Lyrical Wizardry lyrics

by

Slick Rick


[Verse 1: Kleptomaniac]
Lyrical wizardry dances on MC's like Murray on SC's
Never flaunt, now motherf*ckers come test me
Burnin' everybody hotter than torches at Jamaican parties
Far from angels, n*ggas can't see me like Charlie
Style weak? Hardly!
Don't let the wacked pursue you like Marley
JM clique moves in packs like whities on Harleys
n*ggas get injured, f*cked do' in 40 fingers
Got b*tches by bike-by, bussin' Glocks off a' ninjas
Klep don't give three sh*ts to flip scripts
Dismiss bullets from clips, leave n*ggas rollin' up skateboards
Wit nuttin' under they hips, b*tch, so if you test me
sh*t gets messy, bustin' .38 speci
Outta paper bags like Joe Pesci
Yo, you know the tune
Make sure b*tches don't eat
When it's time to sh*t out them coke balloons
Bocked up the ninja when it got shady, now I got grown ladies
Bustin' .380's outta E Class Mercedes

[Interlude]
Hurry the f*ck up b*tch, get on!
(f*ck you motherf*cker let me out this L)
There they go right there, dot them n*ggas
(Motherf*ckers!! )
[Gun shots]
[Verse 2: Kleptomaniac]
MC's get cut like glass, cut like class
Rag tagged and crash, hemp bags, come save dat ass
Who wanna get broke the f*ck up? Tell me!
Freakin' vocabulary like Chinese and spellin' bees
T-P-E-L-K held to reflect a device-es
The nicest, Jesus Christ it's
Junior Mafioso, n*ggas get torn off head to torso
Bullets evacuated out windows
From Heckler and Koch, P7 inmates
Extra .380 on a string 'round my neck 'cause Feds check the waist
No time to waste, grab the loot and escape before next break
Heads are clockin', private eyes are watchin'
n*gga caught up in the hustle
f*ck flippin' packages and tyin' up, minx and rings I bubble
Trouble's what I look for in stores on expensive floors
Beelin' boots is essence, bookin' Pelle's in my drawers
Armani, Gianni Versace, V2
Lost count o' all the little sections me and mans ran through
It ain't hard to discard cans of mace on guards
Leave them b*tch ass n*ggas screamin' like a f*ckin retard
Lyrically, I come off like ink alarms
Got styles under the wing like spread is booked under my arms
n*ggas couldn't see me with closed circuit TV
Tryin' to peep my steez, like DT's I get over like I'm fifteen
[Interlude]
(Hey, you're not fifteen)
I'm fifteen, what?
(What do you think we are? as*h*les or somethin'?)
f*ck you! Soundin' like that n*gga from Night Court
Loose my cuffs I'm outta here!

[Verse 3: Kleptomaniac]
MC's be fake like toupes so I transplant
Implant my fist to their face makin' their skin raise
Soundwaves disrupted, they f*cked kid!
Earholes, blood erupted, but that ain't nuttin'
The best is yet to come
MC's get strung like heads on drums
They don't be knowin' what I'm knowin'
Flowin' like I'm flowin'
Makin' motherf*ckers take nose dives like 747 Boeings
Obnoxious, beef-squashers, face-to-face
n*ggas get wet up like galoshes on Klep's place
Due to hard times sayin' prayers committin' crimes
Sick minds don't care, rockin' parties from front to rear
Brains engulfed by ferocious thoughts, it's on!
Runnin' up on Big with Lex with napkins doused with chloroform
Livin' in a world where you do what you must
If preachers be robbin' n*ggas, who the f*ck can you trust?
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