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