs 

Modern Love: The Best Top 40 Love Songs For Valentine's Day 

In my prime, more vocal than I've ever been 

I'm not an amateur, sort of like a veteran 

Split from the bums, arriving from a long trip 

Now I'm back to just cold rip 

MC's like confetti, eat 'em like spaghetti 

I chill for a year and yet I'm still ready 

To house MC's, sink 'em like a boat will 

I roll heavy, thick like oatmeal 

So now you know the 808 is showing 

I do damage in just one moment 

Here's a little message to those who want to hang out 

Just remember that I give pain out 

The TR-808 relates to a terrorizer 

Never hiding, clever always memorizing 

Poetry, history, math, or even paragraphs 

I'm not into b-boying, just hoeing 

Showing, blowing MC's like the wind does 

I might lay you, sort of like a hen does 

Cause your rhymes are weak and unstable 

Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table 

Photos 

You must think, before you even get soup 

I'll put you on the corner and sell you like a prostitute 

Like a street whore, make you want more and more 

Move you to the side, up and down like a seesaw 

Pulling out a gun is uncalled for 

But I'm with it, so go for yours 

You may even try to diss, but I call it flattery 

I pack more volts than a Duracell battery 

Charging MC's, smooth like the breeze 

Scott made me funky, yo, that was one theme 

Or topic, showing I be rocking 

Every little city I play I leave a heat wave 

Burning up the industry, never try to get with me 

I'm the type of person that never needs rehearsing 

Just a little sex, a six pack of Beck's 

And my room to move about, and a Guiness Stout 

To make me feel able, chilling, and stable 

Sometimes I'm on the mic, sometimes I'm on the turntable 

I'm superb, sort of like herb 

A man of my word and I've never been served!