Aceyalone - Jack of All Trades lyrics
[Aceyalone - Jack of All Trades lyrics]
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
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
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
Okay Mr pick to Ten, is it sickenin?
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
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
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
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
Okay Mr pick to Ten, is it sickenin?
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