Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: People's Instinctive Travels And The Paths of Rhythm Song: I Left My Wallet in El Segundo My mother went away for a month-long trip Her and some friends on an ocean-liner ship She made a big mistake by leaving me home I had to roam so I picked up the phone Dialed Ali up to see what was going down Told him I pick him up so we could drive around Took the Dodge Dart, a '74 My mother left a yard but I needed one more Shaheed had me covered with a hundred greenbacks So we left Brooklyn and we made big tracks drove down the Belt, got on the Conduit Came to a toll, we paid and went through it Had no destination, we was on a quest Ali laid in the back so he could get rest Drove down the road for two-days-and-a-half The sun had just risen on a dusty path Just then a figure had caught my eye A man with a sombrero who was four feet high I pulled over to ask were we was at His index finger he tipped up his hat "El Segundo," he said, "my name is Pedro If you need directions, I'll tell you pronto" Needed civilization, some sort of reservation He said a mile south, there's a fast food station Thanks, senor, as I start up the motor Ali said, "Damn, Tip, why you drive so far for?" (Well describe to me what the wallet looks like) Anyway a gas station we passed We got gas and went on to get grub It was a nice little pub in the middle of nowhere Anywhere would have been better I ordered enchiladas and I ate 'em Ali had the fruit punch When we finished we thought for ways to get back I had a hunch Ali said, "Pay for lunch" So I did it Pulled out the wallet and I saw this wicked beautiful lady She was a waitress there Put the wallet down and stared and stared To put me back into reality, here's Shaheed: "Yo, Tip, man, you got what you need?" I checked for keys and started to step What do you know, my wallet I forget Yo, it was a brown wallet, it had props numbers Had my jimmy hats I got to get it man Lord, have mercy The heat got hotter, Ali stars to curse me I fell bad but he makes me feel badder Chit-chit-chatter, car stars to scatter Breaking on out, we was Northeast bound Jettin' on down at the seepd of sound Three days coming and three more going We get back and there was no slack 490 Madison, we're here, Sha He said, "All right, Tip, see you tomorrow" Thinking about the past week, the last week Hands go in my pocket, I can't speak Hopped in the car and torpe'ed to the shack Of Shaheed, "We gotta go back" when he said "Why?" I said, "We gotta go 'Cause I left my wallet in El Segundo" Yeah, I left my wallet in El Segundo Left my wallet in El Segundo Left my wallet in El Segundo I gotta get, I got-got ta get it Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Beats, Rhymes, and Life Song: The Hop (Q-Tip) Yea, move your body, decide to party 'Bout to bring it to you kid like we never ever did My nigga Al G in it, my nigga Shaheed in it We got the girl Kristine in it, got my man Big G in it Hey, yo, inside the ghetto or in a sunny meadow I'ma make you move whether woman or fellow Yo, I got the medals in the warfield of respect Like an ill porno make ya body get wet Just a ghetto child trying to live a straight and narrow Hoping that my shit will pierce your dome like an arrow I'm sure it will, especially if it's God's will MC's you ready to die cuz I'ma kill All you negative feelings standing on two feet While I make the hotties move to the hip-hop beat You know what's really killer, realer than you can imagine Using every source of pain in my range to make it happen If I make it happen, that means I'm making motion And I'm doing my thing causing an ill commotion Everybody do the hop, niggaz soothe like lotion I lay up in the piece or an incognotion You gotta do the hop then move to the beat, you don't stop Now everybody here, you do the hop You going up to cop, a town full of brick, don't stop You gotta come back and do the hop Yo, fuk the cop, you gotta come back and do the hop Move till your body won't stop You gotta do the hop, nonstop motion, nonstop You gotta come back and do the, do the (Phife) You see you, your career is done like Johnny Carson's Get me vexed, I do like Left Eye, I'll start an arson Now that I got that out my system Watch me stab up the track as if my name was OJ Simpson I packs it in like Van Halen I work for mine, you, you're freeloading like Kato Kaelin I'm representing wit my crew Mess around, bite my rhymes, I beat that ass wit my shoes C'mon, you know I'm crazy nice (nice, nice) Brothers can't deal wit this shorty named Phife You must be mad in the head I bust his ass and leave 'em bloodclot for dead Niggaz sound like Das EFX If it ain't Das EFX, then they sounding like Meth You might as well do Megadeth Yo, punk MC's better save your freaking breath You'se a corny muthafuka You must be high smoking dust wit Chris Tucker You ------asses don't want this I pull more beeps than the beep at the premier of Pocohantas Word is born, I am the baddest And all you honies out there, word is born, you know my status So come and pull your panties down This ain't no Barnum and Bailey show, I don't get down wit the clowns So why don't you and your friends, get wit me and my friends But don't bring your ass buying you ain't got no ends Word is born, it don't stop(stop,stop,stop...) Just ease your mind, come along and do the hop (Q-Tip) You gotta do the hop, you move to the beat, you don't stop Come on everybody, do the hop Even if you a cop, you gotta come back and do the hop You move to the beat, you don't stop You smoking jub rocks, you gotta just stop and do the hop Then you come back and do the hop You know we don't stop, we on the ghetto, rise on the top You know we come back and do the hop Shorties in the place, all the shorty rocks, do the hop You gotta come back and do the hop We never go on pop, you know we come back, we do the hop This is how it is, we do the hop You move to the beat, then come on everybody, don't.... Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Beats, Rhymes, and Life Song: Phony Rappers Intro: Kamaal (Q-Tip) Phony rappers who do not write Phony rappers who do not excite Phony rappers, check it out, aight Verse One: Kamaal (Q-Tip) Yo, I was riding the train And this Puerto Rican kid said simple and plain Let's battle It kinda took me by surprised Cuz the brother was moving wit his eyes on the prize I said screw it, I ain't got nuttin to lose but um But I got to do this shit real quick so um Hurry up kid, bust your joints and then I'll bust mine And I be out cuz I got to see this hottie, he said ok Now check it, check it out, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, that's what he said Then I came back and just fucked up his head Cuz yo, he thought an MC who was seen on TV Couldn't hold the shit down in New York City Aiyyo, I showed his ass, then I went off on my task To bless her ass Uptown, real MC's will hold it down Yea, yea, sonny, to the beat like that You wanna bring it to me, where you at Verse Two: Phife Dawg Yes, dread, I had a similiar situation When this kid tried to tell me I didn't deserve my occupation He said I wasn't shit that I was soon to fall I looked him up and down, grab my crotch and said balls Of course he tried to bring it on the battling tip Ay, you know me, you know I had to come out my shit Trying to lounge at the mall, meet Skef and Mr Walton Finally I banged his ass wit the verbal assault He said a rhyme about his .45 and his nickelbags of weed That's when I preceeded to give him what he needed Talking 'bout I need a Phillie right before I get loose Poor excuse, money please, i get loose off of orange juice Preferly Minute Maid cuz that's exactly what it takes To write a rhyme, huh, to school your nickels and your dimes Because an MC like me be on TV Don't mean I can't hold my shit down in NYC Phony rappers who do not write Phony rappers who do not excite Phony rappers, you know they type Phony rappers, check it Verse Three: Phife, Consequence It seems there's a sanitation, y'all full of thrash talker Sounding good but money can you feed the dog hawker Talking 'bout your mic days and your breakdancing Not enhancing, you sound tired Oh, shit, I didn't know you like to play yourself in front'cha friends Sitting there, lying to no end MC's for me make things happening Talk about a world but in a form of rapping Who will be the captain of this ship If it goes down, don't you know you have to go wit it Just because you rhyme for a couple of weeks Doesn't mean that you've reach the MC's peak Let me stop sounding all bitter Ghetto child, never be a quitter But don't be a phony in the litter Take it as a letter from the better Take it from a man who used to rhyme in busted ass jetta's C: Yo, Phife, you need a condom P: Word to God, mess around I catch Aids from Mc's being on my nuts too hard C: Cuz on my blvd you better bring your bodyguard P: And what's your blvd C: LP, I represent naturally P: So don't step on the rolly if you know that you're phony Or else I bend that ass like elbow macaroni Cuz I gotta keep it real (gotta keep it real) A Tribe Called Quest, you see we never half step C: (So on your mark) get ready, MC's be jetti Me and Phifey be on ya like Veronica and Betty Archie, Jughead, snuffing Mc's From Brainslane down to Hempstead P: Yes 'Quence, see over His rhyme style is older that a Chrysler car Nova I'm wilder then the cats from Arizona Villanova, un, un, Kentucky Whos' the next MC stepping up to try and bust me Bring him here and boy, will I ever let him have it C: And when it comes to the microphone, don't even try to grab it What? Artist: A Tribe Called Quest f/ Busta Rhymes Album: Oh My God 12" Song: One Two Shit Intro: Q-Tip, Phife Dawg, Busta Rhymes One two, one two One-wa-wa-one, one two one two (3X) Yo it's the Q-Tip, you know I get down Yes I rock to the rhythm of a funky sound It go One-wa-wa-one, one two one two (2X) And it's the, Phife Dawg, and I do the same And when it comes to rippin mics aiyyo it ain't no games One-wa-wa-one, one two one two (2X) Aiyyo you know it's Busta Rhymes, ev-ery time Oh yes, I'm comin wicked with the new design I'm sayin One-wa-wa-one, one two one two (2X) Verse One: Q-Tip MC's ain't coming equipped with the rhymes Don't do the crime if you can't do the time The time is eternal when you play with the miser Soul is in my body, and the health make me wiser The tantalizing wordplay yeah that's the joint Sometimes I have to cuss just to prove my damn point Brothers need to come, with better, compositions I write, and recite, to make, good position In this, rap game here, we en-gineer Stabbin up the jam yeah son shit's clear And I be kickin rhymes in my own damn way Beatin niggaz to the punch like Sugar Ray Got the cool-ass style, that's cooler than the cool My lyrics is the bullet and the mic is the tool