Let's get live on July 4th, on the 4th of July, let's get live. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I ain't on the sound now. Everybody, everybody, let's party. Hey, y'all, what's the name of this nation? Zulu, Zulu. I want to know now, who's going to get on down? Bambata, Bambata. Hey, y'all, what's the name of our nation? Zulu, Zulu. I want to know, who's going to get on down? Bambata, Bambata. We're giving all new Jack MC's time to straighten out. They all bums, as we're concerned, and we're knocking out all boys. We're going to take it over and do something just like this. We got Grand Nationale and Mel. We got MC Glo, Christina OBE. We got IEC, we got Busy B. We got Mr. Big, the Eve, the Power Ride. We got Bambata and Lamonté. And we got Mr. Rogers with the break of day. So Big, you become a legend. Every time we bounce the beat, you're punching. You got stumps in the beef, but want to hear it. It's going out big. I know life is hard and time is fleeting, but why must death be your goal? But when you're trying to compete with Mr. Big, you're just another MC added to the deck, though. Girl, I play no games, and I'm taking no shorts. To me, MCing is more than a sport. It's reality in it from the heart. And all MCs will fight. I'm going to pull their card. Bow wow, my man, what's happening? Just get on your mic and start rapping. Spin head end, making your bells ring. The chief of the beat is ready to do his thing. Back on the scene, and it's taking my claim. Coming off the top, and playing ain't no game. Taking no bets, but claiming the whole board. If you think you're ready, then go for it, yo. Wake up, Sandman, and don't fall asleep. Don't play with me, because I play for keeps. I'm something you shouldn't to be. How's this, chefs? That's the way it is with this head game. Listen up, MCs, because I'm telling you now. I'm the master returning MC. Pow wow for MC Glo. My mama fell upon a homeboy. Spinnin' and chillin' with the mic, the white boy. Glovin' on the way. We teach it by the MC poppin'. We each give a lesson, and make the house confession. Well, you know, pow wow, I got to confess. Well, you know, MC Glo, I got to confess. Every time I pump it into the beat, I get fresh. The party's not over. No, not yet. But the bass still pumpin'. So let's just get set. On your mark, ready when so. Here we go. Yeah, my mama MC King with soul. Bust out the party again and just go. G-L-O-V-E. We'll never go soggy. MC poppin'. It's just my hobby. It's a yearning, learning road. But will I come up with next? Who knows? You know. Because it does not lie in the cellar. Where goes? Caught in the mind of my portent teller. And again. The back is still, and it's crystal clear. So my voice is in the atmosphere. MC Glo is a pioneer. And I sit down, so you best beware. Yeah, when I'm a rockin', I'm not stopping. You know, I'm just the MC poppin'. I'm a poppin'. MC Glo, rock stock's still in the show. Hey, now, baby, don't you know it's me? No. I'm on the get some. Straining out all the MC bums. They don't rock with this. They don't rock at all. But if you rock with us, you're guaranteed to have a ball. I came to the party just to tell you all. You knew Jack MC's almost four. You come from the slums. You nothing but bums. I am here to give you all a little something. The taste of the bass that's in your face. Cause you need me to tear with this short shot bass. One for the treble, two for the bass. Listen to Master Ice rock this place. Stop. And let's go to work. Let the other rappers out there just hurt. I love rap, but I hate rappers who walk down the street and strut their stuff. You make one record and get respected. You get on the stage, you think you're tough. Yes, I remember you oh so well. When you used to come to watch me raise some hell. You walk down the street, say you're number one. Say you're done, diddy, done, diddy, diddy, done, done, done. Rock, y'all, and don't stop. Just give it everything you got. Come on, take my man. My man. Yo. Get, get, get, get, get, get, get, get, get. Get on them, I can do the best you can. Standing on the corner playing, hey, yo. Whipple, tape, and shuffle, that's nice disco. People nearby doing the dance. Others are listening and clapping their hands. Half of the world is getting hip. Two beats, MC and DJ. But soon all music will be this way. Beats kicking to your headphones. Vibration to your body bones. The sound good, tough, and nice. Every time you play it, you play it twice. Niggas complain, go in and say it about the beats. I just kick it too much. Speakers may bust, that is true. But that won't happen if you know what you do. Here we go. Here we go. Fresh, y'all. Yeah, fresh, y'all. Fresher than fresher than fresh, y'all. Fresh, y'all. Get fresh. Hip funk and fresh, yeah. Now we got, we got, we got, we got, we got, we got, Grandmaster Milliment, we got, we got, we got, Powerhouse, we got MC over. We got Hyper-C, we got the Biggie. Get fresh. We got Mr. Biggs. Get fresh. Let's get, get rockin' like he always did. Get fresh. So, Mal-a-Mal, why don't you raise some hell? Get fresh. We're rockin' funky beats, let you know you're swell. Never had MCs, I don't like them. Gonna show them bums how to rock the mic because I'm like sugar, and they like salt. And their hair don't grow, and it's not my fault. So clap your hands to the beat, y'all. And let's rock it with the king of the seat, y'all. You know, Mal-a-Mal, you know I'm cool. You know I'm down with the old school. You know what I'm saying. You see what I mean? Everybody scream. Oh. Creak. Creak, creak, creak, creak, creak, creak. Creak your dick so that beats out. Bun D wants to be on MC. Like me.