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Fugees » How Many Mics
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	(Intro: Wyclef Jean) Pick up your microphones Pick up your microphones (Chorus: Wyclef/Pras) How many mics do we rip on the daily Say, me say many money say me say many many many How many mics do we rip on the daily Many money say me say many many many (Verse One: Lauryn Hill) I get mad frustrated when I rhyme Thinkin of all them kids that try to do this for all the wrong reasons Season change mad things rearrange But it all stays the same like the love doctor strange I'm tame like the rapper get red like a snapper, when they do that Got your whole block saying true dat If only they knew that, it was you who was irregular Soldier soul for some secular muzac that's whack Plus you use that, loop, over and over Claiming that you got a new style, your atempts are futile, oooh child Your puerile, brain waves are sterile You can't create you just wait to take, my take Laced with malice, hands get callous, from ripping microphones From here to Dallas go ask Alice if you don't believe me I get innovisions like Stevie See me, a sin from the chalice, like the weed be Indeed we like Kalid Mohammed MC's make me vomit I get controversial, freaky style with no rehearsal Au contraire mon frere, don't you even go there Me without a mike is like a beat without a snare I dare to tear into your ego, we go, way back Like some ganja and palequo or ColecoVision My minds make incisions in your anatomy And I back this with Deuteronomy or Leviticus God made this word, you can't get with this Sweet like licorice, dangerous like syphillis, yeah (Chorus) (Verse Two: Wyclef Jean) I used to be underrated, now I take iron, makes my shit constipated I'm more concentrated, so on my day off with David Sanonburg I play golf Run through Crown Heights screaming out "Mazeltoff!" Problem with noman before black I'm first hu-man Appetite to write, like Frederick Douglass with a slave hand Street pressure, word to papa I ain't going under One day I have a label and make deals with Tommy Mottola Mama always told me, "Your one in a million, Always watch our back, never tango with haitian-sicilians" Now I got a record deal, how does it feel? I'm never gonna survive unless I get crazy like Seal Cause the whole worlds' out a order So at night the feins dance on grease with John Travolta One got slaughtered as he caught blood from his mouth The other tried to duck and caught a left with my Guinness stout Brother, brother can't you get this through your head It's a setup by the feds, their scoping us with their infrareds (Chorus) (Verse Three: Prazwell) Too many MC's not enough mikes, exit your show like I exit the turnpike Dice and dynomite like Dolomite, double do's been like I don't Dick Van Dyke Starlight to starbrite the freaks come out at night Like my man Wyclef-"I wear my sunglasses at night" And my ponage with martial encourage Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my garage And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin to Brooklyn Beat the trails broken flipping tokens to Hoboken A clean Getaway like Alec Baldwin Driving in my fast car playing Tracy Chapman (Chorus) Many, many money many many many Many, many money, ha, ha, ha
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