Letra de How Many Mics, Fugees



Intro: Wyclef Jean 
Pick up your microphones 
Pick up your microphones 
Chorus: Wyclef/Pras 
How many mics do we rip on the daily 
Say, me say many money say me say many many many 
How many mics do we rip on the daily 
Many money say me say many many many 
Verse One: Lauryn Hill 
I get mad frustrated when I rhyme 
Thinkin of all them kids 
that try to do this for all the wrong reasons 
Season change mad things rearrange 
But it all stays the same like the love doctor strange 
I'm tame like the rapper get red like a snapper, 
when they do that 
Got your whole block saying true dat 
If only they knew that, it was you who was irregular 
Soldier soul for some secular muzac that's whack 
Plus you use that, loop, over and over 
Claiming that you got a new style, 
your atempts are futile, oooh child 
Your puerile, brain waves are sterile 
You can't create you just wait to take, my take 
Laced with malice, hands get callous, 
from ripping microphones 
From here to Dallas go ask Alice if you don't believe me 
I get innovisions like Stevie 
See me, a sin from the chalice, like the weed be 
Indeed we like Kalid Mohammed MC's make me vomit 
I get controversial, freaky style with no rehearsal 
Au contraire mon frere, don't you even go there 
Me without a mike is like a beat without a snare 
I dare to tear into your ego, we go, way back 
Like some ganja and palequo or ColecoVision 
My minds make incisions in your anatomy 
And I back this with Deuteronomy or Leviticus 
God made this word, you can't get with this 
Sweet like licorice, dangerous like syphillis, yeah 
Chorus 
Verse Two: Wyclef Jean 
I used to be underrated, 
now I take iron, makes my shit constipated 
I'm more concentrated, 
so on my day off with David Sanonburg I play golf 
Run through Crown Heights screaming out "Mazeltoff!" 
Problem with noman before black I'm first hu-man 
Appetite to write, like Frederick Douglass with a slave hand 
Street pressure, word to papa I ain't going under 
One day I have a label and make deals with Tommy Mottola 
Mama always told me, "Your one in a million, 
Always watch our back, never tango with haitian-sicilians" 
Now I got a record deal, how does it feel? 
I'm never gonna survive unless I get crazy like Seal 
Cause the whole worlds' out a order 
So at night the feins dance on grease with John Travolta 
One got slaughtered as he caught blood from his mouth 
The other tried to duck 
and caught a left with my Guinness stout 
Brother, brother can't you get this through your head 
It's a setup by the feds, their scoping us with their infrareds 
Chorus 
Verse Three: Prazwell 
Too many MC's not enough mikes, 
exit your show like I exit the turnpike 
Dice and dynomite like Dolomite, 
double do's been like I don't Dick Van Dyke 
Starlight to starbrite the freaks come out at night 
Like my man Wyclef-"I wear my sunglasses at night" 
And my ponage with martial encourage 
Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my garage 
And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin to Brooklyn 
Beat the trails broken flipping tokens to Hoboken 
A clean Getaway like Alec Baldwin 
Driving in my fast car playing Tracy Chapman 
Chorus 
Many, many money many many many 
Many, many money, ha, ha, ha

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