Down the Line Songtext
von Big Daddy Kane

Okay, okay, okay, okay, attention to the whole crew
Scoob Lover, Scrap Lover, I don′t need you dancin'
Mr. Cee, I don′t need you on the turntables
Ant Live, I don't need you collectin' the dough
And Little Daddy, since you my brother, get your ass on in here
′Cause we gettin′ ready to take things down the line
Here we go, one time


Prepare yourself for MC Terre-ah
And don't make the error of tryin′ to come nearer
Rapper so smooth and swift with the gift of gab
To grab the mic, 'cause I′m sorta like
Vincent Price, but you never been so nice
So back up off me, I'm separatin′ men from mice
Kickin' ass in every committee, city to city
Until both shoes are shitty
The regulator, innovator, dominator, creator of data
Plus an imitator assassinator
Lyrics on display are too darn sweet
Hard as concrete, and always on beat
Step into this, you're not allowed
You keep frontin′ on the stage like you′re rockin' the crowd
Snatchin′ the microphone real proud
But your rhymes are so booty, you should write 'em on White Cloud
So next up down the line, Scrap Lover


Ayo, the microphone′s mine
But I prefer peace, so the road'll get rough when
A toy MC gets the heart to pull a bluff, then
There′s no laughter, 'cause the one that I'm after
Is smashed, for that reason, you have to
Make sure each and every lyric is harmless
′Cause if not, you won′t be able to calm this
Brother from Brooklyn, made to fit a groove
And prepared for the unexpected to make a move
So put up your girl, and let's see who′s in trouble, troop
And if you got a sister, then make it a double scoop
The capital S, the C
The R-A-P stands for me, 'cause I′m the
Only MC with an original rap style
You disagree, you get put on the scrap pile
So stay off the set with George and Jet, son
You never seen a dancer who rapped, well, you met one
Now spin the Wheel of Fortune, or be wise and stay back
Co-host my show like Pat and don't say jack shit
Or get ate like oats and barley
Save your sweat for Keith and the beef for Charlie
So next up, goin′ down the line, Scoob Lover

Yo, the microphone's mine
It's the S, y′all, to the C, y′all
Double O-B, y'all, but goddamn, it′s me, y'all
Jump back, kiss myself, I′m sober
I sip a brew or two, because yo, I don't get high
I might wave hi
At a pretty young girl that walk by
But yo, you all that, you can′t stop
With the weave in your head like a mop
You must know karate, 'cause your face look chopped
Now back to the subject of the matter
I eat a lot of food, but I won't get fatter
Let me see, I′m slim, my hair is well-trimmed
And when I′m low-key, I throw on a brim
But I'm not conceited, when hangin′ out, I need it
For when trouble comes in, I never have to meet it, uh
Intellectually spoken, I'm not jokin′
What are you smokin'? You be hopin′, wishin', and prayin'
To be like Scoob, but what are you sayin′?
Well, it takes style, charisma, class
Fuck up on the Lover and I′ll bust your ass
So next up, movin' down the line, Mr. Cee

Yo, the microphone′s mine
Mission, to make DJ's feel the wrath
So here′s a paragraph written on behalf
Of the ruler, dictator, DJ ambassador
Makin' a massacre, you couldn′t last through a
Round of combat, where my left arm's at
My mouth with the mic in my hand when I attack
I shake and bake a faker snake
Take him and make him ache and flake, I break like an earthquake
When I erupt, MCs are corrupt, to be blunt
I'ma tear shit up
So next up, goin′ down the line, the Little Daddy Shane

The mic is all mine
MCs crawl by when they see this tall guy
Six-foot-three, huh, nobody′s small fry
The Little D-A-double-D-Y
The S-H-A-N-E, yes, it's me
You better believe there′s no compin', I′m certain
So if you try to battle me, then it's curtains
I′m no joke, the wrong one to provoke
One false move and he broke
So take it easy and slide on greasy
'Cause I'm more rougher than hair when it′s peasy
I′m more rougher than steak when it's raw
So keep that in mind, my cherie amour
′Cause I'm a lover you′ll find quite young
And Brooklyn, New York is where I'm from
So keep it on and you don′t quit
That supercalifragilisticexpialidope shit
And next up down the line, Ant Live

Yo, the microphone's mine
Yeah, I took it, I ain't gonna give it back
And it′s a fact that I can swing, I′m not a new jack
Got the mic in a chokehold, you won't hear a peep
Then I′ll put it to sleep
I see a lot of brothers got razors in the place
Not Al Pacino, I don't need a Scarface
But I know if some shit goes down
I′ll turn the whole New York into Bucktown
My face ain't real scarred ′cause I hit real hard
And I ain't no bullshit bodyguard
Walk the streets of New York and stay alive
All I need is my loaded four-five
It's sweet and deadly like a killer beehive
And I can stalk in Fort Greene Park and survive
And my name is Ant Live

Now that′s what I′m talkin' ′bout
That's exactly what I′m talkin' ′bout
Put your weight on it, fellas
Anyway, you can get back to work now
Get back to your goddamn jobs
And we outta here
Love, peace, and hair grease