"You out there? Louder!
  Well clap your hands to what he's doing
  On tempo Jack"
  
  [Posdonus]
  NYC gave you the ball, so how you gonna hate us?
  We creators of them East coast stars
  If you ask me I'll tell you there's no comp
  But I'm still humble, even though I will crumble halls
  Some call 'em songs, I call 'em words from me
  that take long to cook
  So some feel free in sayin that we don't hunger for beats
  Not that we not hungry, just picky in what we eat
  Keep food off the mind and keep weight off the body
  All you gotta do is keep my name out your mouth
  And stop frownin like you hostile
  You know that it's a booger rubbin up against your nostril
  Nigga how you figure you can play this rap game without the backbone?
  It's Maseo, Dave, Wonder Why, givin what you lack holmes
  
  [Dave]
  Aiyyo prepare yo'self for the Neutron, bitch!
  This is eighty-six, let that neo-rap go
  We present these flares to put fire to your ears
  to lay smoke like rusty exhaust pipes
  We run mics, let Sean run the marathon
  Yo raise that money son, we raisin these kids
  Get claps when curtains close, stage left
  Up your stamina baby, bring some breath
  SAT book smart, part ese
  Loc'in like Tone, street niggaz get grown
  Acquire more couth before you get poofed
  Or get some shells sent over to your mic booth
  Excuse, my delivery, but when peace don't work
  see this piece gon' work, cock aim and SHOOT!
  It's my constitutional right to bear arms
  Arms and bare hands on mics, make fans unite
  Woodstock and white folks involved
  Black man get on yo' job!
  
  "Well clap your hands to what he's doing
  On tempo Jack"
  
  [Chorus 2X: De La Soul]
  Let's go beat for beat, and rhymes for rhymes
  (put, all, the things aside)
  Just bring your beats, and bring your rhymes
  (put, all, the things aside)
  
  [Posdonus]
  The heavyweight L.I. brother with no date, of expiration
  On this fate on the mic, them birthday keep comin
  I'm hated on by niggaz I love most
  So what threat could you possibly pose when I'm on your coast?
  So raise your guns or your glasses
  Either way there'll be a toast in the air
  Markin the return of bare minimums you need to learn
  Get your verbs right when you down to clap
  
  [Dave]
  See that gun powder calibre rap'll tip hats like gentlemen do
  Smash tenements and skyscrapers
  Bow-tie papers stacked high
  Pay the resident tax or get your street sweeped
  Front row, backstage or the cheap seats
  I +Dodge+ richochets like +Ram+ trucks, you slow poke to pull it
  And I sup-pose you wanna top the Billboard chart
  Man I toast these rhymes and then pop like Pop-Tarts
  
  [Chorus]
  
  "Well clap your hands to what he's doing"