Eric B. & Rakim - Run For Cover Lyrics
Gunshots and explosions](scratching: run dmc sample: run)Run for cover.Here I go again, ready to flow again.Better hope my mic dont blow again.Warned by alarms when the mic gets warm.Crowdll get critical, cant keep calm.Jet for the exit, why hang around?Words that I found make the mic melt down.If you stay, better cooperate, cuz I amputate,And whoever dont break, im-a suffocate.Leave em with asthma, you better pass theMic to the massacre master who has thePower to build and destoy at the same time,So track the wack at the right, and exact couldShine. (? )Meant to beat overheat, but I wont stop,So evacuate the spot when the mics hot.Switch it from one hand to another,And thats a hint, my brother, run for cover.Cuz Im armed, my brain contains a bomb,As if I escaped from vietnam.Some people label me lethal, lyrics I made then putBeats to.Format, collapse your lungs twist your tongues,You cant bump your gums off of none of the drums.Words that I madell create an iller scene,Eric b. is the fly human being on the guillotine.Hook em up to a respirator, cuz its the mistaSuffocator.What I write is like shovin a mic down yourWindpipe.Dont let him bite rhymes rakim write.No mic-to-mouth resuscitation is neccessary;No obituary, and nothing left to bury.As it strikes on the same mic twice and then,Cut it on, and im-a strike again.I meditate off the breaks, till the place shakes,Then I make rain, hail, snow and earthquakes.Speak the truth, tear the roof off the mother.The stage is stompin grounds -- run for cover.(scratching)Evacuate the building, danger, cuz I came toExplain theStrategy thatll be tragic automatically,Havin me to cause another catastrophe.All you gotta do is give rakim theMicrophone and the crowdll yell timber.Buildings collapsin, rappers gettin trapped in,Areas closed off, no one gets back in.So set up roadblocks, barricade the doors,Fade, put a detour sign on the stage.Hold my microphone as evidence, the weapon I useAnd been usin ever sinceThe days in the park when, rap was an art then.Plus I was dominant, determined and dark-skinned.Makin it hard to walk the streets at nightFor those who talk the weak beats on the mic.Whoevers livin large better wear camouflage.Prepare to be bumrushed when I yell charge.Surround by sound of the beat-down another brother,This is stompin grounds, run for cover.Wheels or foot, better not stay put.Whole place shook till the mics unhooked.Then youve got seven minutes to vacate thePremises.Lyricsll echo soon as the break finishes.Dont act wild, single file to the door.No need for an encore, just clear the floor.Cuz my mics about to self destruct,The stagell blow up when my rhymes erupt.So make sure the place is cleared out and abandoned,Cuz minutes from now it wont be standin.Then send out and a.p.b.: all poets beware of aBrother like me.Now how many rhymes could your man manufacture?How many bitin mcs can I capture?Trap rappers who try to run off at the mouth;Take over their route, play em out like a cubScout.So leave troopin for mcs at war,And if its a battle let the crowd keep score.Cuz me and the drummer make drama, and thats wordTo mother...run for cover.(scratching)[instrumental]
