Zealots (Fugees)

Another MC lose his life tonight, lord I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa I haunt MC's like Mephistophales Bringin swords and Damacles Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy Abstract raps simple with a street format Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax. Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation. I Feel like Rockwell, "Somebody's watching me" I got no privacy whether on land or at sea. And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit. It hurts don't it, the refugees come to your turf and take over the earth. See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes That can only get down with my crew And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes We'll show you how the refugees do. Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes Two MC's can't occupy the same space at the same time. It's against the laws of Physics. So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile Whether jew or gentile I rank top percentile, Many styles, More powerful than gamma rays My grammar pays, Like Carlos Sanatana plays Black Magic Woman So while you fuming, I'm consuming Mango juice under Polaris, You're just embarrassed Cause it's your "Last Tango in Paris" And even after all my logic and my theory, I add a muthaf**ker so you ignint niggas hear me. And you remember take notes, As I sow my rap otas And for you biting zealots, here's a quote. Another MC lose his life tonight, lord I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa You can try but you can't divide the tribe These cats can't rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe The magazine says the girl should have gone solo, The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo. Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start, For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp Do a cameo while everybody do the dance. Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka Playin' Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka. While you munchin at your luncheon, I'll be planning your assassination Then hit you like the Dutchmen I compress sound sets with my rap DBX Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEX Bring terror to the shop of horror, As she cries "Mi amor" The phantom dies in the opera And to the youngin's who carry gadgets And kill 6 days a week then on a sabbath. Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me Then get buried like the great Mussolini And for you bitin' Zealots Your rap styles are relics No matter who you damage You're still a false prophet. Another MC lose his life tonight, lord I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa