Can-O-Corn - Lyrics - It Takes A Thief - Coolio

Title: Can-O-Corn
Album: It Takes A Thief
Artist: Coolio
Composer(s): Artis Ivey, Brian Dobbs

Lyric:
Back in the days when I was a young buck
Stuck like a truck gettin' shit outta luck
Times was rough and I didn't have a plan
I was barely on the edge of my life as a man

It's really fucked up when there's dope in the crib
No food in the kitchen for the motherfuckin' kids
That's why a young nigga learned how to steal, see
Shopliftin' laid me a whole lotta meals

But I remember days when the cupboard was bare
And life was unfair but who the fuck cares?
I still hear momma, what she used to tell me
That you don't get shit in this life for free

And even if I never ever make it to the mountain top
Fuck it! I fight for my hip-hop
Not everybody can relate to what I been through
Even though some front and they try to pretend to

Know about the life of a kid and the strife
Where he has to live in the shadow of a base pipe
Good goes to bad, bad goes to worse
And pretty soon he's stealin' from his own momma's purse

So clean out ya ears and open up your eyes
I reach out to touch but somebody moved the sky
My stomach is growlin', word is born
'Cause all I had for dinner was a can-o-corn

A can-o-corn,a can-o-corn
All I had for dinner was a can-o-corn
A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn
Before I went to school, I had a can-o-corn

A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn
I tried to get full off a can-o-corn
A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn
That's all the fuck that we had in the kitchen

A few years later, I pledge a legions to the set
I'm growin' up but I ain't grown yet
It's funny how the strain in a life filled with pain
Can sometimes leave a bitch stained on the brain

I'm sittin' in the restaurant, guardin' my food like a eagle
Pickin' up scraps like a seagull
Waitin' on the people at the next table to leave a tip
So I can put it in my pocket

Phoney easter bunny, Santa Claus and the stork
We was poor as fuck so we ate a lot of pork
And it ain't no motherfuckin' way no how
When it come up, I let you bring me down

So I stick to the boots and I'm down with a mad group
Of gangstas and hoodlums, but you can call 'em 'Scroops'
Give me liberty or give me death
'Cause a man without pride ain't got shit left

And now that I'm older with kids of my own
I put me in the pot where it used to be a bone
Get'cha self together, word is born
'Cause a man can't live on a can-o-corn

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2b7ce04a83b9de41e5a6fd2e7a3545a6

Betweens - Dusty In Here - Lyrics - Go

Title: Betweens - Dusty In Here
Artist: Go
Composer(s): Artis Ivey, Brian Dobbs

Lyric:
Back in the days when I was a young buck
Stuck like a truck gettin' shit outta luck
Times was rough and I didn't have a plan
I was barely on the edge of my life as a man

It's really fucked up when there's dope in the crib
No food in the kitchen for the motherfuckin' kids
That's why a young nigga learned how to steal, see
Shopliftin' laid me a whole lotta meals

But I remember days when the cupboard was bare
And life was unfair but who the fuck cares?
I still hear momma, what she used to tell me
That you don't get shit in this life for free

And even if I never ever make it to the mountain top
Fuck it! I fight for my hip-hop
Not everybody can relate to what I been through
Even though some front and they try to pretend to

Know about the life of a kid and the strife
Where he has to live in the shadow of a base pipe
Good goes to bad, bad goes to worse
And pretty soon he's stealin' from his own momma's purse

So clean out ya ears and open up your eyes
I reach out to touch but somebody moved the sky
My stomach is growlin', word is born
'Cause all I had for dinner was a can-o-corn

A can-o-corn,a can-o-corn
All I had for dinner was a can-o-corn
A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn
Before I went to school, I had a can-o-corn

A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn
I tried to get full off a can-o-corn
A can-o-corn, a can-o-corn
That's all the fuck that we had in the kitchen

A few years later, I pledge a legions to the set
I'm growin' up but I ain't grown yet
It's funny how the strain in a life filled with pain
Can sometimes leave a bitch stained on the brain

I'm sittin' in the restaurant, guardin' my food like a eagle
Pickin' up scraps like a seagull
Waitin' on the people at the next table to leave a tip
So I can put it in my pocket

Phoney easter bunny, Santa Claus and the stork
We was poor as fuck so we ate a lot of pork
And it ain't no motherfuckin' way no how
When it come up, I let you bring me down

So I stick to the boots and I'm down with a mad group
Of gangstas and hoodlums, but you can call 'em 'Scroops'
Give me liberty or give me death
'Cause a man without pride ain't got shit left

And now that I'm older with kids of my own
I put me in the pot where it used to be a bone
Get'cha self together, word is born
'Cause a man can't live on a can-o-corn

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f4da6f20d436dc4938f130c1f875845a

