[Speaking]
It's 2005
I'm 'bout to blow some heads off, man
I got so much shit 'bout to hit these dudes, man
Feast (?) classic, Juju Mob classic, y'know I mean?
My team is comin', Good Hands
[Verse 1]
Yo, I give it to you straight, never speak fakely
Shareef T lace it, they say he's crazy
I'm only Lost Cauze when I got the .380
This is my costume, no moniker to make you eat daisies
None needed, son weeded
For some reason, on the mic I become some demon
Other emcees eat they lungs even
You think not? Come see 'em
From the stage you will run fleein'
I need more cowbell, throw in your towels
You make the crowd swell with bottles
Thrown at you, I'm the grave robber, throne snatcher
Don't matter, I attack like throat cancer
You can't rap, but you's a dope dancer
A hype man, go adjust my mic stand
I roll with ???, who love to make your life stop
You've been dismissed, go home and get your shine box
[Chorus]
[Echo] It's the Cauze, it's the Cauze...
[Scratch: KRS-One] Emcees act like they don't know
[Scratch: 50 Cent] I'm the underground king, and I ain't been crowned
[Scratch: Styles P] Motherfuckers hit your knees and just pray to the Lord
[Verse 2]
No pimp cup, no gators (?)
No trucker hat, no blazer
I'm from the city that spawned Joe Frasier
Bernard Hopkins, stay the fuck out of my zone, haters
Now I'm no Messiah, I'm no savior
But when the mic's in my clutch there's no greater
It's like a vato loco with no razor
A black man's Kool Aid with no flavor
ESPN with no Raiders
Or the Lost Cauze out for sale with no takers
That movie +Tron+ with no lasers
An episode of +Oz+ with no rapers
The X Games with no skaters
You get the gist; my only exercise is sit and twist
I'm just as quick as Michael Vick
Cuz I'm getting' blitzed like a three-four defense
Won't be tackled in the Three Four Precinct
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
I'm the omen in rhyme form
You soft as nylon
I spit hot fire like Dilawn, Dilawn, Dilawn
Mind gone from buds 's big as pine cones
The Lost Cauze is a motherfucking cyclone
Get caught in my path, and I divide homes
You don't want to die, homes
I talk with my nine chrome
He's highly upset
Rush the stage with pure rage if you deny me a set
I ain't playin', dog
This is beast music, this is Reef music
Treat your face like bongos, this the beat movement
Daddy-yo the beat bruiser, leave your teeth looser
You'll be foolish to not cop that +Feast+, stupid
Cuz this a banger-banger, cock the thing and bang ya
Danger, danger, one remains in the chamber
Hot wire hanger, bash your face in
Now go fuck yourself like masturbation
The father of this bastard nation
I'm hard like chemistry and math equations
Leave your face full of holes like the mask of Jason
I'm past the waitin', getting at these bastards hatin'
I'm sicker than a faggot Hatian filling his veins with H hits
My gun plastic like some fake tits (Nigga!)
I don't make hits, I just crap classics that make you want to break shit
you fake bitch!
Bleh! Bleh! Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!
[Talking]
White Boy 1: Everybody's always talking about the legends, they talking
about Biggie and Pac (White Boy 2: Yeah, fuck those two) and Pun and Big L
No one's talking about the real legends (WB2: Hell yeah)
The guys on top right now (WB2: Hell yeah)
I'm talking about the Sages (WB2: Sage? Sage is down with the Klan!)
The Aesops, ??? Combustion right here, are you kidding me?
(WB3: Old school rap is doo doo, dude, it's garbage)
He's the next big thing, listen to him
WB3: I need, like, beats that don't even sound like beats
WB1: Yeah, exactly, they should be like “ERr Err err err”
WB3: Who wants to dance anymore anyways?
WB2: It's the blacks
WB3: Yo, yo, rip that shit Combustion
Combustion: [Rapping]
Yo, yo, yo, yo
My rhyme style you can't even measure
Cuz I flow like Helium (WB2: Mmm) at 40 times atmospheric pressure (WB2:
Here he goes)
I'm super fluid nice, can't rap but I can almost write (WB2: Uh ha)
Can't fight but I can almost bite
Hate Bush cuz he's stealing my rights
Actually I just like to gripe (WB2: West Hartford, what!) because my skin is
white
I hate my dad, see, cuz he don't like
Paying for me to sit on my ass and smoke this pipe (WB2: Go John)
That's what I do because I'm so bored
Got this super silver haze weed that you can't afford (WB2: Connecticut!)
And I'm crazy fly like the Wright Brothers
Nerd rapper of the yo, yo, yo man like Tom and Dick's mothers
Might be ??? ugly, but I'm “Mister Lover Lover”
[Black A&R]
Man, that shit is corny, man. Ok?
Let me tell you somethin'
My artist Corleone Capone from Big Dog Entertainment (Barks)
He gon' eat yo' shit...
Ay, Corleone, tells these niggaz how the street, hood, y'know'm sayin'
Rich, big time, killa crack niggaz do it
Corleone: Yo, yo this young Corleone Capone a force of AKA Real Clinton
y'feel what I'm sayin'?
[Rapping] Yo, I cop the coke, pop the toast
Keep a bottle of Cris to pop and toast
Cook the crack, cut the crack, I sell the crack
I love the crack! Then I mix and I got crack, nigga
Keep a gat that'll put it in your back, nigga
Four shots you'll be layin' out flat, nigga, OH!
Pop the top, drop the top
Cop a grip, chop the block
About to cop the block, the block is hot
The block is a block that block the blocks, OH! Feel me?!
I rock the rocks, that rock the rocks
Then drop the drop, cop the shot, the pop...
I got shots for tops, niggaz!
[Talking with A&R talking shit in the background]
Young Corleone Capone a force of AKA Real Clinton, y'know'm sayin'?
JFK Jr. of this rap shit, y'know'm sayin'?
I got bricks comin' out my ass, nigga, y'know'm sayin'?
I sleep bricks, nigga, y'know'm sayin'?
I got cocaine everywhere, nigga, yea!