Fugees - How Many Mics Lyrics
Intro: wyclef jeanPick up your microphonesPick up your microphonesChorus: wyclef/prasHow many mics do we rip on the dailySay, me say many money say me say many many manyHow many mics do we rip on the dailyMany money say me say many many manyVerse one: lauryn hillI get mad frustrated when I rhymeThinkin of all them kids that try to do this for all the wrong reasonsSeason change mad things rearrangeBut it all stays the same like the love doctor strangeIm tame like the rapper get red like a snapper, when they do thatGot your whole block saying true datIf only they knew that, it was you who was irregularSoldier soul for some secular muzac thats whackPlus you use that, loop, over and overClaiming that you got a new style, your atempts are futile, oooh childYour puerile, brain waves are sterileYou cant create you just wait to take, my takeLaced with malice, hands get callous, from ripping microphonesFrom here to dallas go ask alice if you dont believe meI get innovisions like stevieSee me, a sin from the chalice, like the weed beIndeed we like kalid mohammed mcs make me vomitI get controversial, freaky style with no rehearsalAu contraire mon frere, dont you even go thereMe without a mike is like a beat without a snareI dare to tear into your ego, we go, way backLike some ganja and palequo or colecovisionMy minds make incisions in your anatomyAnd I back this with deuteronomy or leviticusGod made this word, you cant get with thisSweet like licorice, dangerous like syphillis, yeahChorusVerse two: wyclef jeanI used to be underrated, now I take iron, makes my shit constipatedIm more concentrated, so on my day off with david sanonburg I playGolfRun through crown heights screaming out mazeltoff!Problem with noman before black Im first hu-manAppetite to write, like frederick douglass with a slave handStreet pressure, word to papa I aint going underOne day I have a label and make deals with tommy mottolaMama always told me, your one in a million,Always watch our back, never tango with haitian-siciliansNow I got a record deal, how does it feel?Im never gonna survive unless I get crazy like sealCause the whole worlds out a orderSo at night the feins dance on grease with john travoltaOne got slaughtered as he caught blood from his mouthThe other tried to duck and caught a left with my guinness stoutBrother, brother cant you get this through your headIts a setup by the feds, their scoping us with their infraredsChorusVerse three: prazwellToo many mcs not enough mikes, exit your show like I exit theTurnpikeDice and dynomite like dolomite, double dos been like I dont dickVan dykeStarlight to starbrite the freaks come out at nightLike my man wyclef-i wear my sunglasses at nightAnd my ponage with martial encourageSquash the squad and hide their bodies under my garageAnd when the cops come lookin, I be bookin to brooklynBeat the trails broken flipping tokens to hobokenA clean getaway like alec baldwinDriving in my fast car playing tracy chapmanChorusMany, many money many many manyMany, many money, ha, ha, ha