My Music - Lyrics - On Top of Our Game - Dem Franchize Boyz

Title: My Music
Album: On Top of Our Game
Artist: Dem Franchize Boyz
Composer(s): Chad Butler, Jermaine Dupri, Bernard James Freeman, Maurice Gleaton, Bernard Leverette, James Phillips, Gerald Tiller, Leroy Williams, Jamall Willingham

Lyric:
Dis dat soso def shit

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

Every time I do it, u know just who I do it fo'
My o.g. niggaz, my gurls in the strip club
And fa my top cats thats block cruisin'
Thats for the coops serve the rocks on the block music

And any club, any party don't rock dis
I'm sendin' my trend dawg its lean wit it, rock wit it
And fo' the projects buildings behind the locked gates
They do wut they gotta do and hustle at a top rate

Movin dem o's makin' dey pension
We grind til we ride sittin' on 24 inches
My ghetto niggaz and bitches know how to keep it hood
I keep it gutta Im'a gangsta u know just how I do it

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club
Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

I?m the shit you can't say I?m not
I keep white keep purp like a crayon box
Aay, and got a nice whipped game and I can't lie
Shit I could cook coke on a camp fire

Put it in my hands, I can make it go
If I can't move it then I'ma call Tony yo
I let the bullets from my gun spread
Sippin' hard while u down on the corn bread

First I droppin? the mix
Hit the pot like a Edward and bought 8 bricks
Yup, in my white tee so u know I keep it white
And I keep green like a traffic light

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

Yo pimpin', u know who it be its B.U.N to the little b
One hundred and one percent gangsta check my pedagree
Movin? thru yo? city like a muthafuckin? mayor
Hate on me nigga like I muthafuckin? care

I?m the king of the trill, got the streets in a head lock
A head busta piece so heads up I keep the lead cocked
Sellin' mo yayo than u could stuff in a bread box
And im'a keep on pushin even when the fed's flop

I represent the trill, I stand up fo? the hood
I?m holdin? down the underground just like a nigga should
UGK and DFB we do it fo? the block
Dem d boyz in the trap holdin? work keepin? it cocked
It don?t stop

I make my music for the ones servin' J's, servin' j's
The bitches in the club shakin' ass fo the pay, fo the pay
Fo' the ones one the block, ten hoe block holders
Fo' the ones that'll knock ya head off ya shoulders

Thats gangsta I doin? fo? the thugz
And the bitches in the hood on erry type of drug
Shipped across the border from purp to the cola
I hustle spreewells like fa three ten and molderz

Pond shop niggaz, keep a couple handguns
Chopper in the trunk and they keep one in the head son
B. un is out the test u wanna test son
My motive is to kill a nigga shoot above the chest boy

Make my music for the boyz with the O's
The old school pro's in the strip club

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6dd34a129caeeac457bfa6cf8b1bd782

True Story - Lyrics - B.G.

Title: True Story
Artist: B.G.
Composer(s): Christopher Noel Dorsey, Bryon O Thomas

Lyric:
Right now we got a lil' youngsta
Lil' Doogie from the B.G.'z
Do what'cha gotta do mane
Say what'cha gotta say, Wayne

The rhymes you are about to hear are true
This some true shit

Shoulda killed you bitches when we heard that song
Tipped it on, talkin' 'bout 6th and Baronne
When the fuckin' lights on up early in the mornin'
All that muthafuckin' creepin'
Pissin' on the set when a nigga Dee, sleepin'

Pussy ass, you know you can't survive
You was creepin' through that third you must don't know it's do or die
Now that nigga on my list
A p-poppin' bitch no disresp', p-poppin' bitch no disresp'
P-poppin', p-poppin', p-poppin', bitch no disrespect to the tenth

But there's a pussy in your face and they can suck and dick
Ridin' and slidin' with all that workin' and twerkin'
You can't be no "G", 'cuz a "G" not down wit' jerkin'
Them niggas always comin' with that play
You want some real drama, why don't you bring that shit our way?

'Cuz I'm a Baby Gangsta down for that street funk
Stuntin' in a concert, take it to the fuckin' trunk
Talkin' all that bullshit, talkin' all that shit on wax
Talkin' all that yak-yak, but I'ma split your Kool-Aid pack, bitch
I got my pistol close at hand, this for the real, real pussies in the can

The rhymes you are about to hear are true
This some true shit

Chuck fuckin' them niggas at night
They doin' bad and slangin' rhymes at the same time, ain't lyin'
Now this nigga is a muthafuckin' dick beater
Heard at Corn[unverified] he was a muthafuckin' cheerleader

Fuckin' wit a B.G., best believe you will get served
I'ma leavin' ya muthafuckin' thinking cap on the curb
Chuck got some mail? 'Cuz oh, yes, I'm comin' to get'cha
And if I don't get 20 G's, I'ma split'cha

