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    [Chorus]

    I'm the jack of all trades, master of one

    Black and underpaid, blastin this mic gun

    Put it to your temple, and pop yo' pimple

    Break you down like kempo, I'm trained in the arts

    [Aceyalone]

    I specify in rockin my page from the heart
    I dig down deep within my psyche

    Information excites me, the knowledge invites me
    When I, throw on my Nike's and step to it nicely

    Huh, it's unlikely any man could out-mic me

    Lightning, please strike me like it did when I was a child

    Hit me with a hundred thousand volts and make me smile

    You name it I can aim it, catch it and tame it, explain it

    Take it and paint it in beautiful technicolor

    Directly from another place you could expect no other
    To stand by these trues and break these rules

    We defy the laws of cool and sang these blues and bring this news

    [Chorus]

    [Aceyalone]

    I'm that hip-hop SPOKESman, I ain't a coke man

    A good folks man, he reached for the mic and broke his hand
    It's not my problem, it's not my fault

    It's not my concern, I don't give a shit about

    Them dirty fingers, reachin for the scepter

    All up in yo' head but I'm not Dr. Lector

    Or Dr. Phil, but I still got to kill

    White widdle, black widdle, fat little pill

    To take for your enjoyment, to get psychadelic

    I don't sell it I spill it out, and tell it so angelic

    My rap gat makes your brain splat
    Blow up, everything that's holdin up your hat

    It's firin the pistons gas, in the engines
    Fuck a foot in the door, we takin off the hinges

    When my, dash is broken, glass is broken

    And class is open, and it's still left smokin

    [Chorus]

    Okay Mr. Pick to Ten, is it sickenin?
    [Aceyalone]

    What kind of little box you thinkin in?Think again

    Draw a blank, you saw a tank
    But didn't see my soldiers on the flank movin up another rank

    The Hip-Hop Hall of Fame went up in flames

    When they, mention my name it's tension in they brains

    An extension of the game and, I stake this claim

    And break these chains and this one's for the last train

    I'm the jack of all trades, master of one

    And the thing I mastered is blastin this mic gun

    Put it to your temple, and pop yo' pimple

    Break you down like kempo, I'm trained in the arts

    We got one verse left to rock this beat

    And seperate the good shit from the weak
    So, get in the groove, and feel the sound

    And once you're inside spread yourself around

    From the bottom to the top, top, to the bottom

    I'm, gonna rock 'em, while, I still got 'em

    I rock this hour with style and power

    And this, is yo' MC hour

    I don't know if, all of you have heard

    But it's up to YOU to rip.. {*vocals fade out*

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