The Mic's My Piece Lyrics - Maestro Fresh Wes

** intro/skit skipped ** 

[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