Clout - Erick Sermon, KRS-One

I look like an emcee, talk like an emcee

Walk like an emcee New York type of emcee

Pockets never empty rockets, plenty

You already forget them but you ain’t forget me

Clubs I rock many, in fact, any

That shit talk they talkin could never affend me

I worked for mine, even got jerked for mine

Back in '89 I used to work the nine

But it led to crime and too many cats doin time

If you into that fine but I’m not I rhyme

You know, you cats runnin from the law too much

That means you either got greedy or you saw too much

You know the streets like the back of your hand

Back of your palm the problem is the cash in your palm

I do what I have to do, you laugh at me I laugh at you

You after me I’m after you

You not passin me I’m passin you

You not askin me I’m askin you

You not blastin me man I’m blastin you

Blastin through, got the whole senior class graspin you

Ask your crew, who commands more street soldiers than the Blastmaster do

I’m the last to the true, now who you?!

Some sensitive new jack awww come here boo boo!

This type of emceein you might not be use to I’ll bruise you (YEAH!)

Get under your skin like tattoos do

This God, you don’t choose me I choose you

My vocabulary will confuse you (Tell 'em)

Like the news do, my Benz is new too

I be on padded cells like I’m coo coo (UH!)

Callin up my nation which is Zulu

NOW WHO YOU?!!

I’m Sermon yes your determined (UH HUH!)

I’m the best and no need contestin Sermon confirmin you

Mark Furman lyin, stop sighin

Before you end up in Zion, stop cryin

You dyin nigga, you a hoe

Hit the flo' when I blast the trigga

E Dub not Nas but I’m a nasty nigga

The type that leave ya floatin in the Hudson River, I’ll deliver

Like take out food direct to your door step

You ain’t seen no types of hardcore yet (No!)

You ain’t, shot the five or the four yet (No!)

You ain’t sliced from the ear to the jaw yet

What you doin right there that’s fag (That's fag!)

And you claimin to havin all this swag

Swag don’t rhyme (Uh huh)

Swag don’t get you in the hall of fame or fap, at least not mine

Swag don’t shine them diamonds

Blindin the fact that you wack, and shouldn’t be rhymin

It’s bad timin for you newcomer

You ain’t me motherfucker!

You hot for the summer!

You like Joe Plumber gettin stopped by Barack

Tryin to dominate the spot, and end up shot

Then it’s, slow singin and flower bringin

Cell phone ringin 9−1-1 for closure it’s over

C to the L to the O-U-T

He’s Blastmaster KRS-One I’m E (YO!)

Dub got clout (Blastmnaster) that’s clout

E Dub got clout (Blastmaster) that’s clout