[Verse 1: Buckshot]
Put up – what up? Bo! Bo! Bo!
Suckers wanna flow, but they got no show
So, I'ma grab the mic, flip a script and leave ya stunned
Buckshot's the one that gets the job done
Mic check, I get paid to wreck ya set
Get ready and jet, 'cause I'm a threat to your fret
No holds barred, incomplete move fakers
Best to play the back and watch your girl, I might take her
If she's a crab, I'ma diss her, then slide
If she try to riff, I got my Smith on my side
Word to God, here I come, so make–way
Rugged and raw, killin' your set every day
Microphone check, one, two, here we go
And I'ma let you know–who got the flow
Spitting my verbs like an automatic weapon
Suckers, keep steppin' – 'cause I'ma let you know
[Chorus: Black Moon, ('Wild Style' sample scratched by Evil Dee)]
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
[Verse 2: Buckshot]
One Mississippi, two Mississippi
Sucker tried to diss me, so I played him like a hippie from the 60s
But I'ma get paid from the 90s
Quick to play you Little Rascals out like Stymie
Kickin' flavor with my Life Saver techniques
Guaranteed to move feets, and I'll go on for weeks
Maybe years, if my peers give me ears to fill
Lick off a shot and act ill, parlay, then chill
See, I've paid my dues, now you can't tell me nothing
This is dedicated to the ones who kept frontin'
The ones who tried to diss and pose high? Ohh, no!
Just 'cause you had 'Lo? See, now I got dough
And I'm paid out my rectum, meaning my backbone
Grab the mic, flip a mad script to your dome
Suckers, I kick 'em like Tae Kwon Do
Guess and 'Lo, from head to toe, to let you know
[Chorus: Black Moon, ('Wild Style' sample scratched by Evil Dee)]
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
[Verse 3: Buckshot]
I'm the rugged operator, like Arnold Schwarzenegger
Buckshot quick to play a nigga like Sega
Smooth trigger-happy, snappy, keep my hair nappy
When I swing an ep', girls call me 'Big Pappy'
I used to play a game called 'Ring Around The Rosey'
But now I play the mic, that's why the whole world knows me
I'm sort of like a Chevy, heavy when I bumrush
You'd better bring your whole damn crew, or get your head crushed – sucka
'Cause I'ma set it off with one shot
One trigger, one nigga, 'nough heads drop
Don't even try to play me out, cause static
Buckshot Shorty – he sounds like an automatic
Rip the set, my threads mad tight
'Cause I rocks the mic and keeps the crowd hype
Straight from Bumrush, I crush and cause chaos, yo
And I'ma let you know
[Chorus: Black Moon, ('Wild Style' sample scratched by Evil Dee)]
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
[Verse 4: Buckshot]
One, two, melodies chosen
Before I flip a script, you know I must kick ya doors in
Into the stage of the Buckshot Shorty
Son, pass the boom, keep the top on a 40
Never ever ever get played – kill that!
Bust a mad cap in your back, 'cause I'm all that
Straight from Crooklyn, better known as Brooklyn
E. loop the hook in – your whole beat's took'n
Must take charge, Bogart – I'm the man
Bust my plan, and feeds back all my fan
Muss-out crews, pay dues, I never lose
When I break off fools – wake up, yo, don't snooze
Bust a move, I get smooth like rowie
Kickin' like the Four Horsemen – yeah, you know me
Boomin' like a speaker with my hundred-dollar sneakers
Baggy black jeans, knapsack, and my beeper
Keep a fresh cut, never see me with a busted 'fro
And I'ma let you know...
[Chorus: Black Moon, ('Wild Style' sample scratched by Evil Dee)]
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
Who got the props? ("C'mon!")
5.F.T., Evil Dee, and Buckshot! ("C'mon!")
[Outro]
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah
We just wanna let you all–y'all know who got the props!
Yeah! Yeah! Check it out, check it out, check it out, check it out, yo –
Chuck Chillout – yes, he gots the props!
Red Alert – yes, he gots the props!
Kid Capri – yes, he got the props!
Awesome Two – yes, they gots the props!
Bobbito – yes, he gots the props!
Stretch Armstrong – yes, he gots the props!
Beatminerz – yes, they gots the props!
The whole fam – yes, they gots the props!
Yeah! That's right! We got the props, yeah!
My man Rock on the ave... F.A.P. in full effect! Representin'!
Yeah, that's my right! My man Evil Dee!
My man Mick! In effect! My man Kev! Flex!
Represent, y'all! Yeah...
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