Zealots

Fugees

Another MC lose his life tonight, lord 
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why 
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa 

I haunt MC's like Mephistophales 
Bringin swords and Damacles 
Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy 
Abstract raps simple with a street format 
Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax. 
Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion 
Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation. 
I Feel like Rockwell, "Somebody's watching me" 
I got no privacy whether on land or at sea. 
And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic 
Hypocrite, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit. 
It hurts don't it, the refugees come to your turf and take over the earth. 

See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes 
That can only get down with my crew 
And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes 
We'll show you how the refugees do. 

Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes 
Two MC's can't occupy the same space at the same time. 
It's against the laws of Physics. 
So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics 
Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile 
Whether jew or gentile 
I rank top percentile, 
Many styles, 
More powerful than gamma rays 
My grammar pays, 
Like Carlos Sanatana plays 
Black Magic Woman 
So while you fuming, I'm consuming 
Mango juice under Polaris, 
You're just embarrassed 
Cause it's your "Last Tango in Paris" 
And even after all my logic and my theory, 
I add a muthaf**ker so you ignint niggas hear me. 
And you remember take notes, 
As I sow my rap otas 
And for you biting zealots, here's a quote. 

Another MC lose his life tonight, lord 
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why 
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa 

You can try but you can't divide the tribe 
These cats can't rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe 
The magazine says the girl should have gone solo, 
The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo. 
Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part 
As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start, 
For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp 
Do a cameo while everybody do the dance. 
Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka 
Playin' Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka. 
While you munchin at your luncheon, I'll be planning your assassination 
Then hit you like the Dutchmen 

I compress sound sets with my rap DBX 
Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEX 
Bring terror to the shop of horror, 
As she cries "Mi amor" 
The phantom dies in the opera 
And to the youngin's who carry gadgets 
And kill 6 days a week then on a sabbath. 
Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me 
Then get buried like the great Mussolini 
And for you bitin' Zealots 
Your rap styles are relics 
No matter who you damage 
You're still a false prophet. 

Another MC lose his life tonight, lord 
I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why 
O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa