Lost Boyz, A+, Redman, Canibus - Beasts from the East lyrics

"The forecast: showers heavy at
Times with occasional thunderstorms
Today and a high of 89 degrees"
The cops said to me, "yo kid"
"Partial clearing and a low of 74"
Damn! Kghhh!

Basically, kid word, Ren zone, wanna hit?
Queens! This microphone I got some of this
You know how many member LB tran
Get motherfucking biz along on this track
We got the funk Doctor Spot
Canibus and A+ from far-sized block
Yo, yo, yo, yo, Bink Dawg locks it down

Yo, we come through like bulls, see
’cause niggas takin' two pulls and pass
Nigga, watch your back once you
Talk out your ass
I pack a 380 in my stash for protection
Family to raise, the world is acting crazed


I never thought I'd make it
It was hectic when I scrambled
On point like a knife
I'm takin' life as a gamble
Living in the rotten apple
Yo where every core is rotten
All my niggas, rest in peace
Ya see you gone but not forgotten
Now my main wifey, deaded shady chicks
Official Lost Boyz since the year of '86
And fuck these crooked niggas I could
Kill 'em with the passion
At times I feel like blasting
In Jamaican Queens fashion
You think you can fuck around
But kid you're just thinking
It's over when I'm sober
Imagine when I'm drinking
Without blinking man
I'll tear your crew like pages
I’ll rip you from the backyards
Parks and on stages

Yo, A+ the lyrically superb one
Spitting rhymes off the top of the tongue
To burn ya ear drums rocking shit
Make the opposite team call a time out
Knocking niggas three times my size out
The crowd loves me
So when I ain't around they ask for me
I buckle up and catch wreck
Like a crash dummy for the fast money
I get up in that ass money
The fact you tryna test me kinda bugs me
I leave crews fed up
Like handicap niggas tryna get up
Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pellets
I blow up the spot when it's time to rock
I speak out my voice box and
Peak out at a hundred watts
Who wanna cipher? I get dumb
Word to my mother, the Father
The Holy Ghost and Rev Run
When it's all said and done
I end the service
Concocting the type of verses
Average MCs worship

Fuck with the lyrical skills you get killed
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Big Dog! Turn the track off!
Fuck how you feel
Yo fake MC's, step to the rear!
Fuck with the lyrical skills you get
Yo real MC's, bring this shit up north!

My style is Milk of Magnesia
Clutch the five speed and bust
The more the merrier, secure the area
My La Familia is ultimate superior
We don't jack cars
We jack for aircraft carriers
I bounce like trampolines when I be
Blowing the fiends to pieces
Hem 'em like sewing machines and Jesus
When the shadows of the barrel
Pointing out my boy Camaro
I get punished like Pharaoh for splitting
You're better off singing Christmas
Carols for Christmas
Because I'm on point like
Bow and arrow equipment
The president of chicken head conventions
I give you a deluxe Ku Klux lynching
I got a headache from the stress, success
Not wearing a vest
5-11 for being dirty, court's at 9: 30
Yo, MrCheeks, I made this bitch call police
She tried swallowing a nine piece
Forgot the warranty on false teeth
I return like Makaveli on 18 inch Pirelli's
Assault and battery like my palms is Eveready
Sharp as machetes
Matter of fact I slap for cognac
To make the beef heavy

Canibus brings the sickest drama
Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor
I smack bitches for tryna suck
Dick through a condom
Playing with the mic is something I won't do
My only concern when I approach
You is to roast you
I smoke you and whoever you standing close to
And make every man in your crew
Deny that he knows you
Defeating niggas like Seagal Steven
Putting MCs in positions to
Prevent 'em from breathing
I'll make you question any and
Everything you've ever believed in
By peeping your deepest secrets
Like psychic readers
What's the matter with y'all?
I splatter y'all against
The motherfucking wall
With these raw lyrics I catapult
None of y'all got the balls
Big enough to battle
I go "On and On" like Erykah Badu
A hundred times nicer than the best is
Twice as African as KRS is
Who wanna test this? Fuck y'all
You don't impress me and no one can test me
An MC so ill, I got AIDS scared to catch me
All that shit you popping will stop when
I put you in a headlock
And apply pressure until I
Crush your motherfucking noggin
I grab mics and push niggas to the left
So fast their hearts end up on
The right side of their chests
My hypothesis is that nobody can see this
Lyrical genius
I got it sown like a seamstress
But, if you want to battle, I'm down
If you got nine lives
I'll take eight of them off
Your hands right now
Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear
If you survive
Then you can cover your scar with a beard
I'm the illest from Queens to
The New Jerusalem Briddicks
Anyone who ain't feeling my shidick
Can suck my didick
You need to quit it, if you ain't spitting
More than 50 bars per minute 'cause
You ain't in lyrical fitness
Kicking boring raps with
Metaphors that's wack
All of y'all motherfuckers need NordicTrack
To get ya weight up
Fuckin' with Canibus you get ate up
Beat down and sprayed up
Just for bringing my name up
Been rocking longer than niggas twice my age
Back in the days before Bob
Marley was rockin' a fade
Before Honest Abe signed the
Paper that freed slaves
Before Neanderthals was drawing on
Walls in caves i existed in the Garden
Of Eden gettin' lifted
Sticking dick to Eve before
She was Adam's mistress
Before Christ created Christmas
I been in lyrical fitness
The Canibus is spitting till he's spitless
50 bars of total sickness
You won't forget this
I'm putting every wack MC alive
On my shit list
Verbally vicious, telekinetically gifted
Took you a minute to exhibit
That I'm sick with it
Now you tell me who you
Think is damaging shit
Going once, going twice
Sold to that nigga named Canibus
Me and Mr cheeks, A+ and Funk Doctor
Hopping out the Huey copter to suey chop ya

Group Home and Def Squad '97, nigga