The Score Lyrics
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The Score Lyrics
Buy album CD: Greatest Hits
Look into the rhyme
Rum to the ripple
But at times I come in triple.
Blaow, blaow put the heater to your head
Now your dead.
Wyclef don't give a *beep* if your dead.
Let me attack just like the black cat
You in the wrong neighborhood, check the map.
Hooo, you've got to go for backup
To do what you gotta do.
So you'll be back with France CU
Traitor in your crew is mafo heat
Put the poison in your tea
And kill the toad, But I'll be back with the centipede
I'm on some new technique, drunken bamboo
Awoo hoo a hoo, I'm taking all crews what.
Competition, stimulation for the rap man
Losers check your tooters
While I'm suckin' on your girls hooters.
Don't play macho, while you got the gun
Cause if you got to reload . . .
Wyclef the multi-talented
Average heads can't handle it
I'll bring it to you live
Only if you want it.
Me and my guitar go back like the days of the RMC's
[C'mon check out my melody]
The W-Y-C-L-E-F, Wyclef
Through any contest
Still keep it real, if you will and manifest
Through your skills, not by how many shells you peel.
I'm a bring down the ruckus
Play the nutcracker
Rough-neck rednecks make me no bother
Time after time, ask Cyndi Lauper,
Boss, you don't want to fuckk with my partners
Motion, commotion, what's your proposal
Uphold two-fold, the crew is disposal
Like utensil, false idental,
I autograph my lyrics with a number 2 pencil
I'm the L, Won't you pull it
Straight to the head
With the speed of a bullet
Cuttin' jokers off at the meeky-freeky gullet
Lyrical sedative, keep niggas medative
Head rushers I give to creative kids and fiends
Dreams of euphoria,
To another galaxy
Be this microphone, but get lifted
Lyrically I'm gifted
Burn on in without the roach clip (it)
So frequently your nerve endings belong to me
Wrongfully you put me down not receiving the full capacity of my smoke
Wack niggas choke
From the fumes that I emote,
Or emit shit
See even I feel the mahogany L
Turning boys to men again
With estrogen dreams
Release blues, yellows and greens
From Brownsville to Queens
I creep like a theif, no doubt the man's swift
I'm more magnificent than Lee Van Cliff
You stand stiff and got the nerve to let your man riff
[We know where to run]
And start flakin' like dandruff.
C'mon son my steelo's tight
Cause by far I'm the best producer on the mic
On the right, analytical conceptions
With precision and leave lyrical incisions.
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