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[Canibus] You want a facelift? This what it take 'Bis A beat that'll make a nigga think an earthquake hit The blue collar rapper, enigmatic, democratic Rap-saavy fanatic that can smash any matchup High with a roach, bring wealth and goggles to my show My flow glow brighter than any diamond that you know I walk among you, draw energy from you The art of Sun-Tzu, he used to bust too I'm like a Shaolin monk on crunk Holdin himself up with his thumb on the stump Get a Hummer for the summer to stunt And just sit in the front, while my lungs become one with the blunt Futuristic old schooler, look like JFK Jr When I shoot up, Jacob the jeweler with a new cut Can-I-bus, I ain't got what I want yet How would you expect one of the best, what I can't get no, grab the mic, niggaz lets go Tell me who got the best flow, end up with less dough Open your vest, let your chest show I'ma open your chest, let your breath go With a thirty-eight special Keep it on the low, don't let the press know Behind the scenes, they put me on death row and won't let go Brace yourself while I break the chains My beats bang so hard, they erase the blame Letras de canciones [Chorus] 4x This is full battle rattle, attack you Salute while I smash you, Can-I-bus bus to blast you 4X [Canibus] The hudred bar monster, spit without hawkin up Smash your whole roster, fuck what it cost ya Fuck what it cost me, join the army Smoke Bob Marley, the sergent major honorably discharge me From my sentimiliar and my hemping sence Inspiration, why is it only worth ten percent Another day in the life of Mr. Can-I-bus MY life too rought for me not to recognize lust The soldier's back to blow a fuckin hole through rap I wish they'd let me out the cage and stop holding me back You might say the only thing holdin me back is myself It ain't hard to tell what's holdin me back is my cells I don't make records for girls, I spit for the pearl But i'm an artist in an ignimant world, world World class athlete, trained to attack beats Mixtape smash the streets, try to patch the leaks Niggaz try to battle me but lose They got limited views, I remember when I was primitive too I'd sit and talk with the inqusitive youth 'Cause I be spittin the truth sometimes I ask 'em, what you listenin to Lyrical fitness is the proof, let me put you in the booth Nottz'll play the beat loop Let me see what you could do The older advise the younger when they recognize the hunger I do a couple raps with the mic to get pumped up Monkey bar sit-ups, blood rush to my head I write rhymes upside down with an astronaut pen Spit a hot sixteen and my ten, take it up a notch, then Lost everything when I'm locked in You in the kill zone, boxed in Tried to play jump-rope With skeets on and got dropped when you hopped in The last mohican, smoke you in the first season You don't speak it but it's no secret Peep it, you light weight like rice cakes Anybody under twenty-one to touch the microphone is mic bait Hungry niggaz start to get type faced, that's when the fight breaks A sixty second rhyme is a nice pace Work a nigga out 'til he spit out white paste Tell him he could hide the proof on his face with night shades You looking for a battle, you came to the right place This is Mic Club and over here I'm the mic ace [Chorus] 4X From Letras Mania