Bad Seed - J-Treds, Gaston, Wiseguy, Problemz, The Bad Seed, P Dap, and DCQ Freestyle (Scenes of the Underworld) lyrics

[Intro: J-Treds] Whoo! Yo, yo. Okay, come out. Yo, no cruddy sk**s, it's Eddie Ill, D.L. That's how it is. D.L. and Eddie Ills. Wiseguy said we prevail. Check him out. Y'all ready for this? Double take: what you know about that? Yo, it stay fresh. Check him out. Yo, yo [Verse 1: J-Treds] I'll grab the mic and work wonders by casting spells And leave cats wondering, “Why we catching L's?” Got ‘em puzzled by the wordplay, had to burn chase Some are gas, thinking they that fly ‘cause they're birdbrains On the bugged tip with their head in the clouds I'll bring ‘em down to Earth, show ‘em what Treds is about I'm creating better rhymes that can make minds see That I'm ahead of my time like fake IDs Dropping new sh**—that's why you never heard me slipping ‘Cause I do work. Most don't do sh** like dirty women Fake crab rappers thinking they got a tight verse Son, they might strike first, but I'm the last laugher The one who's left standing, so heads can't win Versus the champion. Don't try and diss the J flow I'll make you a believer—don't even try and front I'll drop a verse and you'll change faces like Mr. Potato [Verse 2: Gaston] Ayyo, give me that mic And watch me keep it like a secret and won't release it ‘Til I see fit. The cops couldn't beat it out of me Rodney King would be proud of me. I'm ill, take out emcees And stick ‘em with the bill. I got sk**s, hip hop's my trade But wouldn't trade it for the world—I love it more Than my girl. I used to curl up under the record covers We kept each other warm. Never met another to turn me on Like a rap song—my love is that strong I latched on young. Now I'm strung. Save your five mics Just give me one. I'll show you how it's done [Verse 3: Wiseguy] We'll show ‘em how it's done with a terrifying tandem Wiseguy and Gaston with the impact of a handgun. More like a magnum The magnum force ripping rappers off, taking their pride Sort of like a pocket book by your side Wiseguy, I grab the mic but stride in Pride like Kitty I'll rock cities-wide with somebody getting with me I'm not jiggy like Biggie, but I flip styles like Bill Bixby ‘cause I'm Nifty. I got, like, a hundred and fifty Raps I come with. Like a batch, rhymes hatch Out my head. Wiseguy verbally unleaded I'm a living legend. Nobody's forgetting The rhymes I say is breathtaking while I'm taking a F Writing rhymes until I go deaf Yo, I got intellect, look at the mic with introspect Wiseguy. You're in debt ‘cause y'all pay your fee You appreciate greatly the freestyle I got Rock, send shockwaves up your block I'll hit you in the crotch with one of my unorthodox Type of style and grammar Swing a mic sort of like hammer from Thor Yo, I refuse to listen to Shama Lama, I'm raw Wiseguy lyrically hardcore, a connoisseur A freestyling metaphor coming off the brain On the D.L. with my n***a D.L And Eddie Ill. These other DJs ain't got any sk**s Compared to him or me. Wiseguy W-I-S-E-G-U-Y Mess with me, you die—a suicide mission Fry n***as like chicken, leave heads spinning like Michelin Tires. You ain't ready for the mercenary for hire You need to retire ‘cause I told you that Hip hop ain't dead with n***as like Wiseguy, Gaston, Problemz, J-Treds, and every other brother They tried to step up, but we're Undercover like Malik Yoba Yo, you're just a toy Yoda. I'm a Range Rover We taking over. Wash it down with a grape soda [Verse 3: Problemz] You b**h-a** n***as better be on your P's and Q's When the rugged rebel represents ‘cause that spells bad news Been in it to win it ever since I was a little ba*tard Banging on tables, but now my literature is mastered To hell with the a** kicks—leaving n***as in wooden caskets You'd think my name was NASA the way motherf**ers get blasted Screws is mad loose and none want test There isn't a rude boy, but if you do, don't want that bulletproof vest Got to hold down the fort like Mr. Rock Leaving a trail of chalk upon the sidewalks of New York Packing a ducky four-fifth upon my waist Any n***a that want to take it to my face'll get sprayed like mace So what? n***a, you don't want no parts of this Prob' spark up the mic and smoke your a** like a arsonist I'm one of the illest motherf**ers from the Heights Crown to be specific. Crazy gifted with the lyrics What? P-R-O-B-L-E-M-Z. What? For the '93 plus 2 plus 3, uh [Verse 4: The Bad Seed] Sometimes I ain't happy, so, therefore, I won't smile I'll stand stone-faced, that I'm-in-the-zone face That I'm-‘bout-to-pull-the-underbooger-and-wet-the-whole-place Type n***a to smack you in your mouth, erase your whole taste You ain't know by now? Well, hold up. You ‘bout to find out I go a step further from blowing your mind: I'll blow your mind out Time out, wait a second. I'm the equivalent to A platinum-selling artist already and ain't even made a record Makin' Records that label you gon' pick it up on Guarantee drama, roll up the lah—get your d** on From the sound of it, your whole rap style is counterfeit I an*lyze and I'm amazed at the garbage I found it in What is y'all n***as? Men or some mice? You spend your time Trying to be mean, but, every time I pick up the mic device, I'm nice From the city so night, they named it twice New York, New York to be precise. Mouth grills is made of ice [Verse 5: P Dap] Yo, I'm from a desert better known as Queens, ghetto-repping My jurisdiction naked a**—what I'm addressing I could do that. I got the status and I got experience Inspired by n***as within my radius but not familiar with Getting a beat down. I'm sleep-bound Caught up in the Seven-Sign style of mine, shady town of mine I'm professional and I got medals/metals for being ghetto-smart Honors in fine art to bring you vocal onslaught A bogart like big, green tanks. Make you walk planks When I'm finished, I'll put the check in the bank, and what? Blame it on the shady V side of me ‘cause I'm too much Equivalent to guns when bust Good for doing the impossible like breaking out of handcuffs Some mighty fellow introducing one of the five boroughs Inadequate n***as'll burn in my inferno [Interlude 1: DCQ and P Dap] P Dap: P Dap coming through. Y'all know. Haha DCQ: Sound stalker DCQ. Check it [Verse 6: DCQ] Medina Green's on campus And don't none of you motherf**ers forget it I'll hold this down for my motherf**ers spitting Who need to come home and taste plates with me Yeah, I f** with you ‘cause I respected you [A little I to?] Medina Green They can't separate the team. Our culture's Islam So what the f** they gon' tell us? Can't outdate us. You're on your hiatus I'll deal with perpetrators—it ain't nothing. Just hold your head f** the physical, we run this with the mental [?] forever love you, respect due Study them lessons and remember what I told you