At its core, “How Many Mics” is a critique of the music industry’s focus on materialism and the pursuit of fame, at the expense of meaningful content. The Fugees, comprised of Wyclef Jean, Lauryn Hill, and Pras Michel, highlight their commitment to using their platform to address social issues and shed light on the plight of marginalized communities. The lyrics convey a strong sense of frustration and disappointment with the state of hip-hop and the superficiality often associated with it.[1]
Go ask Alice if you don't believe me, I get in her visions like Stevie
See me ascend from the chalice like the weed be
Indeed we like Khalid Muhammad, MCs make me vomit
I get controversial, freak your style with no rehearsal
Au contraire mon frère, don't you even go there
Run through Crown Heights screaming out, "Mazel tov!"
Problem with no man, before Black, I'm first human
Appetite towrite like Frederick Douglass with a slave hand (Bing)
Street pressure, wordto papa, I ain't goin' under
…
One got slaughtered as he coughed blood from his mouth
The other tried to duck and caught a left withmy Guinness Stout
Brother, brother, can't you get this through your head?
This isset up bythe feds, they're scoping us with their infrareds
Star light to star bright, the freaks come out at night
Like my man Wyclef (I wear my sunglasses at night)
And my panache will mosh your entourage
Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my garage
And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin' to Brooklyn
Go ask Alice if you don't believe me, I get in her visions like Stevie See me ascend from the chalice like the weed be Indeed we like Khalid Muhammad, MCs make me vomit I get controversial, freak your style with no rehearsal Au contraire mon frère, don't you even go thereRun through Crown Heights screaming out, "Mazel tov!" Problem with no man, before Black, I'm first human Appetite to write like Frederick Douglass with a slave hand (Bing) Street pressure, word to papa, I ain't goin' under…
One got slaughtered as he coughed 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? This is set up by the feds, they're scoping us with their infraredsStar light to star bright, the freaks come out at night Like my man Wyclef (I wear my sunglasses at night) And my panache will mosh your entourage Squash the squad and hide their bodies under my garage And when the cops come lookin, I be bookin' to Brooklyn[2]
[1] https://beatcrave.com/the-meaning-behind-the-song-how-many-mics-by-fugees/ ↩︎
[2] https://genius.com/Fugees-how-many-mics-lyrics ↩︎