De La Soul: Verbal clap

"You out there? Louder! Well clap your hands to what he's doing On tempo Jack" [Posdonus] NYC gave you the ball, so how you gonna hate us? We creators of them East coast stars If you ask me I'll tell you there's no comp But I'm still humble, even though I will crumble halls Some call 'em songs, I call 'em words from me that take long to cook So some feel free in sayin that we don't hunger for beats Not that we not hungry, just picky in what we eat Keep food off the mind and keep weight off the body All you gotta do is keep my name out your mouth And stop frownin like you hostile You know that it's a booger rubbin up against your nostril Nigga how you figure you can play this rap game without the backbone? It's Maseo, Dave, Wonder Why, givin what you lack holmes [Dave] Aiyyo prepare yo'self for the Neutron, bitch! This is eighty-six, let that neo-rap go We present these flares to put fire to your ears to lay smoke like rusty exhaust pipes We run mics, let Sean run the marathon Yo raise that money son, we raisin these kids Get claps when curtains close, stage left Up your stamina baby, bring some breath SAT book smart, part ese Loc'in like Tone, street niggaz get grown Acquire more couth before you get poofed Or get some shells sent over to your mic booth Excuse, my delivery, but when peace don't work see this piece gon' work, cock aim and SHOOT! It's my constitutional right to bear arms Arms and bare hands on mics, make fans unite Woodstock and white folks involved Black man get on yo' job! "Well clap your hands to what he's doing On tempo Jack" [Chorus 2X: De La Soul] Let's go beat for beat, and rhymes for rhymes (put, all, the things aside) Just bring your beats, and bring your rhymes (put, all, the things aside) [Posdonus] The heavyweight L.I. brother with no date, of expiration On this fate on the mic, them birthday keep comin I'm hated on by niggaz I love most So what threat could you possibly pose when I'm on your coast? So raise your guns or your glasses Either way there'll be a toast in the air Markin the return of bare minimums you need to learn Get your verbs right when you down to clap [Dave] See that gun powder calibre rap'll tip hats like gentlemen do Smash tenements and skyscrapers Bow-tie papers stacked high Pay the resident tax or get your street sweeped Front row, backstage or the cheap seats I +Dodge+ richochets like +Ram+ trucks, you slow poke to pull it And I sup-pose you wanna top the Billboard chart Man I toast these rhymes and then pop like Pop-Tarts [Chorus] "Well clap your hands to what he's doing"