Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
A Tribe Called Quest
A Tribe Called Quest
Performer
Busta Rhymes
Busta Rhymes
Performer
Tony Smalios
Tony Smalios
Remixer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Kamaal Fareed
Kamaal Fareed
Composer
Ali Shaheed Muhammad
Ali Shaheed Muhammad
Composer
Malik Izaak Taylor
Malik Izaak Taylor
Composer
Trevor Smith
Trevor Smith
Lyrics
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
A Tribe Called Quest
A Tribe Called Quest
Producer
Bob Power
Bob Power
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

One, two, one, two One, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two One, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two One, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two 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 One, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two 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 One, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two Aiyyo, you know it's Busta Rhymes, every time Oh yes, I'm comin' wicked with the new design I'm sayin' one, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two One, wa, wa, one, one, two, one, two 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 engineer 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 roll Take you out on your high, less you payin' a toll 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 Cincinnati 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 We comin' far, far, far Busta Rhymes is comin' far, far, far 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 today or tomorrow Niggaz be collaboratin' sickening You beat them like they father Oh, shit, check out what I saying Ah hah, ah hah, oh, ah hah, ah, hah You know my niggaz don't be playing Once upon a mah, hah, hacking time I received the opportunities to represent my first rhymes To define, lyrical sensations Black masons blowin' up the spot Just to represent the Nations Three dimensions, tri-clops, Mr. Busta Rhymes three eyes Fat like a burger and fries Mama so mama saa mamma ma kosah Go back to the country to go check my grand mama 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
Writer(s): Malik Izaak Taylor, Ali Shaheed Jones-muhammad, Trevor Smith, John William Davis Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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