I'm a murderer, server, nigga come try to test
Had to put'em to rest, no vest but one to the chest
But uh, you know you done fucked up don't cha?
Like Yella said, you mad 'cuz Ca$h Money didn't want'cha

Let's move across that water strapped with that A.K.
They got some wannabe crips, wanna bang, go to L.A.
Now you can claim, the East, North, West, or South
Mystikal fool, you can pump this dick right in your mouth

Them niggas be rappin', very much trippin'
Talkin' all that nonsense, slippin' talkin' bout they be crippin'
But it's like this, watch out before you get bucked
I'm tellin' coward ass niggas to raise up, raise up, raise up

At first he was a cheerleader now he ain't that nigga to fuck wit
That goes to show you studio yeah that nigga buck quick
You duck sick when I catch'cha, you best to start to runnin'
Cuz I'm comin', start duckin', cuz I'm bustin' and pluckin', fuck it

Chuck, you big trick, you hoe bitch
Puttin' stank hoes in apartments and shit
And ummm, them niggas who help you get the money
You straight fuck 'em
When check time come, they gets nothin', you pluck 'em

And y'all hoes for lettin' him take it, hard rolled and fake it
Niggas best to look like skatin'
Now back to this muthafuckin' Mystikal, bitch
You wanna jump on a nigga like a morphodyke come jump on the dick

That's enough of this hoe shit on the real
If you don't spit "G" shit with skillz you can't pay bills I make mils
I close the shop for them niggas wanna shine
Sign on my nine when I put it on your mind into your spine

Don't whine, niggas can't handle me not hard
I'm the bitch who came to fuck up the party
When I catch'cha I'ma kill ya don't worry
This is another part of that fuckin' true story

Partners you bet not do no crime, get no time and go to jail
Cuz in that two man cell, best believe you gone get nailed
Mystikal you'z a hoe, it's time I let'cha know
Y'all ain't ready for Local five, got a boot camp fulla hoes

I'm gat totin', ready to leave your heart open
Bullets floatin', hot nine chambers smokin'
Uptown, ya bound to get y'all wig split
Y'all represent a 17th set that don't even exist

Now that's a shame, you reppin' just to get a name
You can't survive in this game 'cuz you niggas lame
I'm ready to take it to some "G" shit, street shit
Where caps get peeled and wigs bound to get split

I'm off Valence, ain't no doubt this B.G. ain't real
I'm bout to hiccup some bullets out my fuckin' steel
Peel, make niggas kneel, bow down
From this clown that's gonna put you six in the ground

It's time a nigga put Big Boy where the fuck they belong
Rollin' wit' tec-9 best believe it's on
Raise up, raise up, raise up, raise up, raise up

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c447e8a3adfa576f4634f1ce707db559

The Dog In Me - Lyrics - Beware Of Dog - Lil' Bow Wow

Title: The Dog In Me
Album: Beware Of Dog
Artist: Lil' Bow Wow
Composer(s): Bryan-Michael Cox, Jermaine Dupri

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Yeah, yeah
I'm the hottest thing to hit the block
Just to see ya frock
From CO to ATL, I keeps it locked
Like a fresh pair twenty three's, once seen
Can't get enough of me, my team
Gettin' his paper from all angles
Which means, everybody got a triangle
Ya heard me?
I'm the truth like beans
An' when it comes to teens in this rap thing
You looking at the rock, not to mention that I'm hot
Hey, you already know
And I shuts down the block everywhere that I go
Call me the Tiger Woods, that is, young an' explosive
I come with the dopest flow at thirteen like a ross

Little girls say I'm delicious
Grown folks say I'm just too viscious
But they don't understand
It's just the dog in me
An' that's just the way I am
Mess with me you get bit
In 2K I ain't havin' it
Which y'all don't understand?
It's just the dog in me
And that's just the way I am

Lil man with the big checks
Lil man has got big girls
Wantin' to teach me about sex
I don't care who comin'
'Cause I'm here now
A hundred miles of ridin'
Lil bow, wow
Drop bombs like flex constantly
And at six o'clock
You can find me on Craig street
Can't wait till I can see what the club be about
Can't wait to get a whip so I can dub it out
I like no gold, I rock corn rolls
The only way I know to hit the block is on a swoll
Could never get enough dough?
So I keep grinding, so I can keep shining
And big timin' like babe

Little girls say I'm delicious
Grown folks say I'm just too viscious
But they don't understand
It's just the dog in me
An' that's just the way I am
Mess with me you get bit
In 2K I ain't havin' it
Which y'all don't understand?
It's just the dog in me
And that's just the way I am

