N.T.

[Verse 1: Q-Tip]

For real though, who really got sick flow?

On the edge, not the ledge hangin' out of the window

Bird chest niggas with ya wind of this fear rap

Fuck around you'll be minced meat inside of a meal sack

Puny little punks better hit the gym

But that doesn't mean nothin' to the heart within

You cramped up, you and your team, I'm amped up

And you asses can't dim my beam

My shine what the fuck is on your mind?

Little weakling rappers better hit the grind

Other brothers ain't motivated, they can't do it

Not only did I penetrate it, I ran through it

My music comes on and we mosh at the dance

Inside of your mind or you're inside of my pants

Musical intentions that we have is vast

You sick? Drink a NyQuil, well, I'm bed on your ass

Oh well then here comes the gelatin

Tip's on some shit is what you yap on your cell to friends

Now your party is completely blown

Real name is Kamaal, I'm in "complete me" zone

It's rap time, for you, that means nap time

Reachin for my joint? What the fuck, I'mma clap mine

Singin songs of sixpence, you sit tensed

Surprised your ass at the end like The Sixth Sense

Heavy hitters knocking shit out the park

You didn't even really play, tell me why did you start

Spittin' sharp blades laced with bleach

You wanna play around, kid? I'm not a walk at the beach

A stroll in the park or your fuckin' playground

Put on your headphones, tell me how grenades sound

Put on your walk face and go underneath the town

Q-Tip, Abstract how I gets down

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes (Q-Tip)]

All my bitches, dance if you know that you damn sure

Let your pussy drip on the dance floor if you wanna

(Get down)

Fuck that niggas will bust gats

Better lit a make for their rush that cuz they wanna

(Get down)

Flip shit, piano sick shit

(Get down)

Chill you can get off my dick and

(Get down, get down)

While I'm on the hook get on your good foot

And blow up the spot for all of you niggas cuz that's how we

(Get down)

[Verse 2: Q-Tip]

Comin with the brand new quickly we pan to

The young black man with intentions to ban you

Seems that people need an aid today

So many fade away, so many fiend to stay

I really rhyme cuz I feel I should say things

While the fraudulent act rap just so they cop rings

Or maybe because when they was young

They was fronted on and left alone to have their own fun

Now they're all grown up to be assholes

I'm giving you the rope, will you tie it to lassos?

You swing dangling from peach trees

While I sip my Daiquiris in the Southwest breeze

Writings so exciting the pen it keeps

Drippin out jings that's converted to hymns and then

People be hummin it from now to their next of kin

My family is starving? You know they want me to win

Me, forfeit? Nigga, please get off it

Send the check in my name to my office

Mutombo in the lane, yo, I toss it

Abstract comin through, witness the bomb shit