Discover the poetic beauty in ‘The Chase, Pt. 2’ by A Tribe Called Quest. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of A Tribe Called Quest or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
Them can’t touch we, no them can’t touch we
Them can’t hold we, no them cam’t hold we
Them can’t touch we, no them can’t touch we
Them can’t hold we, no them cam’t hold we
(Damn Phife, you got fat!)
Yeah, I know it looks pathetic
Ali Shaheed Muhammad got me doing calisthenics
Needless to say boy I’m bad to the bone
Making love to my mic like Jarobi on the phone
But um, no time for jokes, there’s bills to be paid
Hoes to be laid, punks to be sprayed
Chumps to attack, so my man watch your back
’93 means skills are a must, so never lack
Sit back and learn, come now watch the birdie
Your styles are incomplete, same as Vinny Testaverde
Battling, whenever — hot Damn!
Give me the microphone boy, one time, bam!
Keep it on the cooler cos here come the heat
Lyrically in space the jazz will pace the beat
As we proceed to elevate you we in 4/4
Run and tell your dad the Abstract’s the bad
As we proceed to move your hind parts we know as ass
Poets got the gimmicks, but they lack the sassafras
To make the average hardrocker cock the Glock
And roam the city streets on the jury, they hot
I be ingredients, like sugar in candy
If your life is broke, girl I’ll be the handy-dandy
That can mend you, my fee is a shower
For you, I scrub the back and I floss the butt crack
Make you shiny, spiffy in a jiff
Fucking with the Ab, you got the greatest of gifts
A-yo, my mic is sounding bugged, Bob Power, you there? (Yeah)
Adjust the bass and treble make my shit sound clear
Move back yourself man, come watch me drop it
For sure me a go do it, for sure me a go rock it
Me not deal with no changaram, bangaram business
I got soul on the end, like Jehovah’s got the witness
Musically, the three, poetically we be
The enchantment on the airwaves, kids just fade
Obey the MCs, cos the MCs say
We flipping on niggas like we Super Dave
But noticing my stature, y’all niggas know we gotcha
Moving to the rapture, listen how we catch ya
Moving with the grace, here we go, let’s begin
Making people jump out their goddamn skin
Lyrically, we bite like we Rin Tin Tin
Peace to Grand Pu and his many many skins
Don’t mark us for the ‘L’ cos you know we get the wins
It’s the Ab, Shaheed, and the Dawg for the blend
And I wanna say peace to my man Bob P, my man Jerod
And Skeff Anslem on the help out – and we out like shout
Nine-tre, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
I don’t wanna say nine-tre
Cause my man Extra P said don’t say the years
So, it’s for eternity, know what I’m saying?
Rock rock on, everybody in Queens, rock rock on
Everybody in Brooklyn, rock rock on
Money Earnin’ Mt. Vernon, rock rock on
Everybody in Jersey, rock rock on
Everybody in Philly rock rock on
Everybody in Houston, rock rock on
Everybody LA, rock rock on
Everybody in The Sand, rock rock on
Everybody in Egypt, rock rock on
Everybody Nigeria, rock rock on
Everybody in London, rock rock on
Everybody in Sweden, rock rock on
Everybody everywhere, rock rock on
To the niggas on the famous, rock rock on
Everybody no name, rock rock on
To the kids at Nu-Clear, rock rock on
To the The Cave rock rock on
McDonald’s, rock rock on
This concludes Midnight Marauder Program
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