Scenario (7 MC's Mix) Lyrics

Here in 1992, we present the fabulous "What's the Scenario" remix
Whereas, there are seven MCs, six which are in physical form, one
Which is in spiritual essence, and
He goes by the name of, uh... (Hood!)

Check the rhyme, punk that is, so get God eff it (Shit!)
I lick buck shots, Hood, madman, I rip up stages
Lay down your wages, I'm wild like Larry Davis
Extra extra, pick up a clip
I tear ass out the frame (Huh?) and grab my dick (Oh!)
I'm a rock 'em sock 'em robot, kid, I drop bombs
I'm rugged and deadly, so I shit on the petty
A baseball bat, a bastard, I'm bad news
I'm crazy and clever, cut throats of crews
I'm death on the phono, my skills are porno
You say, "Oh no," you bitch-ass homo
I bag up weight, electrifyin' on prime time
I slaughter slob, I'm the greatest of all time
Sick-ass brother, nasty-ass nigga
Pump slugs in your face and dump that ass in the river
Two tears in a bucket, fuck it, kick the can
Say what, say what? I'm a bad, bad man

Quick is how I flip from the tip of the lip
Punchin' out hits like Gladys Knight and the Pips
The Five-Foot Assassin has just raided your area
Your booty rhymes are wack, and that's the reason I ain't hearin' ya
So, roll out the red carpet 'cause I'm king of this
"Vanilla Ice platinum"? That shit's ridiculous
Excuse my French, but profanity is all I knew
And to you other sell-outs, oh, yeah, F you too
And let it be known, I'm not the one to step to
You're better off callin' D-Nice to your rescue
Freestyle fanatic, probably the best around
As for corny MCs, like Chuck D, I shut 'em down
I am the artiful don of hip-hop, and I won't stop
The Five-Foot Assassin has come to wreck 'nuff shop
So do like Michael Jackson and "Remember the Time"
Put on your dancin' shoes or somethin', 'cause you sure can't rhyme

Big up, big up, enter new identity
Next to say somethin', call your posse to me
What does it take to check a technique?
Many styles, many styles
Hostile heat brings burst of energy
Mollow in the dance, it's the new identity
One-two mic check, select for the roughnecks
That tend to run, bet I come correct
In my cyphers of blocks, I bring box to connect with knots
So I can throw dreadlocks
Maintain the rock, don't stop the rock
Maintain the rock, don't stop the rock
Kick it right, D-Nice, and what's it not?
I would rock longer, but fear is fear
So C. Brown, are we in the clear? (Yeah!)
C. Brown, are we in the clear?

Yeah, makin' moves, y'all (Who, y'all?)
On and on and on (Check it, check it out)
To the break-a-break of dawn (Who's that?)
Yes, one of the L-O-N-S
And A Tribe Called Quest, East Coast to West
Remix mad kicks more than Metallica
Tall MCs fall like the Battlestar Galactica
Stampin', stompin', rompin' Compton
(People all over the world) are promptin'
(Styles!) Pick a style, any style, strong, how?
Representation, sensationalization
Scenario for the radio
BLS and Kiss-O (Here we go, yo!) Yeah
Force Main Source LP on the rise
And look at colorless teeth through original eyes
And I'm out like child, ooh-ah, ooh-ah
(Ooh-ah, ooh-ah) There it is, baby paw

Flyin' in on a limb, slim trim, T-I-M
Here I am, dear, I am, don't run from a Grimm
Psych, we be right, be polite for my mics like I'm Ike
See sick, see psych
And slip away, and off to the Poconos
Spot picks the pros, pipes in the birdie pose
Yamaha, hey, hi, me
Let's flip the funk, now it all sounds (Hey!)
Enough, enough, Miss Bidded, I'm with it
If I did it, I was litted and probably shouldn't have quit it
'Cause yo, my corporate status at nights like Gladys
Bed, rest, spacesets, and yo, I'm like the maddest
Male, not female, hell from Unadale
Bounce to b-ball 'cause beats are bein' yelled
In the hallways, always ringin' with a ho
This is my two times nine on the scenario

Check it out, everybody, rhymes and mics
Black men's gettin' loot, doin' what they like
Eight black rebels in the public eye
If you listen very close, I will tell you why
Hood, Phife, Milo, Dino, and C. Brown
Shaheed, myself, and Busta Bust down
Will commence to rock, so bring all the flocks
Interrogation for the knockin' of the box
The boombox ruler controls the medulla
None come cooler, I went like Shula
So bust out the room, let you start to pursue a
Intensified mind, non-blunt consumer
Tip will come booty when it's only a rumor
The mean is so deep that it starts brain tumors
Peace to Hood Baby from the midnight crooner
Smoke 'em up later, if not, then sooner

Hey, what we gon' do in '92
Even though we had fun in '91?
When you feel my laser beam comin' down
When I burn up your sound, leavin' cracks in the ground
What's goin' on, my man?
Goddamn, I know my brain is hurtin'
Listen up, Busta, rhythm will hit 'em, then I get 'em
Rip on 'em, shit on 'em, hit on 'em, then I will sit on 'em
Open up your mouth if you want the food
To get rude, flip mode 'cause I'm in the mood
Haha, haha, yeah, man, that's how it goes
Body get fucked up, blood comin' out the nose
Give me a Band-Aid, what are you askin' for?
More, holy and sacred and pure
Adverse, zig-zag, check it in the Busta new rap
Rhymes, Busta rhymes, or Busta's written rhymes
Yeah, y'all, in '92, I'm packin' my
Roach spray, anyway, take a lick
A Tribe Called Quest lead us out the new school
Mad Matter when she'll sing
Rar, rar, rar, to my dragon
Baby, stop whinin', I see my influence still shinin'
More praise to '92, uh-oh
And I'ma go, "Yo, that's the scenario"