Clones Songtext
von The Roots

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
To all the Jim Carrey-ass, M.A.R.S. Co-op
Know what I′m sayin'? M.A.R.S. Co-op, what the fuck?
To the clones, we bless the domes
Blow the vial, you know my style, large co-op
Freestyle all the way, son
Dice

First of all, let′s talk about these ill capers
And fly-ass frontin' b- that now caught vapors
Niggas run up on you with guns, snatchin' papers
Outlined body chalk, is how they would scrape ya
From off the pavement, I hate gettin′ locked up
′Cause that upstate bus reminds me of the slave ships
But then The Bible never saved shit
I guess that's why every juvenile is in the same predicament


You wanna slang crack, or hold TECs, and do the concept
You can′t make loot when your moms is smokin' up the product
I try to tell ya, don′t let these streets fuckin' fail ya
The way niggas be gettin′ clapped, the shit'll fuckin' scare ya
But in the dark, we ran wild, son, we killin′ ′em
Niggas scared, can't stand still like fuckin′ helium
Fake niggas, they don't go platinum, they go aluminum
Got ′em cloned the fuck up, son, that's why we losin′ 'em

I'm lookin′ at this nigga′s longevity
To make a big play, but then, it might be a mistake
'Cause if I get sent to D.C., I′m sendin' Dice to D.E
With three Ps, so when I get out, he can see me
For real, ′cause the streets is filled with snakes and rats
The snake will be that -, and that rat will be that cool cat
With swollen pockets, we gonna take you back home
Master-Allah-Rule-Savior, never clone

Yo, I use the mic to slap you in the face and erase your taste
Disgrace your date, put your title to waste
Dominant lyrical grace from a place called wild
Illadel' Val′, Pennsy, that's the residency
Consistent currency, my pocket's never empty
Some cats believe they MC, but we know they all fraud
Do a show in Philly, niggas wouldn′t applaud
Nobody know your record, nor who you openin′ for


Can tell your squad's artificial while approachin′ the door
So you should prepare for lyrical terror that's pure
Step up to the reservoir of the soul proprietor style Messiah
Or the kaya lord down with Dice Raw
The matador, shorty connoisseur
Stompin′ whatever you build to the floor
Similar to that of a dinosaur, I told you I'm the rap predator
You insist to imitate, what for?

Superstar niggas is ten percent real
90 percent invented for a fuckin′ record deal
Comin' with somethin' veterans can′t feel
I hit you like a steel anvil because you grafted off the next man′s skill
But still, I remain mellow, seein' the theatrics of Othello
But know the tactics of the P.L.O
These C-L-O-N-E-S fess
The phoniest cats is felonious, word

Dice Raw, the juvenile lyricist, corner-store terrorist
Block trooper, connoisseur of fine cannabis
Focus never weak, blow up the spot like plastique
Leave a nigga shook to the point he won′t speak

Never half-assed, always live and direct
On - try to punk, smell the panty and raw sex
Mad lights I had to black out when fake niggas act out
Or step out of place, they get slapped in they face

All y'all niggas is fake, tryna emulate my style
What grown man? In this game, to me, you′re a child
I trained wack MCs in camps like ex-Marines
Why the fuck you think you went home and had bad dreams?

Of horrifyin' things that your ass never seen before
You traveled through the realm of Dice Raw
Where clones get they domes blown with chrome microphones
It′s not your fault, black, just the fact you wasn't shown

Don't come through this like a smurf, unnatural, it′s not from this Earth
Represent, well, I′ve been like this since birth
And I won't be the last, but I definitely was the first!
Dice Raw, big car Logan Val′ soldier

Don't come across that line, or pay a cost
Knuckle games and hammer cocked, ain′t nothin' sweet or soft
Win, lose or draw, to the jaw take one
Deranged lyrical launcher on station
No conversation is needed, my task completed
Read a nigga up and down in the cut where I′m seated
Snatch you from your cloud of cannabis, you ignoramuses
You laid on your lap when I attacked your glamorous

Lifestyle, I banged your head up with the right fowl
My character a product of this 2-1-5th trife style!
I breeze through areas niggas would fear to walk in
Balance the talkin', that galactic style is of a Vulcan
Your Star Trek ass will wrinkle, spill these words and form into a sprinkle
Cat, you're brought up and the name of twinkle
My insight will crack the windpipe of y′all niggas
Whether small, middle-sized or tall niggas

Just sign your name next when I start to X
Givin′ out flesh pains of death, so fuck a rain check
The insane vet, whether you ganked the brain wet
You proceed to lame check, the opposite of same sex
I annihilate your type if you violate
Makin' your blood rush, your pulse now at a higher rate