Now we found out, some time ago that if you take a whole group of really    superbad dudes, and hang em in together they'll make some music whether or not    somebody else thought it was hip or not.    You know, they be OK.    You dig?    Somebody's got to start it.      Verse One: O.C.      It's like me against anyone   First full verse is spontaneous, combustion thrusts me   No rapper can dust me   Bounced upon the scene with a theme, Word...Life   I cut fantasy out cause I differ from a dream   Wisdom lies deep in my molecules, you assumed   I fell victim to, hip-hop blues   You way off I stay on tour often rockin spots   on the California coast, range you know back to Boston   Enforcin my theory, leavin rappers teary-eyed   Fly most who came and thought they had stride   You accustomed to cussin and bluffin fussin for nothin   Half of y'all crumbs are just soft like muffins   I bake, masterpieces, sharper thesis   Y'all candy coated motherfuckers stink like feces   Needless to say, are these running shoes yours?   You retreated when I gave out head for wars   My microphone set is immensely brick wall   Solid in and out you slept so now snore   Who got my back, you ask Lord and BlastMaster   Unorthodox, combinations from the masters   Mics I menace, when it's finished   You get an understanding of what we bringin, no gimmicks      Verse Two: Lord Finesse      My decision is precision, I'm ill in ways you can't vision   I got niggaz worshippin Lord Finesse like religion   You can't fuck around, you're kiddin   You don't want no collision, you better fly South like a pigeon   Good riddance, I flip flows you can't imagine   I break down your Flintstone style, into fragments   So pay attention to the man rappin   Don't think that it can't, I'm livin proof, it can happen   I reign supreme logical, verbally, I drop it in ways   that you never dreamed possible   So lyrically, I personally figure   That my Harvard style, is too deep for you nursery niggaz   When I clutch the mic, I'm comin rough and right   I build more than them workers on construction sights   I'm skilled at it, I'm Illmatic   So yes answers your question if you ask me do I still have it   I'm the realest, the illest   Comin out the woodwork, like them homos in the Village   But seriously, I'm got the remedy   If I's at the bottom of the toilet   you niggaz still couldn't shit on me   Originally, it's the same the vet   I'm on that get rich list, but they didn't call my name yet   I make it special like a prom night I bomb mics   while other brothers are old news like Walter Kronkite   It's critical, you got these Xerox individuals   But word life, it ain't nothin like the original   I wreck kids, that's my theory and perspective   When it comes to hip-hop, I'm on the case like detectives   You better step to the next man   Cause the greatest soccer player couldn't kick it like Finesse can      Verse Three: KRS-One      This is the scientific extra-prolific terrific   mystic simplistic metaphysic, no gimmick type lyric   When you hear it or hear me, runnin through the scrimmages   You see images, affecting your sight to make you go   (Yo there he is! No there he is!) No here he is   Rockin your superiors, in your hardest area   Your lyrical skills are inferior   It's because your video that they cheer for ya   I'll take care of ya, quickly, cause I cannot take it   Your weak head needs to be decapitated   Cause you fake it   If your heart was caffeine, well you're now decaffeinated   You scream battle but it's the end of your career   you anticipate it, I hate itCareer ended, how splendid   For wack MC's I come doctor recommended      Haha! You know whassup when Lord Finesse up in the piece   All you wack ass rappers better go rewrite your album   O.C. in the house, KRS in the house, yeah   New York style in the house, yeah   BDP crew in the house, YEAH...