Peace to C-Seventy-Three, and C-Seventy-Fo' Do a little somethin when I'm out on tour Comin thru like narcotics for the antibiotics Flappin shorty's stockings to the Space-like Sprockets What you really need to do is just boogie your ass It's not gassed, we got to make the good times last Let the good times roll, cuz we in control Take you out on your high less you payin a toll Let the good times roll, let the good times toll Take you out on your high less you payin a toll Verse Two: Phife Dawg Question Why is that, MC's be wack And major labels wanna sound like crap Aiyyo Funk Dat! Word to life I'm comin rugged Cuz once you add the hip to the hop kid, it equals out to love If the beat's fat I use it, some wack shit, I lose it Refuse it, how could you chose it, it stinks Renuse it Put down the mic kid, cuz you gets no dap How long did it take for you to see you can't rap The name is Phife Dawg, and I got nuff style It doesn't take long for me to get buckwild So bust what I'm swingin what I'm swingin when I swing I rap when I rap cuz I never wanna sing Go ask the last MC what happened when he said battle I bust his ass in Cleveland now he's Sleepless in Seattle Rude bwoy official comin with the ill grammar Comin back on kids, like Joey Montana We be the three MC's to make your mind go batty Mad play, on WKRP in Cincinatti So lord send a hon, if ya kyant send a han sen a man An if ya kyan sen a man, come yaself Cuz all deez bitin MC's, lawd dem somethin else See I kick the styles that'll make ya ass melt Money on my mind so never mind a trick New York is the town and the team is the Knicks World's greatest five footer rippin parties apart Here comes Shaheed with the big green shark Never had to rhyme about feelin what with lead NEVER MIND DAT MON HERE COME DE DREAD Verse Three: Busta Rhymes We comin farrrr farrrr farrrr Busta Rhymes is comin farrrr farrr farr ya know ya hear me Star! Bet your bottom dollah Right after this jam about one million one two niggaz go follow Whether it be to-day or to-morrow Niggaz be collaboratin sickening you beat them like they father Ohhhhh shit check out what I saying Ah-hah ah-hah ohhhhh ah-hah ah-hah You know my niggaz don't be playing Once upon a mah-hah-hacking time I received the opportuni-ties to represent my first rhymes To define, lyrical sensations Black masons blowin up the spot Just to represent the Nations Three dimensions, tryclops, Mr. Busta Rhymes three eyes Fat like a burger and fries Mama-so-mama-saa-mamma-ma-ko-sah Go back to the country to go check my grandmama Eeeyah!! Bring it to the table at the meetings Gathering large receivings delivering intellectual ass beatings As I carry on with my proceedings Greetings!! Watch a nigga debut on premier movie screenings But before I be face to face with my eternal resting place I hope you find civilized every soul and every race Sit dog sit! Busta Rhymes forever on that ultrasonic shit!Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Midnight Marauders Song: Oh My God [Q-tip]: Listen up everybody the bottom line I'm a black intellect, but unrefined with precision like a bullet, target bound just livin like a hooker, the harlett sounds now when I say the harlett, you know I mean the hott V-A-V-A-Vader, the brothers in the spot Jalick, Jalick ya wind up ya hit Captain of the poets, I'm the #7 pick lick, lick, lick boy on your backside lick, lick, lick boy on your backside listen to the fader, Shaheed lets it glide Tip the earthly body heavens on my side even in Santo Domingo Can I gotta Gringo we got mikes when do we go know a little nigga who can ryhme when you ask me short, dark, and plus his voice is raspy Phife Dawg 1 for the treble 2 for the bass you know the style Tip it's time to flip this I like my beats hard like two day old shit steady eatin booty M.C's like cheese Grits My man Al B. Sure, he's in effect mode used to have a crush on Dawn from En Vogue it's not like honey dip would wanna get with me but just in case I own more condoms then T.L.C. now the formula is this Me, Tip, and Ali for those who can't count it goes 1-2-3 The answer(scratch-Damn right I'm)Hiccup is how i be brothers find it's hard to do but never me some brothers try to dis my malik you see'm ditchin me now cure all the B.B. M.C.'s my shit is hittin trainin gladiator, anti-hesitater Shaheed push the fader from here to Granada Mr. energetic, who me sound pathetic when's the last time you heard a funky diabetic? (I don't know man(3x)) (I don't know(2x)) [Chorus]: (Oh My God yes, Oh my god(10)) [Q-Tip] Complimentary it be the theif of Poetry I got a humdinger comin hook line and sinker the TIMBO hits with the prints underground TIMBO's on the toes, i like the way it's goin down down like the lady of the evenin when it goes in Toots just beleive the sin cuz Queens is the county, Jamaica is the place Take off your boots cuz you can't run the race [Chorus]: (Oh My God(14)) Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Midnight Marauders Song: Keep It Rollin' Verse One: Phife Dawg Aiyyo swing swing swing, to chop chop chop Yo that's the sound when MC's get mopped Don't come around town without the hip in your hop Cause when the shit hits the fan, that ass'll get dropped MC's wanna attack me but them punks can't cope I'll have you left without a job, like Isley from The Love Boat So money watch your mouth, or I might have to bust ya Battlin MC's, from JFK to Russia Back down