Artist: Beastie Boys f/ Nas Album: Hot Sauce Committee Part Two Song: Too Many Rappers Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash [Nas] Mic.. check Haha, mic check [Chorus: Nas] One (one) two (two) three (three) Too many rappers, and there's still not enough emcees It goes three (three) two (two) one (one) MCA, Ad-Rock, Mike D, that's how we get it done Like - ladies and gents, attention Nas in the house with Beastie Boys, we can turn it out Perpetrators, we can point 'em out So if you got somethin on your mind, let it out! [MCA] Like an exorcist, goin home to roost Hand held the demon it's time to get loose No need for ear goggles, we put it through the speakers like a scientist, with tubes and beakers Have emcees all at my house, ash and blunts Bunch of a rappers, be goin out, goin dust So pass me the sword - I'll start swingin Just randomly choppin on a crazy-ass vision [Ad Rock] Because I'm back with a bang boogie, oogie oogie "Strawberry Letter 23" like Shuggie Oh my God just look at me Grandpa been rappin since eighty-three I'm "Supersonic" like J.J. Fad Crazy ass shit pullin out the bag Don't forget the tartar sauce yo, cause it's sad All these crap rappers, they're rappin like crabs [Nas] I have carte blanche, the vagabond Nas is the narcissist, my pockets are rotund I'm no killer, but compared to you, I'm more realer You ain't a shotter, mobster, or a drug dealer A slug peeler, you're not, mafioso, no You ain't got the cut throat in ya - beginner! I ain't tryin to hear your racket You work for police dog, you snitch, you rat, you wear that jacket [Mike D] H-h-how many rappers must get dissed Gimme eight bars and watch me bless this I start to reminisce, oh when I miss The real hip-hop with which I persist Like rum in mojitos, bullets and banditos Matzah balls in soup, jackets and Troop Yes y'all, this is one for the history books Nasty Nas, what's the word? Count it off on the hook (Let's go!) [Chorus] [MCA] Cause this the type of lyric goes inside your brain To blow you bullshit rappers straight out the frame My lyrics spin round like a hurricane twister So get your hologram on off of Wolf Blitzer Too many rappers to shake a stick at I outta charge a tax, for every weak rap I had to listen to cause we been makin stacks, like Stax Records My squad we got a pack, we never comin wack [Ad Rock] To all you crab rappers, and hackers And circuit benders, two-tone splendor I.. take the cake, I stole the mold The golden microphone, well that's mine to hold And why all these biters all up in my crotch space? Sniffin, puffin, huffin And mean muggin with a Blimpie bluffin Back up off me sucker you ain't sayin nothin [Nas] I'm broader than Broadway, I was in project hallways Dual tape recorder, lacin oratorials all day I'm just gettin started on this beat, this is foreplay And when this song finished, y'all can sing along with this By the way, I have a strong fetish for Christian Louboutin steppers I hear Russian blondes the wettest But anyway, I better pay homage to my fellas And that's what's on my mind and the rhyme, who's next up? [Mike D] Yeapppp! Mike D, the man of mystery History in the makin, and now we're takin Titles, awards, and accolades Scarin the competition as I sharpen my blades We come together like peanut butter and sandwiches Like pen and paper like Picasso and canvases Rockin stadiums and shitty bars Go back in time, send a fax from my car [Chorus]