The B-Side

[Intro: Leschea] Two times for your mind. Masta Ace Incorporated, hitting with the B bass for your dome. I go by the name of Leschea. Rocking mad vocals for the INC. And this is how we do it from the B side [Verse 1: Masta Ace] Ain't nothing but the head rush funk to make your car jump Who go the bump when the tapes start to pump? It's the Incorporated, crew from eastbound It's that funky ass B bass sound so gather round Cause this is how we do it from the Brooklyn side Fix your weave, leave your guns in the ride And come on in, come on in, come on in, come on in And do bring a friend [Verse 2: Paula Perry] You get broke like English when you step to the P I'm letting niggas know when they trying to jack me Cause I come from the Fort where a nine can be bought As easy as a nickle bag of weed and a quart Mother punks With no inch heel tells me Pushing them ends to impress but they don't feel me Your gear is busted and your kicks is bum So I'm tempted to believe that you're rolling with none Bet you don't got more than five in your pocket Fronting like somebody want your broke ass, you need to stop it Head for the hills Cause you're now and when you see real nigs you get the chills [Hook: Paula Perry] This is how we do it from the Brooklyn side (Rolling, with the boom in the ride) This is how we do it from the Brooklyn side (Cruising, with the boom in the ride) This is how we do it from the Brooklyn side (Lounging, with the boom in the ride) This is how we do it from the Brooklyn side Right, right, right, right, right Ain't nothing like the B bass Ain't nothing like the Brooklyn bass Ain't nothing like the B bass Ain't nothing like the Brooklyn bass [Verse 3: Lord Digga] Any MC that want to come flex skills I can make 'em disappear like David Copperfield I'm in the mood For fucking niggas up It's the Crazy Drunken Style I got rum in my cup So bust a flow Joe Montana Black like a gorilla Pass the banana One day, I plan to have more gifts than Santa So bitches can Hawk me like I play for Atlanta Skip to my what? I'm not a fucking dancer Six foot one Black like a Panther And when it comes to mic's getting ripped I bust raps like 9's, 3/8th of 4/5ths To the dome Minds get blown I'm not the one to fuck with so leave me alone And come on in, come on in, come on in, come on in And do bring a friend [Verse 4: Masta Ace] I got the Funk like Doobie, you be, illing What you gonna be doing for that Rolex? Killing Tracks with the axe as I chop to the top Follow me and You know I just don't stop You can fool some of the people some of the time But nobody got a flow that's dumber than mine So keep on keeping on in that direction No protection when you come in my section The B bass is what we call it I'm bum rushing Flushing punks down the toilet So jump in your cruise and put it into fifth gear As we explode in ya ear Yeah [Hook]