to London, Sweden and Brazil Do a U.S. tour for three months and then a chill Styles be fat like Jackie Gleason, the rest be Art Carney People love the Dawg like the kids love Barney "I love you, you love me" The shorty Phife Dawg is your favorite MC So move back yaself dread, you know the element The Tribe is good for your health like a can of Nutriment MC's don't have no winds, MC's don't have no winds I flips you crazier than a busload of Jerry's Kids Your crew don't want it, man your crew don't want it But if you feel you can swing it, then money please bring it (sup) Large Professor in the house (sup) (sup) You know how we do (sup) (sup) I stay on your crew (sup) (whassup) like Mario Lemieux (whassup) (Whassup?) Peace to Ike Love (Sup? Hah hah) and the rest of the crew (Whassup?) (Whassup?) I meet you guys in front the cleaners Bring the blunts and the brew so Verse Two: Q-Tip Whassup kids? The Ab is speaking from the moon Thanks for your support, aiyyo I'll be home soon But the only thing I ask when I return from my task Is a whole bunch of beats and a Blass full of ass My fist stands firm because I'm, black and solid I open up your pores like a plate full of collards C'mon take it easy wouldya, easy easy I'm up in the gulley, that's when I am her Buddy She told me pull her hair, I did, it drove her nutty Filled up the hole like spackle or I mean putty When we over joints like this we never cruddy Extra P hooked the beat, and kids it feels luh-huh-ovely Check it out, cause my conception is immaculate A bachelor, lookin for a bachlelorette Back to you MC's, this is what your gonna get A first degree burn from my man Ken's cigarette I hope you like Malboro, Paul you know we thorough like Denver The beat feels like a never-ender But all things good must, so I won't sweat it Drop the C's for the youthful crew, I hope you get it As I stand, grip this mic inside my hand Boy I smack you up, like I was your old grand so respect yourself Son, and come and gimme love Once again the Ab is who you think of So chill with the beef money, we got a Jetti Verse Three: Extra P (Large Professor) It's Extra P and yo Tip I'm bout to set it on the country once again here to win I'm Uptown chillin, takin in this grand master Vic blend from the projects, the PJ's, fuck them two DJ's Self mission, I had her in the ill position Saying "Large youse the soul brother that I'd like to eff with for the rest of my life" yeah yeah now check the method As I, proceed with what you need like Akinyele A whip looks complete when the tires say Firelli Funk monkey, one rapper fell off, now he's a junkie There's 8 Million Stories in the city it's a pity Don't fuck with the skins if she's trying to act shitty Shout to the Guru, Primo and Zulu Zulu Nation, was on a vacation, in the ghetto Yo Ras slow your roll I'm bout to bag this here's metal Rapper Nas on topic, seems we gonna rock it Queens represent, buy the album when I drop it (drop it) Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: The Low End Theory Song: Jazz (We Got the...) Intro/Chorus We got the jazz [X4] Verse One: Q-Tip Stern firm and young with a laid-back tongue The aim is to succeed and achieve at 21 Just like Ringling Brothers, I'll daze and astound Captivate the mass, cause the prose is profound Do it for the strong, we do it for the meek Boom it in your boom it in your boom it in your Jeep Or your Honda or your Beemer or your Legend or your Benz The rave of the town to your foes and your friends So push it, along, trails, we blaze Don't deserve the gong, don't deserve the praise The tranquility will make ya unball your fist For we put hip-hop on a brand new twist A brand new twist with the homie-alistic So low-key that ya probably missed it And yet it's so loud that it stands in the crowd When the guy takes the beat, they bowed So raise up squire, address your attire We have no time to wallow in the mire If you're on a foreign path, then let me do the lead Join in the essence of the cool-out breed Then cool out to the music cuz it makes ya feel serene Like the birds and the bees and all those groovy things Like getting stomach aches when ya gotta go to work Or staring into space when you're feeling berserk I don't really mind if it's over your head Cuz the job of resurrectors is to wake up the dead So pay attention, it's not hard to decipher And after the horns, you can check out the Phifer Chorus Verse Two: Phife Dawg Competition, dem Phifer come sideway But competition, dey mus' me come straightway Competition, dem Phifer come sideway But competition, dey mus' come straightway Hows about that, it seems like it's my turn again All through the years my mike has been my best friend I know some brothers wonder, can Phifer really kick it? Some even wanna dis me, but why sweat it? I'm all into my music cuz it's how I make papes Tryin' to make hits, like Kid Capri makes tapes Me sweat another? I do my own thing Strictly hardcore tracks, not a new jack swing I grew up as a Christian so to Jah I give thanks Collect my banks, listen to Shabba Ranks I sing, and chat, I do all of that It's 1991 and I refuse to come wack I take off my hat to other crews that intend to rock But the Low End Theory's here, it's time to wreck shop I got Tip and Shah, so whom shall I fear Stop look and listen, but please don't stare So jet to the store, and buy the LP On Jive/RCA, cassettes and CD's Produced and arranged by the