Countdown

Def Squad

For she's perhaps quite clever 
On the mic I'm Wizard call me Chris Webber 
Scary wise I'm way past terror 
I make like Jay Z then Roc a Fella 
Rock 'em out the club 
Then buy 'em a bottle of champagne 
From the bar compliments of E Dub 
I be the one to cause the confusion 
Twist your mind to pieces 
Make ya think I'm losin' 
Yeah  niggaz try to provoke me 
But  I'm a tower god 
So, there ain't no hope 
Bitches like dope E 
So, I resume, If they step 
I Buck-a-Shot like I'm Black Moon 
Let me ask you's, y'all Feel That like Erykah 
Control the states and make a Def America 
My styles legit, peep the steez a bit 
It's official, like a licensed .45 pistol 
Word to the Preacher's Wife 
I got the power to annoy ya 
And keep them shiesty folks on point 
I'm the butler, servin' MC's 
Because I love to 
N-O, quote, You're a Customer 

I put you in your right mind and frame 
I de-rail tracks and rappers like Doc designed the train 
All aboard with the Def Squad, if you can hang 
My name be precise range, when I aim, I flame 
Fuck a gun, when I was twelve, I was bustin' 'em 
Young, just want to have fun, like little Just' and 'em 
But, Doc never trusted them hoes, double crossed me 
Foes, I take it to the nigga, started you hustlin' 
Whether it be weed, dope or coke 
My athlete flow make Doc show, soak his toes 
Make niggaz bow down, when I'm drunk off Gold Crown 
Pull out the pound, bust off my ro-ro-ro-round 
Jump out a tree, land on your neck 
From the moment you start pumpin' Redman in your deck 
You be like damn, that's what I ride for 
If I apply more pressure, it'll snow on July fourth 
Son spark the spliff, bark the fifth 
The tracks make acrobats lose their arch and shit 
If you came to brawl, we love to get involved 
My squad lickin' hard for all white people to jawl 

MC's it's the final countdown 
You look tired can you go the round 
If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit 
If not, I'll turn around and say forget it 

Yeah, nobody rock harder than this 
Closed jaw, stoned face, mic extremist 
And, I doubt it 
You could kiss my ass and make a love song about it 
'Cause, I'm 'bout it and their livin' without it 
Yeah, wantin' to battle with me, as hard as it gets 
Get niggaz in jail watchin' Soul Train 
Turn off the TV, lyrical vet 
Flippin' twenty-six letters of the alphabet 
You talk shit, you deserve what you get 
I'm heart-throb, leave you dead as a door-knob 
Not a hip-hop cop and not down with the Mobb 
Capable of handlin' multiple responsibilities 
Simultaneously, with communication capabilities 
From high-class to mid-class to low and greedy 
I will instantaneously bust an MC 
The non-forgetter, hit you with the one hitter, quitter 
And make you exercise your shit up, nigga 

These niggaz is ridin' dick like rodeo, their homos 
Who want to toe-to-toe, fuck the studio flow 
Def Squad click, a thug nigga, chug a lot of liquor 
.45 slug sender, half spreader, cash getter 
Represent for the real gangsters and drug dealers 
Know half your little rap and I'm cappin' and slappin' niggaz 
Same niggaz takin' this squad shit for a joke 
Pull the pistol 'bout to smoke, they choke, blood spill at the pope 
Their cowards, gettin' rained on like a shower 
Live form NYC, E, Red keepin' me, Mally G 
Master the ceremonial, off the meat rack 
Call you weak, keep gats, pandemonium 
Phony tough Tony ones, we dip dip die in the place 
House, that was some hardcore rap 
Realer than black, black baseball bats and black gats 
'Bout to black out on all you wack cats 

MC's it's the final countdown 
You look tired can you go the round 
If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit 
If not, I'll turn around and say forget it
MC's it's the final countdown 
You look tired can you go the round 
If you can, I'll slap your hands and give you credit 
If not, I'll turn around and say forget it