"One Two Shit" lyrics - A TRIBE CALLED QUEST

[Q-Tip:]
One two, one two
One-wa-wa-one, one two one two [3x]

Yo it's the Q-Tip, you know I get down
Yes I rock to the rhythm of a funky sound, it go
One-wa-wa-one, one two one two [2x]

[Phife:]
And it's the, Phife Dawg, and I do the same
And when it comes to ripping mics a-yo it ain't no games
One-wa-wa-one, one two one two [2x]

[Busta:]
A-yo you know it's Busta Rhymes, every time
Oh yes, I'm coming wicked with a new design, I'm saying
One-wa-wa-one, one two one two [2x]

[Verse 1: Q-Tip]
Emcees ain't coming equipped with the rhymes
Don't do the crime if you can't do the time
The time is eternal when you play with the miser
Soul is in my body and the health make me wiser
The tantalizing wordplay, yeah that's the joint
Sometimes I have to cuss just to prove my damn point
Brothers need to come with better compositions
I write and recite to make good position
In this rap game here we engineer
Stabbing up the jam, yeah son, shit's clear
And I be kicking rhymes in my own damn way
Beating niggas to the punch like Sugar Ray
Got the cool-ass style that's cooler than the cool
My lyrics is the bullet and the mic is the tool
Peace to C-73 and C-74
Do a little something when I'm out on tour
Coming through like narcotics for the antibiotics
Flap a shorty's pockets to the space like Sprockets
What you really need to do is just boogie your ass
It's not gas, we got to make the good times last
Let the good times roll cause we in control
Take you out on your hide less you paying a toll
Let the good times roll, let the good times roll
Take you out on your hide less you paying the toll

[Verse 2: Phife Dawg]
Question, why is that emcees be wack
And major labels wanna sign all that crap, a-yo funk that!
Word to life I'm coming rugged
Cause once you add the hip to the hop kid, it equals out to love
If the beat's fat I use it, some wack shit, I lose it
Refuse it, how could you chose it, it stinks remove it
Put down the mic kid, cause you gets no dap
How long did it take for you to see you can't rap
The name is Phife Dawg and I got nuff styles
It doesn't take long for me to get buckwild
So bust what I'm swinging what I'm swinging when I swing
I rap when I rap cause I never wanna sing
Go ask the last emcee what happened when he said battle
I bust his ass in Cleveland now he's sleepless in Seattle
Rude bwoy official coming with the ill grammar
Coming back on kids like Joey Montana
We be the three emcees that make your mind go batty
Mad play on WKRP in Cincinatti
So lord send a hand and if you can't send a hand, send a man
And if you can't send a man, come yourself
Cause all these biting emcees, lord them something else
See I kick the styles that'll make your ass melt
Money on my mind so never mind a trick
New York is the town and the team is the Knicks
World's greatest five footer ripping parties apart
Here comes Shaheed with the big green shark
Never had to rhyme about filling one with lead
Never mind that, man, here come the dread!

[Verse 3: Busta Rhymes]
We coming far far far
Busta Rhymes is coming far far far, you know you hear me, star
Bet your bottom dollar
Right after this jam about one million one two niggas gon' follow
Whether it be today or tomorrow
Niggas become aggravating, sickening, you beat them like they father
Oh shit check out what I'm saying
A-ha a-ha oh a-ha a-ha you know my niggas don't be playing
Once upon a motherfucking time
I received the opportunities to represent my first rhymes
To define, lyrical sensations
Black masons blowing up the spot just to represent the Nations
Three dimensions, tryclops, Mr. Busta Rhymes three eyes
Fat like a burger and fries
Mama-so mama-sa mama makossa
Go back to the country to go check my grandmama
Eeeyah! Bring it to the table at the meetings
Gathering large receivings, delivering intellectual ass beatings
As I carry on with my proceedings
Greetings! Watch a nigga debut on premier movie screenings
But before I be face to face with my eternal resting place
I hope you find civilized every soul and every race
Sit dog sit! Busta Rhymes forever on that ultrasonic shit