Now my wallets to deep for y'all cats to swim
So if you copy me
I'm dissin' you like Eminem
I mean straight to your face or live on TV
I might look cute but it's the dog in me
That makes me wanna tear up, everything in sight
Jump from girl to girl to stay out all night long
I'm little but I get my back on
With my nick, nack, patty, wack, get that bone
Got everybody at home glued to their tube
Waitin' to see what I drop new like clue
'Cause when I do, what I do, what breaks the bank
'Cause a dog ain't a dog without a pile of stank

Little girls say I'm delicious
Grown folks say I'm just too viscious
But they don't understand
It's just the dog in me
An' that's just the way I am
Mess with me you get bit
In 2K I ain't havin' it
Which y'all don't understand?
It's just the dog in me
And that's just the way I am

Little girls say I'm delicious
Grown folks say I'm just too viscious
But they don't understand
It's just the dog in me
An' that's just the way I am
Mess with me you get bit
In 2K I ain't havin' it
Which y'all don't understand?
It's just the dog in me
And that's just the way I am

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5872f7a2a808e317844ea646246db64d

Who Stole My Last Piece Of Chicken? - Lyrics - Organized Konfusion

Title: Who Stole My Last Piece Of Chicken?
Artist: Organized Konfusion
Composer(s): Larry Baskerville, Marshall Jones, Ralph Middlebrook, Leroy Bonner, Walter Morrison, Andrew Noland, Gregory Webster, Troy Jamerson

Lyric:
Of all the things my momma used to cook, I liked chicken
You know that chicken I put in the refrigerator last night?
Well, I expect to find it when I get home or else

Damn, it really hurts my heart to remember these
(Remember these)
Days way back in the seventies
(Seventies)
The only AIDS you used to know was Kool-AIDS
Corn-bread, corn-rows and corn-br-AIDS

Pull up a chair, read a book like Dr. Seuss
Peel off the skin, eat all the meat
Nibble on the bone and then suck the goo
Man, if my mother was the Colonel, her chicken woulda sold

It even taste better the next day cold
Chick-chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken
When I collect my thoughts, I recollect
I used to listen to my moms
(To my mommy)

Damn it, everyday
Boy, you better clean up your room
Before you go outside and play

Yo, Monch, you can remember
When we used to play skelly way back
Blastin' wax, side or tops, Prince don't play that
Uh, oh, it's six o'clock, I'm late for dinner

If my girl wasn't his girl, I was definitely in her
Got in them, print skirts
(Yo, you was feenin' for a chicken fix)
Ran in the kitchen
And put my finger in the cornbread mix

Mom yells, "Dinner's ready", 'cause she's the boss
All I needed was my ketchup and my hot sauce
And my cornbread, now I'm ready to dig in
Pick the meat off the bone and then I ate the skin

But I'll tell you what my mother would say
Somebody stole my piece of chicken
But I'll tell you what my mother would say
Somebody stole my piece of chicken

Round, round, one, three
(Up, up, two)
I'm fresh out of the batch and you can't catch me
Mrs. Mary Mac, all dressed in black
She's rather fat and she carries a bat

She's the nosiest lady on the block when it's hot
Cops get shot when we played SWAT
But no one never died though, we just cried
Only to laugh again when my moms made fried

Chicken barbecues in the summer was the move
Whoo, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, Grand Groove
Was the jam Grandmaster Vic played in the park
Past the dark, I seen the spark, so did me, Troy and Mark

Went to the rib shack, ordered chicken and the collard
Greens but there's no money left in my wallet
But I kept fifty cents for my juice
(Word?)
Now we would go to Troy's house and get loose
(Uhh)

I'm just looking out of the window
(Window)
Watching the asphault grow slow
(Grow, slow)
My best friend was a G.I. Joe
Although he had bald spots in his afro

Play with the kids your own age
That's what they used to tell us
I got jealous when we couldn't run with the big fellas
Bullies on the block used to beat us

I was quick as a cat, in fact I was a cheetah
Especially when we played follow the leader
Little Suzy May Robinson used to play
Show and tell with my peter

I used to rock my British Walkers to church
After the choir sang, the preacher started to preach
So I had to search
For a pen and some paper to keep myself occupied

But the aroma from the kitchen came and sat by my side
And said, "Mmm, you know I smell good"
I said to myself, "Please, oh, please reverend
Now would you speed up the sermon so I can determine

Whether I'ma have peas or collars greens
With my chicken that I'm yearnin'"
Turnin' to the usher in the back, whispering
"Please keep the chicken monster from coming through

The crack of the door", later at the table
Moms poppped my hand until it was sore
'Cause I ate the chicken before
The preacher said grace, but I'm ready to go for self

But there's not one piece of chicken on the table left
(What happened to that wing man? Where that chicken go?)
Chick-chick-chick-chicken
(Where that chicken go?)
Chick-chick-chick-chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken
Chick-chick-chick-chicken

