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    [Moe Luv scratches an N.W.A. sample (originally Curtis Mayfield?)
    saying the word "niggaz" over and over]

    Brothers wanna know, what's goin on about the 4-1-1
    on the group, and so on and so forth
    So what you talk for, you know what I came for:
    a motherfuckin ground war!
    Talkin that same old style
    Same old song, same old thang
    Sweatin yourself, you're gettin busy yo
    Huh, but you still can't hang
    I'd rather rip, and still the flip trip
    On the mic grip and hit, and then trip
    into I never ever miss.. yo
    You still ain't shit
    Thinkin you're all that, you've got
    the rep and props but you still can't rap
    Wanna talk about a wannabe, never gonna be
    ever gonna be, who's gonna see
    Come near here, come here child yeah
    I got flavor, style -- compare
    [Moe Luv cuts: "hold the beat, stop the beat, drop the beat"]
    Yo, you can't compete
    You wanna steal my voice, steal our sound
    Steal my beats, you wanna fuck around
    I don't play son, shorts do I take none
    You need help better call 9-1-1
    or the Beatles, or Susannah
    Drink you up like a cup of Tropicana
    juice, I got more, flowin like a river
    Yeah, style's what I give ya
    Shakin em, keep fakin em, make make makin em
    Takin em, bakin em, no mistaken em
    Dope, hyper, raw def MC
    Wanna talk about a man, yo who is he
    or she, you got nerve to even talk that
    What about that, yeah, what's up with that
    rumor talkin, we can't make a hit
    We've been makin hits while you've been suckin dicks
    around the town, lookin for a hardcore deal
    Yeah - you ain't real!

    "Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" You ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Man..
    "Niggaz" .. get out my FACE!!!

    [Kool Keith]
    Yeah, motherfuckers wanna blast
    I keep rhymes in store for they ass
    They ain't got the style to kick no shit
    I bust rhymes and heat and just blow shit
    out, let me ask one question
    You think I fell off? Well come test then
    You ain't the man to stop the Big X
    Fuck around become ?? ?? next
    Yes -- shit is gettin wild
    Very wild, slick and much wild
    But watch when I come with the Rhythm X shit
    Then after that, motherfuckers wanna quit
    Whether or not, you like it or not, you're wack it's true
    Your whole crew sound doo doo
    I keep tissue to wipe the first face
    I'm like a team that stays in first place
    Winnin, like the motherfuckin Giants
    You got rhymes to kick? Then drop science
    math, english, fuck it I said it
    Yo Ced, come and grab the mic

    [Ced Gee]
    Yo let's begin with a phrase that's quite hype
    I'll control with soul Gee get right
    Into the mix like a DJ spinnin on
    The crowd is buggin, rememberin "Bring it On"
    The phrase that stand to all that wanna try
    to step to the Gee get roast and I wonder why
    Hmmm, like Arsenio Hall said, I think
    you rhyme like butter you're soft and you're quite stink
    Tryin to perpetrate, sayin you're hard right
    You hit money grip you're fake like a bad night-mare
    with Freddie, you know you're not ready
    You sound immature, like a amateur petty
    Yeah (you ain't ready)
    to step on the stage, get hit with the rhyme jab
    Just like the Flintstones, I'll break like Bam Bam
    BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! -- I'm smoke ya
    You slept on the Gee, better yet, true Ultra
    But now we're back and, MC's we're slappin
    We're givin no slack and, because you're wack and
    yeah.. you ain't real!

    "Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Yeah -- you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Yeah, you ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Who are you? You ain't real!
    "Niggaz" Yeah, you you ain't real!

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    Todas as letras de Ultramagnetic MC's

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