The Stretch Armstrong and Bobbito Show on WKCR October 28, 1993 (feat. 6'9", Jungle & Grand Wizard)

How should I start this?
 How should I begin, to sin?
 Grab the microphone and my rhymes'll win
 Wheel of Fortune, spin, around
 Check it out, I'm not a rap clown
 Get smacked down by the fuckin' four pound
 In your dome
 Hit you with the nick plate chrome
 Queensbridge, thats my motherfuckin' home
 Off the top of my head, yo, I'm a blunt head
 Police... Police want a nigga dead
 But, I'm not going out like that black
 I kick the actual facts in so low
 Cold as a Polar Bear, I swear, word to Will
 But I'mma chill, rhymes'll kill
 Niggas know the style when I freak the profile
 Asiatic Child, yo
 Grand Wizard on the side of me
 Yo, Get on the mic and bless the M-I-C
 But I'mma pass it off to my man Six-Nine
 Kick it one time
 Hey, Yo, Six-Nine a true to life nigga
 Yo, my style is iller, iller than Halle Berry's figure
 Niggas don't fuck with the Six-Niner
 Shorty watch your mouth, I smack you back in your vagina
 Heres to reaper crack and sunrise tequila
 Kill the margarita heres a 50 get some more cheaper
 The ghetto trooper, so sparred up the booth buddha
 My thoughts stay nasty like the underground sewage
 To be the man you gotta beat the man
 It ain't nothing, so start come here but nothin' mark my timberlands
 You want static? Lets have it knuckles will flow like the Atlantic
 But sink like the Titanic
 Since birth I was thinking too fast, my first beef was with the doctor
 When he smacked me on the ass
 The trigger man, I'm crazy like Sam
 My skills so Ill like a with a white chick with a suntan
 One for the money
 Two for pussy and foreign cars
 Three for Alize, niggas deceased or behind bars
 I rap divine, God, check the prognosis: is it real or showbiz?
 My window faces shootouts, drug overdoses
 Live amongst no roses, only the drama, for real
 A nickel-plate is my fate, my medicine is the ganja
 Here's my basis, my razor embraces, many faces
 Your telephone blowing, black stitches or fat shoelaces
 Peoples are petro, dramatic automatic .44 I let blow
 And back down po-po when I'm vexed so
 My pen taps the paper then my brain's blank
 I see dark streets, hustling brothers who keep the same rank
 Pumping for something, some'll prosper, some fail
 Judges hanging niggas, uncorrect bails for direct sales
 My intellect prevails from a hanging cross with nails
 I reinforce the frail, with lyrics that's real
 Word to Christ, a disciple on streets, trifle on beats
 But, Chill! Place the microphone and say peace
 So Sudan, take the microphone in your hand
 Kick the flim flam
 Queensbridge, when will the drama ever cease?
 I like to say peace Willie and rest in peace
 A cool brother who's all about justice
 I still can't understand how he left us
 Well... he's gone and life goes on you know
 We had a crew but one by one we go
 Memories of his face that was full of joy
 Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy
 Reminiscing with the brothers standing on the block
 Never talk a lot, never was a big shot
 It's so hard to say goodbye a sad song
 And damn I can't believe my man's gone
 Digging back in the days when we used to laugh
 Now its a memory that's haunted from the past
 Poor Willy its a shame how the ghetto got him
 And word is bond - I wanna cry when I think about him
 Three bullets to his back on his own block
 Not a way to go, killed by the buckshot
 Queensbridge wake and up and smell the air
 And stop killin' like a villain, like you don't care
 Remember Willie and times we had with joy
 Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy
 Rock-a Rock-a bye Rock-a bye homeboy
 Rock-a Rock-a bye
 My skills are ill like the prez with a plan
 My brothers run from Sudan then the Ku-Klux-Klan
 Like a kamikaze, Sadaam Hussein then won
 Feel the buns of a nun, put tricks for funds and chill
 I slow a verse so you can understand
 I kill rappers more freaky than a motherfuckin' a Mic Man
 And when it comes to a battle
 I stand out tall like the man who played the man on The White Shadow
 To my man Jungle
 Dwelling in the jungle
 Where must we go?
 Where must we wander
 Deep out the skies come the MC Nas
 Not to surprise, but to civilize
 Yo, the dumb men wandering around the streets
 Listenin' to a nigga rappin' on fly beats
 I just kicked a mad philly style
 Get bucked wild cause you know my style
 I could run a word, kick it to a herb
 Make 'em turn into a rich man
 Increase the plan, the master plan
 Yo, I'm buggin' out cause the weed got me buggin'
 Plus the Guinness Stout
 Grand Wizard yo, you my physical
 Why don't you mic the mic, make the microphone miserable
 It's cuisine, the G the Wiz (?)
 You know our culture gone get Biz
 I got my man Nasty on the side of me
 My man Six-Nine, you know we're not hotter G
 I am the man that'll break it down
 I'll break all down cuz I got the sound
 I got Queensbridge in the back of me
 The Tec and everything, I'm coming strapped G
 Money and murder, money and murder
 The sick shit you heard comin' from my motherfuckin' my swerve
 The words are poetic, I sound energetic
 When I'm blunted or Moet'd
 My microphone's upsetted cause I'm crazy
 Now you know, never lazy
 Yo, I'm gonna get all the cash I can
 Don't give a fuck if I gotta shoot a policeman
 Pluckin' a church and snatch a fuckin'... nah can't be flippin' like that
 Cause you niggas try to jock the style
 But I left that shit to get the new shit, float like the now
 Now you can't catch up G
 Cause I got the new styles on the M-I-C
 I keep gettin' newer, can't step to her
 Nigga from the Bridge, so you keep that shit
 And I'mma flip the script next year
 And my real name is Nasir
 Can't spell it cause I say it too clear
 The alphabets are not enough words or letters to use
 When it comes to mics I bruise
 I just go, with the magical mystic flow
 Niggas don't know, that's word to the man Bo
 I get Illmatic with the style that's insane
 Comin' outta fuckin' murderous brain
 Grand Wizard, please take this Mic from me
 Before I bug the fuck out and end up D-E-A-D