four-man crew And oh shit, Skiff Anselm, he gets props too Make sure you have a system with some phat house speakers So the new shit can rock, from Mars to Massapequa Cuz where I come from quality is job one And everybody up on Linden know we get the job done So peace to that crew, and peace to this crew Bring on the tour, we'll see you at a theatre nearest you Verse Three: Q-Tip Hey yo but wait, back it up, hup, easy back it up Please let the Abstract embellish on the cut Back and forth just like a Cameo song If you dig this joint then please come dance along To the music cuz it's done just for the rhyme Now I gotta scat and get mine, underline The jazz, the what? The jazz can move that ass Cuz the Tribe originates that feelin' of pizzazz It's the universal sound, best to brothers underground In the one-six below, ya didn't have to go Some say that I'm a sinner cuz I once had an orgy And sometimes for breakfast I eat grits and porgies If this is a stinker, then call me a stink, I ask "What? What? What?" - now check it out All my peoples in Queens ya don't stop Now all my peoples in Brooklyn ya don't stop And all my peoples uptown ya don't stop That includes the Bronx a' Harlem ya don't stop Now to that girl Ramelle ya don't stop I say because Ladies First ya don't stop And to the JB's, ya don't stop And De La Soul, ya don't stop To my Brand Nubians ya don't stop And to my Leaders of the New ya don't stop To my man Large Professor ya don't stop Pete Rock for the beat ya don't stop Everybody in the place ya don't stop Ya keep it on, to the rhythm, ya don't stop And last but not least on the sure shot It's the Zulu nation Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: The Show soundtrack Song: Glamour and Glitz Verse One: Q-Tip Yup yup yup To the North to the South to the East to the West I don't discriminate boy I bring it to your chest If you oppose, then your soul will decompose Strive to get money and I'm not no hoe Fresher than the air that you're breathing through your nose Fuller than the kicks that you're puttin on your toes You can ask Bo but yo that nigga don't know About the dominant factor the accurate rapper Here's the next chapter, page ninety-five Niggaz so hard it's a wonder they alive But yo we still survive through the danger that lurks My eyes remain wide while you ask like Urk and yo my Family Matters, so all you mad hatters Put your thinking caps on and motherfuckin brainstorm Cause I got the plan that wins and can't lose Your man knows who's nice say Tip he'll say "True" A lot of these jokers out here is blase I'll be rockin mikes until a horse says hey Some are preoccupied with glamour and glitz Actin all boogee and making big movies But I'll be in the cut call me Incognito Busy makin joints that will bump for my people You're listening to a man who was something for nothing Stay in me forever head, never be frontin Chorus: repeat 2X Once in a while we have fun in the mix [never ever] In to good living, but some be into glitz [true dat] Everybody knew, all the fellas and the chicks [trigga E] Gotta wear a shoe that fits ...to all my peoples Verse Two: C'mon word, check it out now [you out there?] Uh, uh, check it out now [you out there?] What? Uh, check it out now [louder! louder!] [louder! louder!] Uh, check it out, yo Peace to the girl named Hurricane G Peace to my girl named Dawn Paris Peace to the Organzied Kon-fus-ion Peace to all my shorties that be dying too young Peace to both coasts and the land in between Peace to your man if you're doing your thing Peace to my peoples who was incarcerated Asalaam alaikum means peace, don't debate it Devouring, and towering over fools Your mic is broke and my shit's cool The black man with the understandin of The three wise men and the theories of Zen Yo I get inside the crevice like a dentist Disrupt, the block, like Dennis, the Menace Shaheed is on the needle, the shit it won't weeble or wobble, your rhymes is mixed up like Boggle Bingo! That was the damn dog's name But yo I know another one with much more fame The Phife Dawg, and that's my word to the cipher About to bring it to your chest and cause strife check it out You're doubling back, to your rhyming pad What I represent is MC's gone mad In a perfect world there's imperfect acts We've come like a God to redirect alla that So people with a gift can just flaunt and get money So much, we in the bank that the shit ain't funny Money is invested in real estate and stocks But not inside the glamour cuz all of that stops Outro: Consequence Yo dis the Cons to the Quence up in ya like a stiff one, knowhatImean? It's nine-five, you got to live it or rip it So if you step on the streets keep it movin, knowhatImean? Chorus Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Midnight Marauders Song: Electric Relaxation {lyrics in ** repeat off into the chorus} Relax yourself girl, preset plan [x4] Verse One: Q-Tip, Phife Dawg Honey, check it out, you got me mesmerized With your black hair and fat-ass thighs Street poetry is my everyday But yo, I gotta stop when you trot my way If I was workin at the club you would not pay Aiyyo, my man Phife, dig it, he got somthin to say --Phife Dawg I like em brown, yellow, Puero Rican or Hatian Name is Phife Dawg from the Zulu Nation Told you in the jam that We Can Get Down Now let's Knock the Boots like the group H-Town You got BBD all on your bedroom wall But I'm Above the Rim and this is how