School's In

[Intro] Welcome To the voice response registration system Of True School University Representing universally You have added Hip hop ethics One two zero For those that don't know School's in [Verse 1] Who got the nerve ta Write a jam that you can swerve ta Over tracks so fat, the nickname, Big Bertha It's probably the kid that half the crews have never hearda Whose mind travels further Than sex, drugs, and murder So when you play the role of the timeless inserter I'm sorry if you're 85 and you would have preferred a Album full of ignorance The place is an experience Before the reasons why For the sake of sounding fly, but I Grade your style without the curve Cause you don't deserve to Receive the grade that might let you build up the nerve to Bite the rhyme that feeds you I need you to listen My words are whet with crystal-clear wisdom so they glisten And I fill in the blanks for all the answers that you're missing I'm rolling with the mongoose, cause snakes is steady hissing To expose my flaws like salt in sores Since they cannot be reformed I simply kill 'em by the fours So in other words, nah man, skip the explanation See that what the rewind's for, so be patient Cause this is the direction that my pen should be draggin' To transform your dollar cabs into bandwagons [Chorus] J-Live with the mic is like a chef with a blade No doubt, man I cut ya like lumber J-Live with the mic is like a chef with a blade No doubt, man I cut ya like lumber [Verse 2] You see somewhere in between the old school and the new school A master of the next school Came to teach the now school Cause business class was steady playing old tricks on new fools So everybody rocks jewels, but can't nobody drop jewels One-track-minded, blinded, thinking only pop's cool Supply & demand rules, replaced by A&R rules A scholar of the next school Who wasn't trying to hear that So principals and teachers abroad began to fear that "If this guy makes an impact on the students that we play They'll end up having way too much control over their grades!" See grades will equal status for power, so just like college You're so caught up in letter grades, you skip the 'F'ing knowledge See that's how music knowledge switch from listener to maker And that's why music maker switch from listener to faker So when the listener graduates to be an artist You still enslaved by the principles because they're heartless First they make you imitate another man's skill Now you use your power for another man's will Move the crowd's mental when they tell you sit still Move the crowds pockets instead to get the bread Yeah that's what the students gather from what the principal said They make you think the world bleeds green instead of read But class is in session now so all that stuff is dead I'm coming through with knowledge and wisdom to fill your head [Chorus] J-Live with the mic is like a chef with a blade No doubt, man I cut ya like lumber J-Live with the mic is like a chef with a blade No doubt, man I cut ya like lumber J-Live with the mic is like a chef with a blade No doubt, man I cut ya like lumber [Verse 3] "now wait a minute What the hell does chopping trees have to do with culinary?" That's the spirit kid, analyse the lyric From the moment that you hear it, see, cause most don't have the skill to Utilize their ears' function as a garbage filter So their brain gets clogged and congested By the time and the effort that's invested in illusion And by the time's definition of reality By the time you get the facts, they're outnumbered in confusion So I come, to get shit off my chest and up in you And I come, to make you feel at home with your power And I come, to plant seeds of responsibility Cause I come, harder than a sleepless cold shower Refining and refreshing Reprimanding those who claim they're representing by demanding clarity Cause when a mouthfull don't equal an eyeful, an earful sound awful At least that's how it seems to me So I lead by example in my sound-proof room And the comp gets trampled on my wack-proof stage And my answers be ample in the packed classroom Cause my thoughts are reflected on an ink-filled page