I was
On my way, to the disco
You know the club, Maseo was rocking rub that night
Midnight to four, name at the door
Plus the whole crew I can get in as well
So I got on my cell, called my nigga C. Smith
Let this be a jam that we need not miss
(Yeah, I'm already en route)
No doubt, might even jump up on the mic
To make sure that this party's turned out
And we some punctual types, on time, look for the line
To stand we find girls screaming the blues
Miscellaneous shoes everywhere
Yo, Mase, what happened here?
(Go, Brooklyn) (yo Brooklyn, kid)
Oh, y'all know the rules
Fuck with Dave people and out come the tools
Ain't been a fair fight since the creation of crews
And that's why them dudes hearts all pumped
Done closed the club down 'cause one of they niggas got jumped
Jump, jump, jump to it
Uh-huh, you heard the hook
No matter you Braveheart or shook
You can catch a bottle from the right, gat to the left
Kicks to the mids relieving you of breath
I seen it done sloppy, seen it organized
Some saw it coming and for others it was surprise
Just a swollen eye and some loss, courtesy of the

Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it (yo)

When they put the contracts out, bats and chairs included
Chicks can get into it, 'specially pretty broads
My New York City dawgs seem to master the art
When you hear the (woo) that's when the bullshit'll start
It only takes a second 'less you got on ice
Just for wearing your chain in they club, they'll beat you twice
Served with fried rice, you get a can of whoop ass
My only advice is don't fall and book ass
For the nigga who slip, don't fall in a position
Where your lip'll catch a hickie (girl, they'll fuck your mascara)
Shoot, go and ask Tara, just for having good hair
Man, they left her ass cute, pulled it dead out the roots
It's never one or two of 'em, they heading out in troops
Timbos, hoodies loose over jumpsuits
Waiting for the first vic' to disrespect
Catch a double-dutch rope around your neck in the midst of the

Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it

It's schematically plotted out to break hearts and bodies
And ya best believe we came to party
Don't cause trouble but still can find double the crew
Against you and your peeps and leap like frogs on ya
For reasons like, not in the right part of town
Acting like you wore a crown
Some occasions long and mean to earn the right
To throw signs wearing only one color scheme
And being positive is no exclusion
That's an illusion, you can still catch contusions
For flossing your hard-earned shine
I'm talking game, just a name of longing
Then it's some other niggas time
You'll get beat out of your mind just for rage
Shit, my black ass almost got pulled off stage
Just for holding it down on the mic, you could be talking
(Black people unite) and still catch a lump from the

Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it
Jump, jump, jump to it

Yo
It's this joint, called "The Art of Getting Jumped"
We had to put this one on the album, you know?
Yeah, this is dedicated
To them punk motherfuckers out in Germany
That Turkish gang that jumped me up in the fucking club
Tried to knock me senseless
They just couldn't get me though
That's why I second round outside
And we pulled out some fucking guns, punk bastards
And that's why my ass was hiding under the bridge

Copyright: Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): David Jolicoeur, Kelvin Mercer, Luther R Vandross, Vincent Mason, William Marcus Jr. Miller