Rahzel - Carbon Copy (I Can't Stop) Lyrics

[Chorus: x 4 ]
I can't stop
I really don't care about those other carbon copies
Don't stop Bobby, don't stop

Yo, I'm the microphone champion
Any stage you get me on or let me on
My ambiance is one step beyond
Then my song is a correspond with the audience
Experience the Renaissance my reason once is really on
Wonder Twin powers activate
Put the tape on, I can take on any shape, form
Size or weight, shape of Activation Voltron
Imagine all the microphones in the world I spit it on
Imagine the next MC step to me gettin' shitted on
You can even ask the girl about the bed we did it on
I hit it from the back to Marvin Gaye's 'Let's Get it On'
Don't get it wrong, give it a thong, she put it on, in uniform
Sippin' Don Perignon, Shawn Don, fillet mignon
Long horns stick and move until the cameras come on
Until the cameras are gone from there on, dusk till dawn
Get your grind on, now put your panties back on
Thank you for your cooperation
Rahzel, on your Hot 97 station

[Chorus x 2]

[Woman:]
Oh what's wrong Rahzel?
You're trying to sing?
Don't worry baby, when you grow up you're gonna be a star!

Yo, I'm one of the illest vocalists to ever turn the mic on
Let me download my sound, catalog the microns
Turn your website on
WWW dot transmission d-d-d-dot sitcom
Got your girl buck naked on the cover, right on
3-D visually enhanced on your CD-ROM
EP-ROM, erasable, programmable and only
Memory accessible when your PC's on
We can battle for your soul like Ki Yong Song
We can battle for your girl like Rae Dawn Chong
Yo your mother's so fat she wears a three piece thong
Made of polyester-cryllic, rip stop nylon
With a skully cap that stretches three feet long
98 degrees outside, with a sheepskin on
I play you and your mom like Donkey Kong
Check this out

[Chorus x 4]

Yo we got the hottest, wildest fiber optic
Double O 7 James Bond, talkin' in your watch shit
Watch this, Baywatch shit
Topless, there's no way you could stop this, spotless
Keep the flame up in the cockpit
On some New Kids on the Block shit
My worse man is nothin' but profit
While you keep secrets and gossip
The Officer, the Gentleman
Chiseled out, President, call me Lou Gosset
This is for the players who pop shit
Frontin' like you got shit
PHD, without the doctorate
If it wasn't for break beats, you'd be rhymin' over my shit
Often transformin' on stage, the Super DJ
2000 beats per minute, with an arcade
Round 1 fight, Street Fighter 3, pro tours with an upgrade
Call the paramedics to fed-ex some first aid
My calisthenics been magnetic since first grade
We can battle in the doorway or the hallway
We can take the shit to the street, off and on Broadway
We can battle where you buy your cheap ass clothes in front of Comway
We can battle in the passenger seat of your mother-fuckin' Hyundai

[Chorus x 4]

Doo doo, doodoo doooo
Doo doo, doodoo doooo
Keep it movin'
We're movin' on
It's time to get down
Rahzel, Roots crew, what, yeah
Uh huh, break it down what, Ice diggy
Hollis crew, Irv Gotti, what.