Return Of The B,Girl - Kool Keith, T-Love

Blowin smoke at your clothes

Girls be out there with, weaves with

Glue in they scalps, tryin to get loose

But it’s time to drop gooses!

(true dat)

YouknowhatI’msayin?

«T, hit it off!»

There’s a lot of girls rhymin on the mic with no direction

Don’t know why they flexin, forgot rules and lessons

The essence: beats and rhymes and shit

I’m about to show these bitches that I’ll die for this

With more than the skills to pay the bills at ?, I rock it

Nobody knows my name, at least I’m hittin pocket

It’s been a while.

«been-been-a, been-a, been a long time» -] Ra

Yeah, it’s been a long time since B-Girls got down

Now I be, mannered like Janet, Jack-me when I’m not lookin

Cause iffin I’m lookin, then you get YO' shit tooken

A hundred degrees of heat, under emcees who sleep-walkin

In some bibles since the age of three

See I be a rap editor, rhymer et cetera

To the letter or competitor, not in it for the cheddar

A calligraphist, envisionist

Yeah it’s been a long time but I’m back to make a diff'

Chorus: Kool Keith

That girl is wack.

That kid is wack.

That producer’s wack.

Your whole family’s wack.

«So wack that it’s bound to show»

I’m systematic, graphic, outspoken, master past a certain MC

Abilities of enemies, construct nine million quitrillion

Makes a brother brilliant, strong like Einstein

I find the underlying, words with verbs herb

Make me famous when I pull up on your anus

It’s disaster for the tri-state actor, in a circle like Urkel

Yo T-Love, these assholes are dirt specks on my rugs

Smokin blunts with stomach pumps

Pick up the mic, your crew’ll only rhyme once

For the budget, 70,000 Monopoly money

With a wack producer, usin Sonny Spitz

You on that «Keep it Real» list, you’re broke

You’re name is Captain Provoke, better know you ain’t

Never eatin Tony Rhomes, files of culture I’m still dope

Even not with Ultra -- back you saved this from Casio samples

I’m raw like green apples

Fly smooth, I ain’t got nuttin to prove

Your album has been out for forever

You didn’t even go plether

Plastic was your quota, Mr. Spiritual Philosopher

Prepare for your release for foul speech

You weak, like Cream of Wheat

I step to you and blow out assholes like Miami Heat

Yo, take off those boots, it’s ninety-five degrees out here

It’s fuckin hot

«So wack that it’s bound to show»

Return of the B-Girl promises

Nothing less, than spectacular, with vernacular

Peep how T mackin the verb

Like hoes strollin, on Pharoah, I’m givin you the narrow

The L-Down, I mean the skinny, this Pickaninny

Went to rock battle, while she rides up to Denny’s

Nah I ain’t really tryin to diss nobody

But old school B-Girls swore in the Goddess

In studded Gazelles, they did windmills

West had on the Pumas, East had on the Shells

Rock the Bells sell prevailed by L’s lips

Serious about the type of styles we flipped

We get closer to millenium, B-Girls dwindlin

You don’t have to stress because «I'm, comin!»

It’s been a long time, I shouldn’t have left you

Sorry for the wack shit you slept through

Yeah, it’s return of the B-Girl

T-Love in the house for the nine-seven

Pullin all, glue off wigs

That’s right, damagin skulls

That’s right it’s all beauty parlor skills

That’s right

Touchin up on the weaves and cuttin ends off