Ain't U Da Masta Lyrics - Slaughtahouse - Masta Ace Incorporated

Here come the jams, yo punks, guard your domes 

It's the man with the mad new styles and funky poems 

So strike one, strike two, strike three, you're out 

Of luck, jack, fuck that, grab your nuts and shout 

(ain't you the masta? ) yep, I've always been 

And then, I'm a stab a fucking critic with his pen 

So write that, put that in your magazine and stick it 

I'm wicked, just like a witch when I kick it 

So break out your charts and scales and try to rate me 

Give me a one, son, yep I hope you hate me 

Cause I'm a keep on bringing it, I'm swinging it 

Sharp like glass til your punk ass is swinging it 

Riff-raff, your whole damn staff I have to cut up 

I drop bombs, I'm fatter than your moms, so what up? 

I come from the planet of raps on, oh yeah 

Beam me up steady, there's no skills down here 

So there, you little punk sitting in your chair 

Soon you're gonna know the score kids, I swear 

(ain't you the masta? ) yep, I'm the masta (repeat 4x) 

I hits you hard kids, you're barred from the mic and 

Rhymes kick like pele, rough like a dyke and 

Praise me, masta, off beat, the healer 

Rap style's deisel like an 18-wheeler 

So get that weak style out of my path 

I'm turbo, I drop lines long like nostran ave. 

So danger, I'm burning from monday to sunday 

I'm hot like some niggas 10 deep in a hyndai 

So make way, I drop mad heavy like the fridge 

I'm sacking, you're wack and you're over like the bridge 

This little rabbit tried to diss me, but fuck it 

I got duckets, one day that rabbit kicks the bucket 

You know (I know) you know (I know) 

You know, you know, well yo follow where I go 

Jane, stop this crazy thing if I sing 

Some love shit and dress mad fly, I'd be the king 

And be seen on the covers of like 27 books 

But I'm too proud to beg, so suck this, you crooks 

You're only as good as your last jam, it's true 

Your shit's new, everybody wants an interview 

But then, oh how quick they forget 

With no hit, they like "who's that? " they full of shit 

And straight up, my patience is starting to wear short 

I'm gonna land blows like your head was an airport 

Say cheese you theif, let me see your teeth 

Cause I'm ultra-magnetic, magnetic like kool keith 

So abra, cadabra, presto and change-o 

The off-beat, on-beat style is kinda strange yo 

It dops here, it drops there, it's off then it's on 

To the breaka, to the breaka, to the breaka of umm dawn 

Here I come with bones by the sack for 

Spraypaint, I tage my f-ing name on your back, punk 

(ain't you the masta? ) yep, I'm the masta (repeat 4x)