The Lineup

[Verse 1: Wordsworth]

Yeah, yo, class is in session

I'm in the lunchroom, what a connection to have

"Who's the best?" – there’s a such thing as dumb question to ask

Words, I'm on the Dean's List (Why?)

You got to be serious

For cats that missed gym and missed the regents to see me spit

Teachers don't check or edit

They check your head and read it

Got extra credit—read off the teacher's pet to get it

Dump your trays, so we can just bang for these beats

It's so crowded, people sitting on the table for seats

Students ain't returning to class or concerned if they pass (Why?)

Because they learning more from me than they learn from they class

Rhymes in my mind, plus my binder—know where to find us

The picture won't even wind up, 'cause if I line up...

[Verse 2: C-Rayz Walz]

Another face in the line-up—unusual suspect

The angel bang you

Change your square, rectangle

My mouth is a gun, known to blast crews

I stay spitting like Chinese dudes in fast food

We come through with skills, kill the many raw

Now give me mines, for real, like guilds with Freddy claws

And catch another line punch from the buttercrunch (Line drawn)

Brother shine funk, sound the gutter, grind drunk (Wreck us)

Cold fool, bash crews, take they boombox

With dynamite sticks in my hand and "boom!" box

Explosive and I'm only igniting—trust me

Nobody wants this, like diarrhea—why you fighting?

[Verse 3: J-Treds]

These are my school days—J killin' it, tainted Kool-Aid

And dues paid, came in mastering my tools of the trade

Ain't cool that the game's cruel and the rules are the same

But my love of spittin' fire's what fuels the flame

This played fool tryna play fool, so either upgrade

Or get treated the free-lunch way (Eat 'em up, J)

'Cause when there's pangs in my stomach, you gon' see the fangs coming

With the fangs comes the beast—that's the change a-coming

'Cause we the freestyle authors, with a free trial offer

You want a piece? You want to see your child in fosters?

Well, we advice caution, 'cause we a dream sequence

"The Lineup" – we awesome, illest team defense

[Verse 4: Thirstin Howl III]

Got my own lunch table, I don't go to this school

Even teachers raise they hands to talk to the dude

School guards act hard — still 'nuff shook

They know my book bag full of everything but books

Walk the halls with my shorty, drinking a 40

The dean could've caught me, but I heard the walkie-talkie

Absent every day, considered a truant

In a class by myself for spitting this music

Pencils kept sharp, ink pen weapons

Rambo, radio – Melle Mel "Message"

Twelve semesters uncompleted, hundred reasons

I'll never be shit? Then we shall see, bitch

[Verse 5: Vast Aire]

I cut class like I like swords (Swing!)

If you ain't hard like the boulevard, erase your boards

Hesitate and get sent to the void

(But if survives) Man, he caught the keloid

First of all, you's a wind-up toy

I don't battle MCs — I kill androids

Teacher said, "You too loose in the head –

You don't get a graham cracker, you go straight to bed

Play time's over, go straight to special ed" (Fuck)

"Play with Simon, do as he says"

Professor X taught me best

How to levitate SP-12's at recess

"The Lineup" – yo

[Verse 6: Breezly Brewin]

Aiyyo, check my phonics

Fo' sho' get demonic

All crazed, I'm all day— get all A's in hoes economics

I blast rhymes, it's on, and some chicks want mine

Some Fast Times, some Sean Penn at Ridgemont High

Tell 'em you're fresh man like Carmelo (Carmelo)

We the super seniors — you get souped, you see us

Vote for yours, get strong, eat your veggies

And get beat, the wedgie — you learn your turn

You're over, lost in thorns

Then you're real queer, so you get so weak

You're meek, on some 'male cheerleader that won't sneak a peek'

I can't respect it — see, my peeps are rep-to-death kids

I'm effervescent — heads, I give a "F" for effort

[Verse 7: MF DOOM]

Who could turn a study hall into a bloody brawl

When they get it twisted, like the funnies on a Silly Putty ball?

Ask not about the dome steam, the mask is hot

And he's not human, or your home team mascot

Ras clot, how them fools sound?

The twelfth-grade dropout who trespass on school grounds

Giving back and for the kids like Nickelodeon

Who mainly pay me; fill out a app for custodian

With his record, that's the only job of hire

Way before the metal detectors and barbed wire

Supposed to have graduated with the bunch of '89

They hated; he made 'em wait on the lunch lady line

Told us, "You better stop or her head'll pop"

The only class he ever passed was metal shop

It's where he used to practice his tactics to spit oil

Don't drink the milk—the shit's spoiled