CRU w/ Ras Kass
Da Dirty 30
Ebonic Plague

Chorus:
Mike checking the one and that might check me X2

Verse One:
[Yogi]

Mix it up with the big Y-O
Coming from the life isle with fab funk flow
So yo how you feeling, tell me how you feeling
Mad drug dealing, mad caps peeling
I do my thing, drink a budwieser
And I seen more bush than Dan Anheiser
Twist the caps on you fake Jon Gottis
Watch the pump shotie, make you look like Kwame
Cru’s about to drop the Dirty, understand cipher,
Got no more moves, so I’m a do like a light bulb
Niggas couldn’t catch it with the mustard disgusted
Drop the shit that got your brains dusted, bust it
This is how it flow in the Bronx Zoo-York
Beef up the step and stab with a fork
Nothing but the rough, understood
Got me in the double extra-large bullet proof with the hood
Sittin at the bar, sipping Becks,
Plus I got the two turn-tables and a microphone
On deck, so who’s next? Rugged Ras
Voice so nice, and dropping Soul on that ass
I-B-F got my rhymes ranked cause they hittin
Plus I’m all-round like Scott Pippen
Here or there, east, west, I mean China to Mexico
If you like the way it’s going down, let me know
F*ck it, Harlem knows the ledge
But my Bronx niggas know the wedge
Full fledge, up town, plus we got the cow in the oven
(Wild-G) Truly yours, the breakfast club, (lil punk)

Verse Two:
[Ras Kass]

I was hot ass 97 in 73
D-O-D my pedigree multiple felony , see
You spit phlegm, I spit fumes
Across the rumors of Kiats hovering sand dunes
Of miniture man wounds, it’s national lampoons, alien vacations,
I’m abducting motherfuckin rappers to my inner space stations, (what) for chessy
Can Ras Kass get the swerving off? Yeah believe me
I hit below the belt, and bust a niggas balls
Like Riddick Bowe verses Goliath, (so)
Hell yeah, (although) I’m a ridah
Ain’t nothing sweet, you cancer causing like saccharine
Action, intoxicated chinky-eyed black men
And nowadays fools forget what they actually meant (stupid)
Besides the loyal cadets, and priceless beget (basically)
I don’t give a shit how rich it get
I’ll have you in the car talking to yourself
Like Alanis Morrisette with terets (O-E, that’s right)
Like sistas with vaginas song "can we get freaky tonight"
Donald Trump wouldn’t let you shine his shoes, my man
If you pissed off, then you dying with your dick in your hand
Plus when shit hits the fan, I mean when Ras reach the crowd
In verse to verse, switch my aura and rotate Earth
And fuck them servant MC’s, they living bummy
I’m on some show me the money
And still educate the dummy


(Mike checking the one and that might check me) X2

Chrorus X2:

It’s all about
You for me and you for me,
And playa if ya due for two,
Ya do for three
You think it’s bout the
The cash, the cars, and jewelry
We living in the age of the Ebonic Plague

Verse Three:
[Chadeeo]

You see the words is meshing through this lyrical aggression
Punks pop shit, we Joe Pesh ‘em, no question
Cru session, no time for second guessing
Front in a fesson, we full court pressin
Tessin, any in our way will learn a lesson
Feather in my stetson, chrome-plated wesson
We ain’t got no time for excuses and reasons
Bringing nothing but butter in all four seasons
Wanna blow my nose when I’m sneezing
With hundred dollar bill folds I’m squeezin, reason,
Through your nearest town with the frown expression
Those Bronx piece, everlasting impression
Now think about this…imagine Cru rhymeless
Like this world with no clock being timeless
Feel dope when it come to oratorical
Stay on the low with a dime that’s adorable
Got the rap shit covered like long johns
Big brother Ant taught me how to bear arms
L.A. to D.C. I gets my P.C.
Keeps me a fifth of B.C.
And we goin drink to your ass keeps that flash heat
Never no more when I pull, I blast heat
Think you could deal? I’m crazier than B’Jour
But Know I’m up on Fantasy Isle with Mr. Roake