D. Original (Jeru the Damaja)

Dirty rotten scoundrel that's what I'm called on the street Could connive and cheat but rarely get beat Ya see I'm streetwise a con game pro Kickin the Bobby bullshit too smart for Willie Bobo Not stressin five o hot hand in celo Live in the land of crooks yes Brooklyn's the borough Homicide central East New York Where the manic depressive psycho murderers stalk Walk like a ninja, on the asphalt Here talk is cheap, you're outlined in chalk And there's more hardtimes, than on Good Times And most niggaz dedicate their life to crime So I'm steady schemin, won't work for a dime Used to get, tax free loot, all the time Type slick can't fess on 'Ru, because Before trains were graffiti proof I used to get loose Dirty rotten since the days of the deuce Dirty, because of the skin I'm in The fact I have melanin automatically makes me a felon Even though I'm righteous, rotten's what you're yellin But I'm not chain-snatchin, or drug-sellin According to your books you said I would be damned like Ham Scoundrel opposite of the king that I am But wanna get funny, we can get bummy Take you to the East and back again money Filthy putrified trick, step past your sister Challenge the Damaja, and you'll be history Mortal Kombat fatality, the original don't sing no R&B Nasty MC deity Chop off domes with the poems that come out of my pin-eal gland, as I expand, you know who I am Father of all stylin, I be whylin on wax We hack shit up like big ax and little ax Don't need tokes to make you jump like bungee Tracks real muddy, like Brooklyn's real grungy When I come through I clog up your sewer Peep the maneuveur, drop the ill manure So bring Mr. Clean, Drano, and Roto Rooter No matter what you do, you can't get through the Crud that comes out of your system You're another victim, of dirty rotten Dirt up, in your grill, so what ya gonna do But pay homage to