Too Many Rappers (New Reactionaries Version) [feat. Nas]

Mic check, mic check One, one, two, two, three, three Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees It goes three, three, two, two, one, one MCA, Ad-Rock, Mike D, that's how we get it done like Ladies and gents attention, Nas in the house With Beastie Boys, we can turn it out Perpetrators, we can point 'em out So if you got somethin' on your mind, let it out Like a Nexus 6 comin' home to roost Handheld 58 when it's time to get loose Don't need the ear goggles, just put me through the speakers Like a scientist with tubes and beakers Have MCs over my house and fix'em brunch But you rappers? We goin' out, goin' dutch So pass me the sword, I'll start swingin' Just randomly chopping on a crazy ass mission Because I'm back with a bang boogie, oogie oogie Strawberry letter 23 like Shuggie Oh, my God, just look at me Grandpa been rappin' since '83 Oh, I'm supersonic like J.J. Fad Got crazy ass shit pullin' out the bag Don't forget the tartar sauce, yo, 'cause it's sad All these crap rappers, they're rappin' like crabs I have carte blanche, the vagabond Nas is the narcissist, my pockets are rotund I'm no killa, but compared to you, I'm more real'a You ain't a shot, a mobster, or a drug dealer A slug peeler, you're not, mafioso, no You ain't got the cutthroat in ya, beginner I ain't tryin' to hear your racket You work with police dog, you snitch, you rat, you wear that jacket How many rappers must get dissed Gimme eight bars, and watch me bless this I start to reminisce, oh, when I miss The real hip hop with which I persist Like rum in mojitos, bullets and banditos Matzoh balls in soup, jackets and troop Yes, y'all, this is one for the history books Nasty Nas, what's the word, count it off on the hook Let's go! One, one, two, two, three, three Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees It goes three, three, two, two, one, one MCA, Ad-Rock, Mike D, that's how we get it done like Ladies and gents attention, Nas in the house With Beastie Boys, we can turn it out Perpetrators, we can point 'em out So if you got somethin' on your mind, let it out 'Cause this the type of lyric goes inside your brain To blow you bullshit rappers straight out the frame My lyrics spin round like a hurricane twister So get your hologram on off of Wolf Blitzer Too many rappers to shake a stick at I outta charge a tax for every weak rap I had to listen to 'cause we be makin' stacks Like Stax Records, my squad we gotta pack, we never coming whack To all you crab rappers and hackers And Circuit Fenders, two-tone splendor I take the cake, I stole the mold The golden microphone, well that's mine to hold And why all these biters all up in my crotch space? Sniffin', puffin', huffin', and mean muggin' with a Blimpie Bluffin Back up off me, sucka, you ain't sayin' nothin' I'm broader than Broadway, I was in project hallways Dual tape recorder, lacin' oratorials all day I'm just getting started on this beat, this is foreplay And when this song finished, y'all can sing along with this By the way, I have a strong fetish for Christian Louboutin steppers I hear Russian blonde's the wettest But anyway, I better pay homage to my fellas And that's what's on my mind and the rhyme, who's next up? Mike D, the man of mystery History in the makin', and now we're takin' Titles, awards, and accolades Scarin' the competition as I sharpen my blades We come together like peanut butter and sandwiches Like pen and paper, like Picasso and canvases Rockin' stadiums and shitty bars Go back in time, send a fax from my car One, one, two, two, three, three Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees It goes three, three, two, two, one, one MCA, Ad-Rock, Mike D, that's how we get it done like Ladies and gents attention, Nas in the house With Beastie Boys, we can turn it out Perpetrators, we can point 'em out So if you got somethin' on your mind, let it out That was dope!