Verse One:
Dirty rotten scoundrel, that`s what I`m called, on the street
Could connive and cheat but rarely get beat
Ya see I`m streetwise, a con-game pro
Kickin the Bobby bullshit, too smart for Willie Bobo
Not stressin five-o, hot hand in celo
Live in the land of crooks yes Brooklyn`s the borough
Homicide central, East New York
Where the manic, depressive psycho murderers stalk
Walk, like a ninja, on the asphalt
Here talk is cheap, you`re outlined in chalk
And there`s more hardtimes, than on Good Times
And most niggaz dedicate their life to crime
So I`m steady schemin, won`t work for a dime
Used to get, tax free loot, all the time
Type slick can`t fess on `Ru, because
Verse Two:
Before trains were graffiti proof I used to get loose
Dirty rotten since the days of the deuce
Dirty, because of the skin I`m in
The fact I have melanin automatically makes me a felon
Even though I`m righteous, rotten`s what you`re yellin
But I`m not chain-snatchin, or drug-sellin
According to your books you said I would be damned like Ham
Scoundrel opposite of the king that I am
But wanna get funny, we can get bummy
Take you to the East and back again money
Filthy putrified trick, step past your sister
Challenge the Damaja, and you`ll be history
Mortal Kombat fatality, the original don`t sing no R&B
Nasty MC deity
Chop off domes with the poems that come out of my pin-eal
gland, as I expand, you know who I am
Verse Three:
Father of all stylin, I be whylin on wax
We hack shit up like big ax and little ax
Don`t need tokes to make you jump like bungee
Tracks real muddy, like Brooklyn`s real grungy
When I come through I clog up your sewer
Peep the maneuveur, drop the ill manure
So bring Mr. Clean, Drano, and Roto Rooter
No matter what you do, you can`t get through the
Crud that comes out of your system
You`re another victim, of dirty rotten
Dirt up, in your grill, so what ya gonna do
But pay homage to...