You know that chicken I put in the refrigerator last night?
Well, I expect to find it when I get home, or else
But I'll tell you what my mother would say
"Somebody stole my piece of chicken"

I didn't take your chicken, pop

Just wait 'til I get home 'cause ain't no chicken left
(Hey, that's cool)
Miss Clarabell took the last piece of chicken
(That's cool)

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159c04d49cedc96e4ae6a0a5af4fb9b8

Z - Takeover - Lyrics - The Blueprint - Jay

Title: Z - Takeover
Album: The Blueprint
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Robbie Krieger, Lawrence Parker, John Densmore, E. Burdon, Shawn Carter, A. Lomax, Jim Morrison, B. Chandler, Ray Manzarek, Kanye West, Rodney Lemay

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
R.O.C, we runnin' this rap shit
Memphis Bleek, we runnin' this rap shit
B. Mac, we runnin' this rap shit
Freeway, we run this rap shit
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit

The takeover, the break's over nigga
God MC, me, Jay-Hova
Hey lil' soldier you ain't ready for war
R.O.C too strong for y'all
It's like bringin' a knife to a gunfight, pen to a test
Your chest in the line of fire with ya thin ass vest
You bringin' them Boyz II Men, how them boys gon' win?
This is grown man B.I., get you rolled in the triage

Beatch, your reach ain't long enough, dunny
Your peeps ain't strong enough, fucker
Roc-A-Fella is the army, better yet the navy
Niggaz'll kidnap your babies, spit at your lady
We bring knife to fistfight, kill your drama
Uh, we kill you motherfuckin' ants with a sledgehammer
Don't let me do it to you dunny 'cause I overdo it
So you won't confuse it with just rap music

R.O.C., we runnin' this rap shit
M-Easy, we runnin' this rap shit
The Broad Street Bully, we runnin' this rap shit
Get zipped up in plastic when it happens that's it
Freeway, we runnin' this rap shit
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit
"Watch out! We run New York"

I don't care if you Mobb Deep, I hold triggers to crews
You little fuck, I've got money stacks bigger than you
When I was pushin' weight, back in eighty-eight
You was a ballerina, I got your pictures I seen ya
Then you dropped "Shook Ones," switch your demeanor
Well, we don't believe you, you need more people
Roc-A-Fella, students of the game, we passed the classes
'Cause nobody could read you dudes like we do

Don't let 'em gas you like Jigga is ass and won't clap you
Trust me on this one, I'll detach you
Mind from spirit, body from soul
They'll have to hold a mass, put your body in a hole
No, you're not on my level get your brakes tweaked
I sold what ya whole album sold in my first week
You guys don't want it with Hov'
Ask Nas, he don't want it with Hov', no!

R.O.C., we runnin' this rap shit
B. Sigel, we runnin' this rap shit
M-Easy, we runnin' this rap shit
Get zipped up in plastic when it happens that's it
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Freeway, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit
Watch out! We run New York"

I know you missin' all the fame
But along with celebrity comes 'bout
Seventy shots to your brain, nigga, you are lame
Youse the fag model for Karl Kani-Esco ads
Went from, Nasty Nas to Esco's trash
Had a spark when you started but now you're just garbage
Fell from top ten to not mentioned at all

To your bodyguard's "Oochie Wally" verse better than yours
Matter fact you had the worst flow on the whole fuckin' song
But I know, the sun don't shine, then son don't shine
That's why your lame
Career come to an end, there's only so long fake thugs can pretend
Nigga, you ain't live it you witnessed it from your folks pad
You scribbled in your notepad and created your life

I showed you your first tec on tour with Large Professor
Then I heard your album bout your tec on your dresser
So yeah I sampled your voice, you was usin' it wrong
You made it a hot line, I made it a hot song
And you ain't get a corn nigga you was gettin' fucked then
I know who I paid God, Serchlite Publishing
Use your brain, you said you been in this ten
I've been in it five, smarten up Nas
Four albums in ten years nigga? I could divide

That's one every let's say two, two of them shits was due
One was nah, the other was "Illmatic"
That's a one hot album every ten year average
And that's so lame, nigga switch up your flow
Your shit is garbage, but you try and kick knowledge?
You niggaz gon' learn to respect the king
Don't be the next contestant on that Summer Jam screen
Because you know who, did you know what? With you know who
But just keep that between me and you for now

R.O.C, we runnin' this rap shit
M-Easy, we runnin' this rap shit
The Broad Street Bully, we runnin' this rap shit
Get zipped up in plastic when it happens that's it
Freeway, we runnin' this rap shit
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit
Watch out! We run New York"

