** intro/skit skipped **      [maestro fresh wes]   I'm a ruler, that's how I reign   I do to rap what the mona lisa does to the frame   Rid 'em and written, my rhymes are like rodeo   I ain't kiddin', they jock my portfolio   Played it wise, hit the studio   Rock international, now they call me julio   Mcs have died, becuase I have killed them   Some older than me but yet children   Some veterans knew the fear   Because rap is not a joke, this game's for real   Sucker boys cuss me, females rush me   When I off the set, my homeboys they touch me   Wes, you ate 'em up like a feast   No need to use an uzi, when the mic's my piece      Chorus   "bang on"   "i'm murdering mc"   "bang on"   "i'm murdering mc"   "bang on"   "i'm murdering mc"   ** scratching by dj ltd **   Repeat      [maestro fresh wes]   Some use a uzi, some a machete   You wanna test fresh wes, well I'm ready   The mind is a magnum, the rhyme is a bullet   The mic that's a trigger *bang* and I pull it   Too late for prayer, dee is a slayer   Wes rocks the mics like a hoops to isaiah   The player, the pimp that mcs are risking   You'll get decked like clay decked liston   *bang*   Where did the punch come from?    Was it before, or after the drum   Ltd will be the referee   Saying 'punk tell me how many fingers you see'   The m-i-c is my p-i-e-c-e   The maestro needs no mc   Like a beast I beat while my rhymes release   I can say *bang* my mic's my piece   A bag of lsd and my dj does needles   Lyrical dope my group ain't feeble   Zero degrees centigrade, thirty-two farenheit   Cold getting paid if you're a parasite   Paraphrase, to parallel you're paralyze   You're paranoid, you play my record, you plagerize   I paragon, the paramont vocabulist   Lyrical ? ? ? ? ? ? paragraph can't handle this   Move, you might get mobbed   There's a method ot my madness, don't mock my monologue   I'm like a beast when my rhyme's released, like a sayss(? )   *bang* 'cause my mic's my piece      Chorus      [maestro fresh wes]   I walk around town looking at these clowns   Thinking about my cold crisp build to brown   I sweat the coloured clown, this is what I mean   I'm not american, my hundred dollar bill ain't green   I'm from north of the border, keep it in order   Beats like the freak from the latin quarter   Though I'm down with the t-o scene   I don't hang with no polo team   No charade, a parade I'm here to envade   X-rate, excess, escalate this escapade   I fancy girl like she don't exist   Exercise the dip, watch the exorcist   Extreme 360, necks will snap   She wrote my rhythmn, received the whiplash   Executed, extracted, she's attracted   To the maestro, uhh, distracted   In distress, she's hyperactive   Be jocking and still jacking, you must be wack kid   That's why allow the sultan to rap   The aftermath, the bloodbath of paragraph   Every title you held been stripped off   Love torn ego with a busted up lip   When I start firing I never cease   I get hyped, when *bang* the mic's my piece      Chorus      [maestro fresh wes]   Yeah      Like franklin, columbo, I'm jumble-la   I can run so low, try to obtain my status   Don't they know how long I've been at this   Call me a new jack, that's a dis   New jacks don't rock like this   That's absurb to me, don't say a word to me   I'm from t-o that's why you dun heard of me   Yesterday, but now you're listening   'cause I'm exploding like nitroglycerine   If I was from new york   I know you would, have rocked to my rhythmn, five years ago   I had to try a little harder than the average   Just to get a break, but now I'm doing damage   Think that you're a star, sorry charlie   Got beef? talk to farley   'cause what I manifest is a masterpiece   Dope rhymes are released when the mic's my piece      Some carry knives some carry guns   2000 brothers in the channel trying to be number one   Looking serious, flexing posing   You rub shoulders, step on toes and it's *bang* over   You might get shafted   ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?    Too many want to brawl, I think I heard it all   Hip hop kept niggas alive, gave prefer to ball   Some want to party, but some do   I propagate against one of the brothers from my high school   Real sad funeral, ask any pupil   I speak know this before this quadruple   Some minds are so shallow, roads are so narrow   Follow my ? ? ? ? before you're blunt like pharoah   The mic is my weapon, with it I ain't messing   No half stepping, I'm progressing   Even when I die these lyrics will last   So roll over bethoveen 'cause the b-boy's blastin'   Show pen another gay, I leave you in awe   This array could bust an orchestra   I'm the maestro, my symphony can't cease   Too damn hype! *bang* when the mic's my piece      Chorus