Terra N Ya Era - Big Daddy Kane

You looking in the mouth of madness, skilled out since I had this 
I'm talking bout nothing but pure D badness 
My acceleration is compatible to a bima 
My pockets looking greener, from the funky cold medina 
Don't tell me bout the things that you done did cause I done did it 
Don't tell me bout the skins that you done hit, cause I done hit it 
And once I rock these, with a style that's cock deis 
Good God, I get the crowd together like knock knees 
Now, I don't act hard, I just mack hard 
Baggin' video looking honeys with the big back yard 
Yes lord, girls I'm gamin' leaving the microphone flamin' 
Throwing up hip-hop signs cause that's the set that I be claimin' 
Guerilla war fares for those who love to pull your card 
Grimies from Fort Green to Malcolm X Boulevard 
Now, if that's what you're hoping then it's the wrong things you're scopin' 
I may not rap bout slittin no throats but trust me kid I'll get you open 

Verse 2 
Here comes a taste of the rawness, like you never saw this 
Once I grip the cordless, my victory is flawless 
Chaos and havoc, lyrically psychopathic 
At times get pornographic, lord man I gots to have it 
Then I commit to hit you with this composite that's ultimate 
Too legit splendid come get wit' it for your comfort 
But then sloppily, rappers try to copy me 
Take pieces of my property, and use it all unproperly 
And probably, been focusing a while to copy my style 
But child what I'll compile is too versatile 
I'm too superior, it's sort of like comparing a 
Spanking new Desert Eagle to a rusty little derringer 
But skip the tool, let's try to deal here with the jewel 
That I'm droppin on you, now let me take you all to school 
You see, to graduate in hip-hop