A wise man told me don't argue with fools
'Cause people from a distance can't tell who is who
So stop with that childish shit, nigga I'm grown
Please leave it alone, don't throw rocks at the throne
Do not bark up that tree, that tree will fall on you
I don't know why your advisers ain't forewarn you
Please, not Jay, he's, not for play
I don't slack a minute, all that thug rappin' and gimmicks

I will end it, all that yappin' be finished
You are not deep, you made your bed now sleep
Don't make me expose to them folks that don't know you
Nigga I know you well, all the stolen jewels
Twinkletoes you breakin' my heart
You can't fuck with me, go play somewhere, I'm busy
And all you other cats throwin' shots at Jigga
You only get half a bar, fuck y'all niggaz

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704eefc2137b3027c37ff861084e0099

Tang Clan - '97 Mentality - Lyrics - Wu-Tang Killa Bees The Swarm Vol 1 - Wu

Title: Tang Clan - '97 Mentality
Album: Wu-Tang Killa Bees The Swarm Vol 1
Artist: Wu
Composer(s): Dennis David Coles, Robert F. Diggs, Darryl Robert Hill

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Yo, it's the burial ground sound, Dunn
It's real out here
Staten Island puttin' chills in y'all niggaz
Forever in it, yo

My devastatin' hot '97 Mentality
Keep me on point for my four digit salary
Heavyweight lyric never lost one calorie
I'm soon to be seen, on the TV screen

Gambino Cappacino to the Afro Sheen
Stay black, where I'm at, high road to rap council
Splash love to Wu in a orderly tonsil
Never limit to the diction, 'cause chaos to mixin'

Brutalize a sound check, ripple through the intermission
Rap's under siege, held tight like a squeeze
Forced in the world 'Donna nuclear freeze
Through the damage to the wannabe Flipmode and Def Squad

Ruckus a whirlpool in the rap entourage
If you dare to test thirty-six, chambers of strangers
My word of mouth, it's all real wigs might peel
Livin' large and in charge branch out Bon Voyage

Twenty-four diamond government named God
Alias Daryl Hill bring thugs back to kill
Circle around my son, Daryl Jr. never eatin' large
Auntie Dauntie sixteen holdin' me down

AIDS of rap music may be contagious to sound
Verbal the slang pushed back to create pronoun
Method forcin' J-Love to Bring the Pain from underground
Realizin' food for thought is self-compromisin'

Shaolin cut the crack into a triple-O sizin'
Blue do what he do to keep that currency risin'
Hopin' I catch a deal so we can catch a full wheel
Instead of catchin' bodies, niggaz not keepin' it real

Dirtball niggaz that steal cake from stores
That's my type of niggaz I be wantin' on my tours
Can't help it, my styles stay fat like Roseanne
Ruckus in the square, I stay rough like the Clan

Panther on my arm, pen and pad in my hand
Punk motherfuckers better beware of the Shaolin
Defy interactive project Children of the Corn
Gats and my man, keep 'em bustin' till he's gone

Style so ancient it sparks just like the unicorn
'Donna come through everyday my uniform
Changes and switches, I came to make ladies out of bitches
Crackhead niggaz get stitches

So what up with that kid, danger when I attack kid
Watch how the slang hits you, just like the fat kid
Form another pyramid, look how we slid
All over Park Hill, Stapleton politic

On a twenty dollar bill all in it together
You can't fuck with the stormy weather, yaknahmean?

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year, to the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

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62cde6422e82fb5b866df31530ac7279

'97 Mentality - Lyrics - Cappadonna

Title: '97 Mentality
Artist: Cappadonna
Composer(s): Dennis David Coles, Robert F. Diggs, Darryl Robert Hill

Lyric:
Yo, it's the burial ground sound, Dunn
It's real out here
Staten Island puttin' chills in y'all niggaz
Forever in it, yo

My devastatin' hot '97 Mentality
Keep me on point for my four digit salary
Heavyweight lyric never lost one calorie
I'm soon to be seen, on the TV screen

Gambino Cappacino to the Afro Sheen
Stay black, where I'm at, high road to rap council
Splash love to Wu in a orderly tonsil
Never limit to the diction, 'cause chaos to mixin'

Brutalize a sound check, ripple through the intermission
Rap's under siege, held tight like a squeeze
Forced in the world 'Donna nuclear freeze
Through the damage to the wannabe Flipmode and Def Squad

Ruckus a whirlpool in the rap entourage
If you dare to test thirty-six, chambers of strangers
My word of mouth, it's all real wigs might peel
Livin' large and in charge branch out Bon Voyage

Twenty-four diamond government named God
Alias Daryl Hill bring thugs back to kill
Circle around my son, Daryl Jr. never eatin' large
Auntie Dauntie sixteen holdin' me down

AIDS of rap music may be contagious to sound
Verbal the slang pushed back to create pronoun
Method forcin' J-Love to Bring the Pain from underground
Realizin' food for thought is self-compromisin'

