A Tribe Called Quest - God Lives Through lyrics

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

There's a million MC's that
Claim they want some but see
I create sounds that make your ears go numb
Peace to Sayres Ave, yeah, you know how we go
My best friend Steven at the Home Depot
Laurelton is in the house
I can't forget Southside
Walk past MC's like that
Girl did to Pharcyde
I'm labeled as the cat's meow
The MC with the know-how
Act like you know, not now, but right now
Beast of the East, on MC's I have a feast
I'd eat that ass like quiche
Crack a smile like Shanice
Straight outta Jamaica, seen? Jamaica, Queens
But you could find me out in Georgia
Or anywhere in between
Now, if my partners don't look good
Malik won't look good
If Malik don't look good
Then Quest won't look good
If the Quest don't look good
Then Queens won't look good
But since the sounds are universal
New York won't look good!
Picture Phife losin' a battle come on
Get off it
Put down the microphone, son surrender
Forfeit did I hear somethin' 'bout a
Crew? What they wanna do?
You better call Mr babyface
So he can bring out the cool in you
Or it'll be a sad love song
Bein' sung by Toni Braxton
And I'll dissect you like a fraction
Oh, you wannabe top cat MC's? I'll
Pop you like a zit
You wanna be the champ? You
More like Chief Some-shit
Big up myself EVERY time when
It comes to this
MC's be runnin' scared as if
They're watchin' The Exorcist
I kick more game than
A crackhead from Hempstead
My styles are milk, man
You'd think that I was breast-fed
You know the steelo when the
Diggy-Dawg is on the scene
I dedicate this to all the MC's outta Queens
That goes for Onyx, LL, Run DMC
Akinyele, Nasty Nas and the Extra P
You need a chart, straight up and down, man
There ain't no other
'Nuff respect to all my peeps
That made the album cover
Yo, Tip, don't worry none
You know I get the party jumpin'
Get on the mic and break 'em
Off a lil' lil' somethin'
Yo, Tip don't worry none you know
I gets the party jumpin'
Get on the mic, my man
And break 'em off a lil' somethin'

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

We got the funk doody don shit
Clearly it's the bomb shit
So recognize me, kids, memorize me
Everyday, I be scroungin'
Rarely I be loungin'
I play the down-low, very very incognito
Aries is my sign, I know that I can rhyme
Sometimes I rhyme in riddles
Plus I make the honeys wiggle
Intellect is the major
Some heads like to wager
The skills on the hill
Overlookin' dollar bills
Man, you're crazy
Thinkin' you can phase me
The Ab' doesn't study mere nonsense, money
Life seems to need me, MC's seem too cheesy
With they booty ass renditions
Of defeatin' competition
I rock to the roll, man, yes, I'm a soul man
Bet ya bottom dollar Vinia will make ya holla
As you stand at attention
Did I forget to mention?
MC's will give me twenty if I
Sense that they act funny
Lyrics are abundant, right there
I sound redundant
Just mentionin' the fact that
The area is fat
I dwell in the under, so honey
It's no wonder that I get plenty of tail
While I even get white
I'ma bet hittin' head crack there money
Take that
Breakin' niggas off, cut they bank
Then I'm off
While my Nikes match my Lo hat
Beat joint is mad fat
Got the cutter of the box if
A kid think he's ox
For tier means creator, the poetry relator
It's hemmed like Betsy Ross
Let me tell ya who's the boss

La la la (Oh my God) la la la (Oh my God)
La la la, smooth it out y'all (Oh my God)
La la la (Oh my God) la la la (Oh my God)
La la la (Oh my God) la la la (Oh my God)
La la la

Queens got a brooklyn got a
Bronx got a staten Island got a
Long Island got the zone jersey got a
Philly got a milwaukee got a
LA got a oaktown got the zone
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
See, I like to get down, Jack