Gitcha, Gitcha, Gitcha

Mr. Complex

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    [Monch ] YeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhAAAHHHHhhhhhh!!
    [Mr. C ] Got'cha, got'cha, got'cha, got'cha
    Uh, yeah
    [Monch ] Y'all, yes yes y'all
    [Mr. C ] Yo I said, ya ready?
    [Monch ] Check it out now, we gon' set it on the world
    like this one time (one time)
    Check it out yo
    In- -dable, -mark-, -mark-
    Plex where you at!? Where you at yo?
    [Mr. C ] Yo run it back
    [Monch ] Ok one more time.. ready, check it out yo
    [PM(MC)] In-(cred)-able, (re)-mark-(able)
    (Marksman)-ship, able to (hit) tar-(gets, gets, gets)
    Without aimin!
    Divide (Multiply) Subtract the wack (fact remainin)
    Like off the (actions) ashes (We brandish one)
    (Flash at the bat that burnt off ya eyelashes)
    Yo, we gitcha movin!

    [Chorus - Mr. Complex]
    We gitcha violent - we gitcha creepin
    We gitcha whylin - we gitcha movin
    We gitcha amped up - now gitcha ass up
    We gitcha clothes wet - now gitcha hands up
    We gitcha violent - we gitcha groovin
    We gitcha whylin - we gitcha movin
    We gitcha amped up - now gitcha ass up
    We gitcha clothes wet - now gitcha hands up

    [Pharoahe Monch]
    Ohhhhh...Them Bells say "Isn't he nice"
    The Black Star like Talib Kweli plus Sicily Tice
    Pharoahe Monch threepeat, repeat the rhyme
    Defeat competitors then delete the grime
    My spine allows me to suck my own cock
    Fuckin with these Queens niggas ya get stuck
    The strategy off the beat -- is the removal of ya brains
    so when I slice ya toes ya never felt the agony of defeat/the feet
    Casually I depleat, blood cells coagulated,
    from maggot emcees who congregated
    Slash macks that hafta blast, crush fast and crash competition
    Math plus what plus what's the oppositions ass (C'mon think fast now)
    Who want it? Pharoahe Monch, Mr. Complex you'll think you fronted

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    [Chorus]

    [Mr. Complex]
    When I'm in a hot seat, I meet or greet or treat or eat the beat
    I bring heat to the beat, I talk sweet to the beat
    You sweet bitch you belong on the beach
    I reach each and every motherfucker that I pucker to kiss a mic
    No matter who it be, want nothin to do with me
    Even if ya court me or ya dislike, I don't battle a fistfight
    Check my knuckles, see this one here?
    This is the one that'll fuck you up real good
    Feel it, feels like wood
    If I wanna plant it, I stand slanted to get good leverage
    And you'll be goin down like a cool beverage
    Like a Bahama Mama when the drama's microscopic
    Like in a tall glass with little umbrellas from the tropics
    Now what's tropical is typical, the reciprocal of flippin you
    Is ah, you've been, flipped, now just watch you lip
    but your nose is in the way
    Throw ya foes away, there's, no shows today
    Is been closed for renovations, your flows have no innovation
    I could flip it in front of a crowd of cripples,
    and still get a standing ovation

    [Chorus]

    Gitcha hands up.. gitcha hands up
    Gitcha hands up.. gitcha hands up

    {music to fade}

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