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Artist: 1.4.0. Productions f/ Crunch Lo, Shawn Wigs
Album:  Skool Yard Funk Art
Song:   One on One
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Chorus: Shawn Wigs (Crunch Lo)]
Who am I? (Wigs) Point blank, nothing more
(What you do?) Rhymes, spit bars of the raw
(What you got?) What you need? I got alot in store

[Shawn Wigs]
More than you bargained for, slam the door
Slash the Thriller, producers call me Wigs, the beat killer
Whether it's hard loops or sweet flips
Son, I write shit, to make shit fit, no check this shit
I reap for the ruger stash, smoke a hash
Bone of the Gers, your bone whistle break when I burst
Understood, your flesh get torn, muscle get torn
Walk with a hazardous speech, you fake corns get roasted
Off wack rappers til I'm posted in the post office
I'm like a trip in the matrix
Faster than the speed of bullets, ya'll cant take this
Dodging them slugs, until your gun need maintenance
Holes in the body work, chipping the dating
Run vestless, long time coming, I stay restless
Drink without a care in the world (Crunch Lo: we on the guestlist)
Rap Sinatra, I make good music for the gangstas
Joints for the strippers to shake to, ones for the rap heads to bake to
Haters to hate to, takes two, me, Allah Kareem in the booth
Mic records, black and white, we play checkers
Read books, swing big hooks on the track
Act gully, end up with the heat to ya back
I spit boulders, leave big holes in ya shoulders
I move with alotta guns, few dojas
And some debit, max the credit, don't sweat it (Crunch Lo: Conduct big
business, big business)

[Chorus II: Shawn Wigs (Crunch Lo)]
Who are you? (Crunch Lo, hardcore mellow)
You got things? (Yeah, that ain't no problemo)
(What you need?) Guns, weight and weed
(12 bars of lead, to make your ears bleed)

[Crunch Lo]
Not you average MC in the place to be
Crunch Lo, Staten Island, from the WB
Illage, offsprings of the Ironfist Pillage
Funny ass rappers should stay in Greenwich Village
Othorized F-A-M, the antonym
Flipping Any Man, you heard me on the plan
Funky like baby shit, making you sick
That I dropped and I snuck right in, with my mens
We m&m's from big buildings, where the roaches and rats be chilling
Survive, we God's children, now it's on
Like butter popcorn, with the five bill bomb
I'm on the block until the crack of dawn
Avoid D's, write my rhymes to feed my seed
I'm hungry, some might mistake it for greed
But I'm in it until, or you take me out
I need to make a few mill, move my fam down south
It's me and Shawn Wigs, conduct big biz
That's how it is, cuz something gotta give
I be running in ya crib, looking for the stash
Potato on the end of the barrel, quiet the blast
Yap that fool like Fame and Billy Danze
Go see papi to cop the sweet grams
The man with the master strategies, so please
Listen to the hook, while I blow my trees


[Chorus II]