[*scratched* "Tribe Called Quest"]
[Verse 1: Q-Tip]
Listen up everybody, the bottom line
I'm a Vlack intellect, but unrefined
With precision like a bullet, target bound
Just living like a hooker, the harlot sounds
Now, when I say the harlot, you know I mean the hot
Heat of the equator, the broth that's in the pot
Jalick, Jalick ya wind up ya hip
Drafting of the poets, I'm the number 7 pick
Licks licks licks boy pon your backside
Licks licks licks boy pon your backside
Listen to the fader, Shaheed lets it glide
Tip the earthly body, heaven's on my side
Even in Santo Domingo when I got a Gringo
We got mics, when do we go?
Know a little nigga who can rhyme when you ask me
Short, dark, and plus his voice is raspy
[Verse 2: Phife Dawg]
One for the treble, two for the bass
You know the style, Tip, it's time to flip this
I like my beats hard like two day old shit
Steady eating booty MCs like cheese grits
My man Al B. Sure, he's in effect mode
Used to have a crush on Dawn from En Vogue
It's not like honey dip would wanna get with me
But just in case I own more condoms than TLC
Now the formula is this: me, Tip, and Ali
For those who can't count it goes one, two, three
The anti batty boy, big up is who I be
Brothers find this hard to do but never me
Some brothers try to diss but Malik, you see 'em bitchin'
Me no care about them dibby MC, my shit is hittin'
Trini gladiator, anti-hesitater
Shaheed push the fader from here to Grenada
Mr. Energetic, who me, sound pathetic?
When's the last time you heard a funky diabetic?
(I don't know man, I don't know man, I don't know man)
(I don't know, I don't know)
[*scratched* "Tribe Called Quest"]
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
[Verse 3: Q-Tip]
Complementary are we, the three for poetry
I got a humdinger coming hook line and sinker
The Timbo hoofs with the prints on the ground
Timbos on the toes, I like the way it's going down
Down like a lady of the evening
When it goes in Toots just believe it's in
'Cause Queens is the county, Jamaica is the place
Take off your cleats 'cause you can't run the race
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
Oh my God, yes, oh my God
[*scratched* "Tribe Called Quest"]
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