Beatnuts The No Equal Lyrics

No Equal Lyrics

(number one

 Competition is none) --> rakim

 

 [ verse 1: ju-ju ]

 Niggas got me steamin, bout to flip my lid

 Fuck around, and i proceed to blow your back out, kid

 (boom!) not to say i'm on a violent tip

 But my hand stays on my gun, in case you start some shit

 Cause i been rhymin since way back when

 Straight up and from the heart is how it's always been

 Now punk niggas wanna test me

 But all that tiggedy-tiggedy tongue-twistin shit don't impress me

 It's just a phase, and you know damn well

 That you'll fall off in a minute, cause that shit don't sell

 Funny how you think you could surpass me, or outlast me

 With that bullshit style, you're fallin fast, gee

 See, i suggest you go back where you came from

 (your mic, and my mic) come on, don't play, son

 See, the days of payin dues is over

 I'm a little fed up, and it's time that i show ya

 We battle one time, you're dead, no sequel

 (your mic, and my mic - come on yo, no equal) --> q-tip

 

 You know we're number one

 Competition is none

 

 [ verse 2: psycho les ]

 The wiggedy-wicked psycho les drops it like a lunatic

 Steady back-breakin bitches with my super dick

 Hat's on the jim, sometimes i nut in em

 St. ides fucks up their eyes, and i bend em

 Down, while i'm flowin to this nutty sound

 Open up the knapsack, check out what we found

 H-h-horns, bass, lines

 Beats get chopped in the nut shop, we don't waste time

 Yo, i'm 'cold lampin' like flavor

 Floatin at the top while you're sick, and 'nothin can save ya'

 Just like the biz said

 Remember - uugh! - styles i drop to be, what is it?

 (the shizzit) word to your mama

 I bend your girl like a comma

 Due to lambada, i think i gotta

 Stop, because the bitch said, "(???)"

 So i nutted, and i got out

 (boom!) no matter how hot you claim to be, you can't roast this

 Nut, what's up? you wanna get eaten up like a hostess?

 'cup', 'cake', you know my words are lethal

 (your mic, and my mic - come on yo, no equal)

 

 [ verse 3: fashion (al' tariq) ]

 Every line i connect, my literature's perfect

 Per minute, per second, and yo, you gotta reck-

 On with fashion, cause by the way i'm rippin things

 Whoever thinks i take a loss has hamstrings

 Young dames, i shoot em and jimmy aims to knock her

 Sex with this flex, best thing tends to lock up

 Yeah, really bad ass, smokin past you niggas

 The chicks i stick shit with, i love your figures

 Triggers, i pull em with no remorse for bodies

 Fash pumps the hotties, chumps pump with shoties

 Shoot em up, bang-bang! miss targets rarely

 Mics i touch up, i fucks em daily

 Barely another who can test the cool fash

 Asses i kick in the ashes, dumpin trashes

 So don't riff, cause i flow swift like the nile, son

 Tame is for plain jane fame, i'm a wild one

 Auto-matic-ly i let loose the

 Fierce mc-i-n-g force in me

 Cool fash, sendin a blast to rap people

 (your mic, and my mic - come on yo, no equal)