Who gets laid  the chicken or the egg?  
 How about the MC that has just been led  
 To a renegade teacher  preacher then he got stomped  
 Cause I'm a feature straight from the Bronx  
 Productions  better known as Boogie Down  
 If I was a king right now I'd get crowned  
 The Nice is a teacher  not a prince or a rap lord  
 I even write my rhymes on a blackboard  
 To get specific, and probably make you understand  
 What makes the 808 plan  
 It's simple, I'm a round it off like this  
 That's how many stupid MC's I've dissed  
 But if the commence to try me I won't buy it  
 I'll look them up and down and I'll say "Don't even try it"  
 Cause I can go on and on without breathing  
 The TR, another form of BDP-eating  
 MC's like Chunky, moving real bluntly  
 Shaking and baking MC's like a junky  
 Fiending, hitting MC's like they was cocaine  
 Calling them John Doe, meaning they have no name  
 I'll spin you like a quarter, drink you like water  
 Hit below the belt with things you never thought of  
 I lay down the law that I am a slaughter  
 I roll like a tital wave, so you oughta  
 Float like a sailboat, move like a speedboat  
 In water, now watch you soak  
 Into a rhyme of mine until you hit the bottom  
 It's heavy like an anchor, it's no problem  
 For me to just bake you, eat you like a cookie  
 I am a profressional, boy, you're just a rookie  
 I'm here to sing a song, but some are not able  
 Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table  
  
 In my prime, more vocal than I've ever been  
 I'm not an amateur, sort of like a veteran  
 Split from the bums, arriving from a long trip  
 Now I'm back to just cold rip  
 MC's like confetti, eat 'em like spaghetti  
 I chill for a year and yet I'm still ready  
 To house MC's, sink 'em like a boat will  
 I roll heavy, thick like oatmeal  
 So now you know the 808 is showing  
 I do damage in just one moment  
 Here's a little message to those who want to hang out  
 Just remember that I give pain out  
 The TR-808 relates to a terrorizer  
 Never hiding, clever always memorizing  
 Poetry, history, math, or even paragraphs  
 I'm not into b-boying, just hoeing  
 Showing, blowing MC's like the wind does  
 I might lay you, sort of like a hen does  
 Cause your rhymes are weak and unstable  
 Compared to me you're just crumbs on the table  
  
 You must think, before you even get soup  
 I'll put you on the corner and sell you like a prostitute  
 Like a street whore, make you want more and more  
 Move you to the side, up and down like a seesaw  
 Pulling out a gun is uncalled for  
 But I'm with it, so go for yours  
 You may even try to diss, but I call it flattery  
 I pack more volts than a Duracell battery  
 Charging MC's, smooth like the breeze  
 Scott made me funky, yo, that was one theme  
 Or topic, showing I be rocking  
 Every little city I play I leave a heat wave  
 Burning up the industry, never try to get with me  
 I'm the type of person that never needs rehearsing  
 Just a little sex, a six pack of Beck's  
 And my room to move about, and a Guiness Stout  
 To make me feel able, chilling, and stable  
 Sometimes I'm on the mic, sometimes I'm on the turntable  
 I'm superb, sort of like herb  
 A man of my word and I've never been served