The Fugees
"How Many Mics"


Intro: Wyclef Jean 

Pick up your microphones 
Pick up your microphones 


Chorus: Wyclef/Pras 

How many mics do we rip on the daily 
Say, me say many money say me say many many many 
How many mics do we rip on the daily 
Many money say me say many many many 

Verse One: Lauryn Hill 

I get mad frustrated when I rhyme 
Thinkin of all them kids that try to do this for 
all the wrong reasons Season change mad things 
rearrange But it all stays the same like the love 
doctor strange 
I'm tame like the rapper get red like a snapper, 
when they do that Got your whole block saying 
true dat 
If only they knew that, it was you who was 
irregular Soldier soul for some secular muzac 
that's whack 
Plus you use that, loop, over and over 
Claiming that you got a new style, your atempts 
are futile, oooh child Your puerile, brain waves 
are sterile You can't create you just wait to 
take, my take Laced with malice, hands get 
callous, from ripping microphones From here to 
Dallas go ask Alice if you don't believe me I get 
innovisions like Stevie 
See me, a sin from the chalice, like the weed be 
Indeed we like Kalid Mohammed MC's make me vomit 
I get controversial, freaky style with no 
rehearsal 
Au contraire mon frere, don't you even go there 
Me without a mike is like a beat without a snare 
I dare to tear into your ego, we go, way back 
Like some ganja and palequo or ColecoVision 
My minds make incisions in your anatomy 
And I back this with Deuteronomy or Leviticus 
God made this word, you can't get with this 
Sweet like licorice, dangerous like syphillis, 
yeah 

Chorus 

Verse Two: Wyclef Jean 

I used to be underrated, now I take iron, makes 
my shit constipated I'm more concentrated, so on 
my day off with David Sanonburg I play golf Run 
through Crown Heights screaming out "Mazeltoff!" 
Problem with noman before black I'm first hu-man 
Appetite to write, like Frederick Douglass with a 
slave hand Street pressure, word to papa I ain't 
going under One day I have a label and make deals 
with Tommy Mottola Mama always told me, "Your one 
in a million, Always watch our back, never tango 
with haitian-sicilians" Now I got a record deal, 
how does it feel? I'm never gonna survive unless 
I get crazy like Seal Cause the whole worlds' out 
a order So at night the feins dance on grease 
with John Travolta One got slaughtered as he 
caught blood from his mouth The other tried to 
duck and caught a left with my Guinness stout 
Brother, brother can't you get this through your 
head It's a setup by the feds, their scoping us 
with their infrareds 

Chorus 

Verse Three: Prazwell 

Too many MC's not enough mikes, exit your show 
like I exit the turnpike Dice and dynomite like 
Dolomite, double do's been like I don't Dick Van 
Dyke Starlight to starbrite the freaks come out 
at night Like my man Wyclef-"I wear my sunglasses 
at night" And my ponage with martial encourage 
Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my 
garage And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin 
to Brooklyn Beat the trails broken flipping 
tokens to Hoboken A clean Getaway like Alec 
Baldwin Driving in my fast car playing Tracy 
Chapman 

Chorus 
Many, many money many many many 
Many, many money, ha, ha, ha