Maestro Fresh‐Wes Certs Wid Out da Retsyn Lyrics

“Naaah, Dis Kid Can’t Be From Canada?!!” Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 I’m Drinkin’ Milk Now
  • 2 Check My Vernacular
  • 3 Pray to da East
  • 4 Certs Wid Out da Retsyn
  • 5 Mic Mechanism
  • 6 Makin’ Records
  • 7 Fine Tune da Mic
  • 8 Brown Sugar
  • 9 How Many Styles
  • 10 “Dat’s My Nigga!!”
  • 11 Higher Level
  • 12 Bring It On (remix)
  • 13 Make It for the Ruff
  • 14 “Dat’s My Nigga!!” (instrumental)

  • Chours:
    1 o'clock, 2 o'clock, 3 o'clock rock
    to the beat that I drop when I flip my hip-hop
    put this in yo' collection
    Fresh Wes without a rhyme is like certs without the retsyn

    I'm coming straight out of Canada
    far from an amateur
    LT's my DJ, Flex is my manager
    I flow so nice so they're calling me the Maestro
    just pass the microphone
    fuck the light show
    real rap is in effect
    and I'm out to get wrecked on the mic-mec
    when I make a mic-check
    not on the sloppy tip
    I'm harder than a hockey stick
    exciting niggas like Italian's in a Rocky flick
    watch me flow slow or flow fast
    I'll even make a Spanish brother say no mass
    I'm wrecking you, disconecting you, disrespecting you
    hold your smoking ass cheap shit, it'll eventually catch up to you
    I can make the phony retire, tendoroni perspire
    she's on my back like my name's Jacobey and Myer,
    (what's your name?)
    it's Fresh-Wes with the sweeter beats
    I make you smile like the brother on the red box of cream of wheat


    I got more rhymes than Brits in a cathedral
    my cerebral is lethal
    nobody's equal, my people
    wanna hear a funky new style so get with it
    no dibby-dibby-dibby MC's are permitted
    I'm wrecking it good
    (what else)
    collecting, injecting, and checking it good
    Lake Edna or your neck of the woods
    I'm getting more blow than Chuck Mangeony
    not a phony
    but Joanie wanted me for holy matrimony
    girls like my flavor cause I jam harder
    let's have a nice quiet date
    you, me, and my camcorder
    it's like a power-burst, I'm more than just an hours worth
    I get down and dirty, but uh honey
    take a shower first
    you can't tell me that the bro's soft,
    I do the cabbage patch, butterfly, and boggle with my clothes off
    but that's a different chapter
    I've even got more rhymes than there's groupies of Jack the rapper,
    on the microphone I slice you and make you say
    (I knew his rhymes was phat, but his beats are kind of nice too)
    now is the apocolypse
    MC's are clocking this
    they say they got skills but all I'm seeing is a flock of lips
    acapella, or over a drum track
    I'm funkier than a group of Jamacians after sun splash


    the word Maestro is teacher in Italiano
    I'm from Toronto, causing drama on the the verazono
    so come and check a real pro
    grab the peice of steal, yo
    I make a Black activist say
    (yes, that's my neigro)
    when I said the mic's my peice I really meant it
    so just like the Blue Jays, I'm out to win the pennant
    so sucker chill, 'cause every head I struck I killed
    oh, I don't know, is it just me, or am I really that fucking ill


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