Zealots Lyrics - The Score - The Fugees

Another MC lose his life tonight, Lord 

I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why 

Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa 

I haunt MCs like Mephistopheles, bringing swords of Damocles 

Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy 

Abstract raps simple with a street format 

Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax 

Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion 

Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation 

I feel like Rockwell, somebody's watching me 

I got no privacy whether on land or at sea 

And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic 

Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit 

It hurts don't it, a refugee come to your turf 

And take over the earth 

See my rhymes, are the type of fly rhymes 

That can only get down with my crew 

And if you try, to take lines or bite rhymes 

We'll show you how the refugees do 

Yeah, yeah behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes 

Two MCs can't occupy the same space at the same time 

It's against the laws of physics 

So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics 

Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile 

Whether Jew or gentile, I rank top percentile 

Many styles, more powerful than gamma rays 

My grammar pays, like Carlos Santana plays "Black Magic Woman" 

So while you fuming, I'm consuming mango juice under Polaris 

You just embarrassed cause it's your last tango in Paris 

And even after all my logic and my theory 

I add a "Motherfucker" so you ignant niggas hear me 

Crew remember take notes, as I sow my rap oats 

And for you biting zealots, here's a quote 

Another MC lose his life tonight, Lord 

I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why 

Oh Lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa 

You can try but you can't divide the tribe 

These cats can't rap, mister author I feel no Vibe 

The magazine says the girl should have went solo 

The guys should stop rapping - vanish like Menudo 

Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part 

As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start 

For me to get my chance, grab my pen and revamp 

Do a cameo while everybody do the dance 

Quick now, cause you running out of luck-a 

Playing Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka 

While you munching at your luncheon 

I'll be planning your assassination, then hit you like the Dutchman 

I compress sound sets with my rap DBX 

Then drop vocals on my 456 Ampex 

Bring terror to the shop of horror 

As she cry, "mi amor," the phantom dies in the opera 

And to the younguns who carry gadgets 

And kill six days a week, then rest on the Sabbath 

Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me 

Then get buried like the great Mussolini 

And for you biting zealots, your rap styles are relics 

No matter who you damage, you're still a false prophet