I ball A pretty little somethin on the New York street This is how I represent over this here beat Talkin bout you Yo, I took you out But sex was on my mind for the whole damn route My mind was in a frenzy and a horny state But I couldn't drop dimes cause *you couldnŐt relate* Chorus Verse Two: Q-Tip, Phife Dawg Stretch out your legs, let me make you bawl Drive you insane, drive you up the wall Starin at your dome-piece, very strong Stronger than cries, stronger than Teflon Take you on the ave and you buy me links Now I wanna pound the putang until it stinks You can be my mama and I'll be your boy --Phife Dawg Original rude boy, never am I coy You can be a shorty in my ill convoy Not to come across as a thug or a hood But hon, you got the goods, like Madeline Woods By the way, my name's Malik The Five-Foot Freak Let's say we get together by the end of the week She simply said, "No," labelled me a hoe I said, "How you figure?" "My friends told me so." I hate when silly groupies wanna run they yap Word to God, hon, I don't get down like that I'll have you weak in the knees that you could hardly speak Or we could do like Uncle L and swing an ep in my jeep Keep it in the down, yo, we keep it discrete See, I'm not the type to kid to have my biz in the streets --Phife Dawg If my mom donŐt approve, then I'll just elope Let me sink the little man from inside the boat Let me hit it from the back, girl I won't catch a hernia Bust off on your couch, now you got semen's furniture Shaheed, Phife and the Extra P Stacy, ? DJ and my man L.G. They know the Abstract is really soul on ice The character is of men, never ever of mice Shorty let me tell you about my only vice It has to do with lots of lovin and *it ain't nuthin nice* Chorus Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: The Low End Theory Song: Check the Rhime Q: Back in the days on the boulevard of Linden, we used to kick routines and presence was fittin'. It was I the abstract P: And me the five footer. I kicks the mad style so step off the frankfurter. Q: Yo, Phife, you remember that routine that we used to make spiffy like mister clean? P: Um um, a tidbit, um, a smidgen. I don~t get the message so you gots to run the pigeon. Q: You on point Phife? P: All the time, tip. Q: You on point Phife? P: All the time, tip. Q: You on point Phife? P: All the time, tip. Q: Well, then grab the microphone and let your words rip. P: Now here's a funky introduction of how nice I am. Tell your mother, tell your father, send a telegram. I'm like an energizer 'cause, you see, I last long. My crew is never ever wack because we stand strong. Now if you say my style is wack that's where you're dead wrong. I slayed that body in El Segundo then push it along. You'd be a fool to reply that Phife is not the man 'cause you know and I know that you know who I am. A special shot of peace goes out to all my pals, you see. And a middle finger goes for all you punk MC's. 'Cause I love it when you wack MC's despise me. They get vexed, I roll next, can~t none contest me. I'm just a fly MC who's five foot three and very brave. On job remaining, no I'm chaining cause I misbehave. I come correct in full effect have all my hoes in check. And before I get the butt the jim must be erect. You see, my aura~s positive I don't promote no junk. See, I'm far from a bully and I ain't a punk. Extremity in rhythm, yeah that's what you heard. So just clean out your ears and just check the word. Q: Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check it out. Check it out. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Play tapes y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check the rhyme y'all. Check it out. Check it out. P: Back in days on the boulevard of Linden, we used to kick routines and the presence was fittin' It was I the Phifer, Q: And me, the abstract. The rhymes were so rumpin' that the brothers rode the 'zack. P: Yo, tip you recall when we used to rock Those fly routines on your cousin~s block. Q: Um, let me see, damn I can't remember. I receive the message and you will play the sender. P: You on point Tip? Q: All the time Phife. P: You on point Tip? Q: Yeah, all the time Phife. P: You on point Tip? Q: Yo, all the time Phife. P: So play the resurrector and give the dead some life. Q: Okay, if knowledge is the key then just show me the lock. Got the scrawny legs but I move just like Luke Brock, With speed. I'm agile plus I'm worth your while. One hundred percent intelligent black child. My optic presentation sizzles the retina. How far must I go to gain respect? Um. Well, it's kind of simple, just remain your own Or you'll be crazy sad and alone. Industry rule number four thousand and eighty, record company people are shady. So kids watch your back 'cause I think they smoke crack, I don't doubt it. Look at how they act. Off to better things like a hip-hop forum. Pass me the rock and I'll storm with the crew and ... Proper. What you say Hammer? Proper. Rap is not pop, if you call it that then stop. NC, y'all check the rhyme y'all. SC, y'all check it out y'all. Virginia, check the rhyme y'all. Check it out. Out. In London, check the rhyme, y'all. Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Beats, Rhymes, and Life Song: Crew (Q-Tip) Just a little s-something about the cats who be fronting Yo, the TIp, he be hunting for all the goodness gracious All across the wide spaces, yo, check it out, bust me down, yo, yo, yo You'se my peoples, why it got to come down to this shit Two people thinking he'd one so now he's split Remember what I said to you, you bleed, I bleed C'mon, you know how we get down, if you 're down, you need And I'm supplying, the dynamic duo, electricfying Everybody had to wet us, cuz no one will forget us Son, I testify sure as God was my guide Any petty little bullshit you did,. will slide Same on my end, after all, what are we, friends If niggaz ran me this, too much grounds we defend In the honor or brotherhood cuz it's all good Get on some grown man shit and let's knock on wood But now seeing you baby in this stall out position Wondering who's the dime piece that you're kissing You night as well take the jigger and take my life Cuz the dime piece you happen to be kissing is my wife Shit, I should have know not to let these crab asses Get within the circle of my girl and make passes Now you disrespected me and everything I stand for (But I'm saying no, son) sh, say no more And lord forgive me, my thoughts is traveling to low desires Should I turn the other cheek or react and perspire Don't wanna see myself in penitentiary retired But I caught him in the act and my emotion is dire Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Low End Theory Song: Butter Verse One: Phife Dawg 1988 Senior Year, Garvey High Where all the guys were corny but the girls were mad fly Loungin with the Tipster, Coolin with Sha Scopin out the honeys - they know who they are I was the b-ball playin fly rhyme sayin Fly girl gettin but never was I sweatin Cause when it came to honeys I would go on a stroll Until I met my match - her name was Flo Yeah - I messed around with the one called Flo All the troopers round the way used to call her a ho But deep down in my heart I knew that Flo was good to go Cause I thought it was me - like Bell Biv Devoe But little did I know that she was playin' with my mind The only thing I learned is, good girls are hard to find I feel like Heavy D I need somebody for me Not someone who's mind is blank and tryin' to juice me for my bank Swingin' with my main man Lucky behind my back What type of crap is that - yo, hows about a smack? Word life, I can't front - thought I was all that But now it seems, I met my match Was a stone cold lover, you couldn't tell me jack Settlin' down with one girl, wasn't tryin' to hear that I had Tonya, Tamika, Sharon, Karen Tina, Stacy, Julie, Tracy Used ta love 'em, leave 'em, skeeze 'em, tease 'em Find 'em, lose 'em - also abuse 'em My whole attitude was new day, next hon And believe it or not, they all got done Well here comes Flo, with the crazy whip appeal And I'm all true man, like Alexander O'Neal Is this really love, then again, how would I know After all this time tryin' to be a superhoe She finally played me, but yo, I'd find another Cause I got the crazy game and yo, I'm smooth like butter Chorus: Q-Tip Butter, like butter baby . . . [repeat 2X] Not no Parkay, not no margarine, Strickly butter baby, strictly butter Verse Two: Phife Dawg I remember when, Girls were goodie two shoes, but now they turned to freaks Allofasudden "We love you Phife" - ease of ho, my name's Malik Phife this, Phife that, where you goin', where you at These girls don't know me from jack, yet I feel like the Mack You didn't want me then, so hon, don't want me now Here, Here - take the towel, wipe off your brow And take the Ccontact out your eye, you're far from lookin' fly You get an E for effort, and T for nice try Now tell me what's the reason, for dyin' your hair Slum village gold still danglin in your ear You barely have a neck but still sportin' a rope Four-finger ring just so Phifer can scope You looked in the mirror, didn't know what to do Yesterday your eyes were brown but today they are blue Your whole appearance is a lie and it could never be true And if you really loved yourself then you would try and be you If your hair and eyes were real, I wouldn't have dissed ya But since it was bought, I had to dismiss ya If you can't achieve it, then why not try and weave it If you can't extend it then you might as well suspend it If you can't braid it, best thing to do is fade it I asked who did your hair and you tell me "Diane made it" If you were you and just you, talk to you, maybe But I can't stand, no bionic lady Tryin' hard to look fly, but yo, you're lookin' dumber If I wanted someone like you I woulda swung with Jamie Summers You wanna be treated right, see Father MC Or check Ralph Tresvant, for sens-a-tiv-i-ty See I am not the one, I got more game than Parker Brothers Phife Dog is on the mic and I'm smooth like Butter . . . Artist: A Tribe Called Quest Album: Midnight Marauders Song: 8 Million Stories Verse One: Phife Dawg Went to carvel to get a milk shake This hunney ripped me off of my loot case The car oh yeah there's money in my jacket Somebody broke into my ride and co macked it Yo tip I tell you man the devil's trying it But I'm goin to stay strong cause I ain't bying it Tonight I'm taking Sherry out I don't have jack to wear You know I've got to look dipped in the freshest gear Cool I found something so I ironed it I think I caught up on the phone Oh shit I'm trying it Will someone tell me what did I do to deserve this? I think I'll pull out my super Sunday service My little brother wants Barney, cool I'm getting it Took him down to Kay-Bee, they ain't sellin it Here we go with the