Shaolin cut the crack into a triple-O sizin'
Blue do what he do to keep that currency risin'
Hopin' I catch a deal so we can catch a full wheel
Instead of catchin' bodies, niggaz not keepin' it real

Dirtball niggaz that steal cake from stores
That's my type of niggaz I be wantin' on my tours
Can't help it, my styles stay fat like Roseanne
Ruckus in the square, I stay rough like the Clan

Panther on my arm, pen and pad in my hand
Punk motherfuckers better beware of the Shaolin
Defy interactive project Children of the Corn
Gats and my man, keep 'em bustin' till he's gone

Style so ancient it sparks just like the unicorn
'Donna come through everyday my uniform
Changes and switches, I came to make ladies out of bitches
Crackhead niggaz get stitches

So what up with that kid, danger when I attack kid
Watch how the slang hits you, just like the fat kid
Form another pyramid, look how we slid
All over Park Hill, Stapleton politic

On a twenty dollar bill all in it together
You can't fuck with the stormy weather, yaknahmean?

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

To the year, to the year Born God all the Gods strike hard
Fast from the swine hold down your boulevard
Father-U to C-Cypher, start the revolution
Middle finger in the air, for slang prostitution

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693f31a28e47169c27185e89fecb4302

Dangerous Grounds - Lyrics - Tical 2000 Judgementday - Method Man

Title: Dangerous Grounds
Album: Tical 2000 Judgementday
Artist: Method Man
Composer(s): Derrick Harris, Patrick Charles, Clifford Smith

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo
All them real live motherfuckin' niggaz step up front right now
It's goin' down
One love to Long Island Hempstead in my heart baby
Shaolin what?
Come on, come on, ha

Dangerous ground
Tre pound seven spin around for my bredren the cloud come down
War and peace, I take it to the street
Land shark on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief

And curse his first born, is this thing on?
Send 'em to the children of the corn, we the people
See, niggaz through the eye of the demon
My lethal injection, destroyin' evil
Hot Nikkel, private eye one pistol
Aimin' at your brain tissue, do or die
Said the spider to the fly, "Could this one be tasty?"

Like momma apple pie goodness, Johnny Blaze me
On the job like Dick Tracy
Hit the cure for that ill shit like Ben Casey, M.D.
Symbolic thrill like God he shocked it
Like a finger in a light socket, too good to be forgotten
In the rotten apple
I kick dirt on your sand castle
Check the flavor all natural

Beat your feet
Hot Nikk's son
Heat-mizer
Before you get the main course
Taste a appetizer

Submerged in the word
Heavy headed verbal that smack you
Mentally disturb you, attack you
Thirty six chamb' once again comin' at you
Young gun got the body snatch you observe
Wise words you can only see through the third
I fall way beyond the norm on the verb
Shine on mental nourishment, you can dine on
Track yellin' at me get yo arrow god

Victory is hard, regardless to whom or what
They all movin' targets Allah
Runnin' through your house and your block party, with rap shotty
And hot rock the body body, St. Bernards
Couldn't save your entourage, rap lobotomy
Leave ya mentally scarred, numb and possibly
Dumb deaf and blind is it
I kick the spine out the battery backs
Fuckin' with mine keep it movin'

Now everybody just throw your hands in the
What the fuck, fuck?
Peace, who this?

Mind detect mind, I P.L.O. your startin' line
Deep Space Nine
Designed for knuckleheads who bust guns and throw signs
Let's converse snatch the tap from your purse
Body-surf on the verse head first
Peep defeat, bitch Street beat you down with the heat
And you spazzed out spittin' out teeth ain't nuttin' peace
Big boys don't destroy blunted zone pop steroid

50 men convoy, expensive where's the big toy
Rumble through the wasteland right hand's on the silencer
40 caliber city slicker Staten Islander
Synchronized minds combine thoughts that motivate
Don't perpetrate pass the blunt let it circulate
Street politicians on a suicide mission
Crime vision finger itchin' from a scope view position

Dangerous ground
Tre' pound seven spin around for my bredren the cloud comes down

Keep your eyes open
Love potion number nine poetry in motion
Knowledge me the seventh sign
Scopin', connivin', infiltrate is most of mine
Play 'em nonchalantly, calmly expose the nine
Push and get shoved' what the fuck Gods' thinkin' of
Comin' in the club wit that screwface, actin' up
Is we men or mice, bad moon risin' we wild for the night
Kill a skitzofrenic nigga twice 'cuz o
That's what happened when frontin' on the Shaol' borough

