Those who chose to be foes drop like dominoes One by one, big name bros become John Doe's Manila had a thriller, but I get iller Than Jacob, killer, miller, driller, hole in your body Using soul as a filler, until another rapper jumps up Gave the crowd free re-boxing, you still didn't pump him up You need the poet with more soul than Dr. Shoals Instead of battling with barefoot over hot coals Who owes the title? Show me the man Sitting next to the man, sitting next to the man Sitting next to the goddamn man I plan to whip him, take his belt and strip him And for being a good sport, I'll flip him a quarter to tip him Hip him, I'm black gold from Mother Earth Me taking the losses like seeing a brother surf Red, yeah, you think I'm dope? Don't sleep on Eric When you compare authentic to generic You'll say the flavor unit's gotta be real like Sherrilyn Show you how to swing it like Errol Flynn So what you're saying is dead Your style, your whole crew is softer than wet bread The baddest man in town ain't Leroy Brown He stuck his dick in a donut and still couldn't * around Pound for pound, it sounds too immense, it would make no sense The consequences be too intense, uh I make every statement, you make thin points I'm puffing a fat hootie mag and you're struggling through a pin joint Wait a minute while I put the funk back in it And people get ready, it's brand new and heavy When I brainstorm, it's thunder and lightning in the whole nine MCs that run about back cause I hold mine Why would you think I would jump out of towed hops? I heard you've been running *, but this is where the road stops A stone wall on the microphone, y'all swing through a voice that rings Like a telephone call because I'm dope MCs try to take a hit and pass the glass to a fiend But yo, I'll break your * in half like a breadstick Money, hoe, your head quick, duck before you're stuck in a hospital bed Sick of words in a coma for smelling the aroma of flavor But you inhaled too quick, it was ammonia I furred your sight, explored your sight and destroyed your brain Making your skull null and void, holding zero content Your rhymes carry no pounds and have no grounds You know how sloppy your flow sounds, you're off sync Go get a soft drink to think of new rhymes But you waste time and a lot of ink You say * so booty that your breath stinks I got a style so deep that the pen sinks Into the paper like quicksand So if you come and leave with long sleeves Then that trick's planned Cause man to man, man, your styles are primitive You're short on rhymes and your forecast's limited My style's broader, you're shorter, order more to go You ain't hip to the flow, act like you're numb But I don't think you're ready for a pole with soul With a freestyle that's brand new and heavy You know, 1991, on to the 92 and 93 And so forth and so on, you know what I'm saying I ain't sleeping, MC's is creeping But it's cool cause I got my back, you know what I'm saying Eric Vaughn in the house Soul Brothers in the house And the brand new heavies is definitely in the house You know what I'm saying And yo, I'm out like James Brown Take us home, heavies Take us home Take us home