crying, yo he's throwing fits My blood pressure blowing up, I can't take this shit Finally got what he wanted now he's good to go Again the robers smashed, were's my radio? One time the car was in the shop I had to borrow see... They had no mercy on the car oh you he'll kill me Where the hell can Nicki be? I'm goin to smack her up I got the tickets for the Knicks and she co-stood me up I need to hit a hunny off yo drill pas me the phone Pulled out my hooker hoes, oh yo Sheela's home Steady smiling like a mother yo I'm wrecked to bone Went down on hun, she's in the red zone. Stressed out more than one could ever be For ever trying to clear the sample for my new up beat With all these trials and tribulations yo I've been affected And to top it off, Starks got ejected Refrain Verse Two: Phife Dawg Just last week my girl was stressing me Now her best friend be underssing me Well I was lovin her by the moon lit Now I'm tricking on her like Ken Tik Bought a bag of izm from the smoke shop Walking towards the car, here come the damn cops Now I'm station bound for the thai sticks I bought it for my man, I don't believe this shit Coach sat me down from the ball team Cause I was breakin niggas on the inseams Some niggas cross town wuz trying to stick me All I had was shorts a dollar fifty Picked up this gir in the hoopty Just because of her rhymes she tried to suit me Pay for this and pay for that loot for nails and hair Who the hell do you think I am, Mr. Belvedere? Go and get a bloddy job then can we look cute Even if you get me boots, you'll neva see my loot She wasn't even all of that just anothe hooker Took the journey that ass way, quick like Chucky Booker Sometimes you got put the hoes in their freakin place Just smooth from and front me with your batti fears My man Mohammed in the house, huh [come on, come on] Zulu Nation in the house, huh [come on, come on] Sub Rock is in the house, huh [come on, come on] My man Skeff is in the house, huh [come on, come on] Jarobi White is in the house, huh [come on, come on] Bob Power in the house, huh [come on, come on] My man Eric in the house, huh [come on, come on] My man Lytcha in the house, huh [come on, come on] [help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me........MUHAMMAD!!] Artist: A Tribe Called Quest w/ Tammy Lucas Album: Beats, Rhymes, and Life Song: 1nce Again Intro: You on point Phife? 1nce Again Tip You on point Phife? 1nce Again Tip You on point Phife? 1nce Again Tip Word Watch me bust they shit OK Chorus: [Tammy Lucas] Ohhhh, you did it to me 1nce Again my friend I swear you do it to me everytime Cause you stay crazy on my mind Yo you got it goin on (say word), on and on and on On and on and on Verse One: Phife Dawg, Q-Tip This is the year that I come in and just devestate My style is great ask your peoples can I dominate? My rhymes are harder than last night's erection Don't play me close, I'll have this mic up in your rear section My shit is lovely simply meaning that my joint is tight Amping up the mic making sure production's tight Sometimes I might catch a severe case of writer's block But by the end of the day you'll be on my jock My name's Malik my hobby's putting MC's to the test And if you front I'll put my foot up in your friggin chest Freestyle fanatic, and never will it ever stop You crew is loose, you might just want to call the cops Aiyyo I gotta put some action on paper Make sure my verse jump up and spread out like the raper The only tip I got for a waiter Is watch the doorknob hit me where the dirty dog shoulda bit me That was my train of thought, but for so long I fought Now I'm at a level supreme to the devil So turn up the bass and lay low on the treble We be the real MC's and you dead, bring a shovel Revitalize, the vital Tribe nigga, WHAT? The ladies sweat the style like the squirrel sweat the nuts You know a fellas good for the moola Don't smoke no woolas, read the name call me Slick Tip the Ruler Chorus Verse Two: Q-Tip, Phife Yo I've been treading on this globe man for twenty-five joints Sometimes Shaitan got me by the pressure points But I can break a fella down like sex You eat Wheat Chex but still light in the ass and can't flex If one nigga front I'ma make more pay Cause toniiiiight, we gettin off like O.J. And yo I got a Dawg that bites, fuck the barking Yo I got a crew with the beats and the smarts and I fought my shit up on Linden in the one-nine-two Forever writing never biting ain't shit else to do Hoping to battle, but most MC's ain't ready yet But if they huddle, and word, then this is good as set You have MC's dropping bombs that's incredible Some of the brothers, their styles are just despicable As for me see I just do how I love to do Try to deny me of my props then I'll be seeing you Most of you suckers wanna be down for the tag along The friggin fame, someone tell em that this shit ain't games You gots to do this from your heart meaning your inner soul And if it's real only then will you be on a roll I try to stay on top my game there ain't no time to lose Four albums deep as a Quester but still we payin dues So hear me out one time, you gots ta be yourself Cuz if you ain't yourself you end up by your friggin self I'm coming rugged with the Linden Boule type of slang And yo we'll see who can hang yo You on point Tip? Yo 1nce Again Phife You on point Tip? Yo 1nce Again Phife You on point Tip? Yo 1nce again Phife Aiyyo that kid is hard! Chorus