Code Check

Written by: Michael Turner & Christopher Portugal

[Double K:] Yo…
[Both:] Mic check, 3-2-3 ([Spoken sample:] Once again…)
Two "K"s done grabbed the mic, and I'm about to begin
[Thes One:] Uh huh, uh huh, it goes:
[Both:] Mic check 3-2-3 ([Spoken sample:] Once again…)
[Thes One:] Thes One don't put it down, I got a pad and a pen
[Double K:] It's like:
[Both:] Mic check 3-2-3 ([Spoken sample:] Once again…)
[Double K:] Crescent Heights is the place, and we about to begin
[Thes One:] That's right… yo…
[Both:] Mic Check 3-2-3 ([Spoken sample:] Once again…)
[Thes One:] The People Under The Stairs from L.A., so don't bother…

[Double K:]
Mo' funk for your dollar, the P deliver rough
Make ya sigh and discuss from this lyrical drug bust
Kicking doors in, talking you down, getting some info
Turning out stage monitors like lights with a nympho
I'm black, with some more hotboxing material
Providing necessities like your favorite cereal
A double dose of Vitamin "K" to get 'em open
Oh shit, about to pose, photographer caught me smoking
Choking on a buff spliff, got the Gift unravelling
The ink hit the tree, now I proceed to get madder then
A guy spotting another guy eating pork
That's a foul like your rhyme, when I heard it the first time
Talking 'bout you "was drunk," that's a poor excuse
The noose is getting tighter, my hand is getting lighter
Your life's gonna expire, messing with the troublemaker
We the fantastic, taking measures that's drastic
Run up and get your ass kicked, not known for joking
Just leaving woofers smokin', and DJs' needles broken
Cross the line and watch your time run out
Like hostages in a hold-up… wait a minute…

[Thes One:]
And when I die, you'll have to tie a mic to my chin
The dark alley, drinking, beedi-smoking, and some gin
Self hair-cutting, conversation butting-in Peruvian, I am
I'll probably never die, man ([Double K:] Just take it on the lam!)
Travel across the land in a van filled with 33's
Bumping Gary Bonds while Double K rolls trees
Looking for some house parties, starts rolling through the door
And high-fives to the P ([Double K:] Hey, man, what's up?)
In this vast metropolis, no better MCs exist then us, quick to bust
In the midst of lack of lyrical fitness, I liposuck flabby rhymes
For wack times, support fat dimes, don't rock shines
The beats hit like Vietcong land mines, remove a leg, it's history
Our mystery labels is intertwined in the vinyl's double-helix
Type of cats with more tricks than Felix in a bag and got a new one
So when I see an MC, I don't hesitate to do 'em for fun
I give 'em stun like licking a live wire
Froze up, and I suppose what we drop might blow up
And you admire that, and I can wad that message like some money
But what it's funny is it's not about that ([Spoken sample: Dumbass!)
Just shaving this shit down to the cream of the crop
Thes One and Double K are here to save the subculture "hip hop"

[Rap samples:] "C'mon!" "Yeah!" (scratched and repeated)

*Important Note: These transcriptions are not verified with P.U.T.S., so there may be errors. We encourage you to offer your suggestions for lyrics corrections on the site's main page.


This track appears on the following releases:

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The Next Step Question in the Form of an Answer American Men, Vol. 1
"O.S.T." ...Or Stay Tuned Stepfather
The Om Years Fun DMC Carried Away
Highlighter 12 Step Program American Men, Vol. 2
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