Island of Staten we in here no fear
Assault wit intent
To kill your whole regiment it's real
Startin' wit yo president, duckin' my dart gun
Tear apart son you don't want it then don't start none
Blaze one with Jonathon, part man part fly
Handle my B I camouflage like G.I.
Fat like Joe, a day in the life
Your money or your life that's the life
Everybody can't afford ice in the struggle
Tryin' to eat right another day another hustle hustle hustle

Dangerous ground
Tre' pound seven spin around for my bredren the clouds come down
War and peace, I take it to the street
Land shark on my lawn chop the thumbs off a thief
Motherfucker

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fdd1b3be0a188f285b9086825bc386de

Put It On - Lyrics - Big L

Title: Put It On
Artist: Big L
Composer(s): Lamont Coleman, Anthony Best

Lyric:
C'mon
C'mon
C'mon
C'mon
C'mon

Aiyyo, you betta flee Hobbes or get your head flown three blocks
L keep rapper's hearts pumpin' like Reebok's
And every year I gain clout and my name sprouts
Some brothers'd still be large if the crack never came out
I got the wild style, always been a foul child
My guns go poom poom and yo' guns go pow pow

I'm known to have a hottie open, I keep the shottie smokin'
Front and get half the bones in your body broken
And when it comes to gettin' nookie, I'm not a rookie
I got girls that make that chick Toni Braxton look like Whoopee
I run with sturdy clicks, I'm never hittin' dirty chicks
Got thirty five bodies, buddy, don't make it thirty six
Step to this you're good as gone, word is bond
I leave mics torn when I put it on

So put it on Big L, put it on
C'mon, put it on and on and on
C'mon put it on Big L, put it on
C'mon, put it on, represent, put it on, c'mon

Nobody can take nuttin' from Big L but a loss chief
The last punk who fronted got a mouth full of false teeth
I'm known to gas a hottie and blast the shottie
Got more cash than Gotti, you betta ask somebody
Big L is a crazy brother and I'm a lady lover
A smooth kid that'll run up in your baby mother
I push a slick Benz, I'm known to hit skinz
And get endz and commit sins with sick friends

'Cause I'm a money getter, also a honey hitter
You think you nice as me? Ha ha, you'se a funny nigga
I flows, so one of my shoes wouldn't be clever to miss
I'm leavin' competitors pissed
To tell you the truth, it gets no better than this
I'm catchin' wreck to the break of dawn
And it's on, yo, it's a must that I put it on

Yes, put it on Big L, put it on
C'mon, put it on big fella, put it on and on
Put it on Big L, put it on, represent
Put it on, c'mon, put it on

Some boys see me gun nozzle and take a we fi joke
Boy, you gwan dead before you see me gun smoke
See me gun nozzle and take me fi joke
You gwan dead from army you provoked

I drink Moet not Beck's beer, I stay dressed in slick gear
Peace to my homies in the gangsta lean, I see you when I get there
And it's a fact I keep a gat in my arm reach
I charm freaks and bomb geeks from here to Palm Beach
I'm puttin' rappers in the wheelchair, Big L is the villain you still fear
'Cause I be hangin' it hard and my shit is for real here

If you battle L, you picked the wrong head
I smash mics like cornbread, you can't kill me, I was born dead
And I'm known to pull steel trigs and kill pigs
I run with ill kids and real nigs who peel wigs
My rap's steady slammin', I keep a heavy cannon
It's a new sheriff in town and it ain't Reggie Hammond
Peace to my peoples, the Children of the Corn
'Cause we put it on, adios, ghost, I'm gone

So put it on Big L, put it on
C'mon, put it on, big fella, put it on and on
Big L, you gotta put it on and on
Put it on Big L, put it on and on

Word up, knahmsayin'?
My man Big L, runnin' things for the nine four
And nine o' S, you know what I mean?
It's the Kid Capri in full flair
And we gon' put on a little somethin' like this
Big L, c'mon

Lord Finesse, he be puttin' it on
My man Buck wild, he be puttin' it on and on
My man Fat Joe, he be puttin' it on
Showbiz and A.G., yeah, they be puttin' it on and on
I can't forget Diamond D, he be puttin' it on
The whole D.I.T.C., yeah, they be puttin' it on and on
And of course Kid Capri, yeah, I be puttin' it on
The whole N.Y.C., yeah, we be puttin' it on and on
And I'm out

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b82cd1a080cdefddfcf5d183bdd6bb5a

Flipmode Iz Da Squad - Lyrics - Rampage

Title: Flipmode Iz Da Squad
Artist: Rampage
Composer(s): Wayne A. Notise, B Reed, G Underwood, David Axelrod, A Colon, Cleveland Delaney, Roger Mcnair, George Spivey, Trevor Smith, Wayne Lewis

Lyric:
Drop it
Uh, ladies and gentlemen

Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
(Flipmode is da squad)

It's the ramp auto nigga you've been waiting for, the outlaw
Throwing brothers off the seashore, this is your detour
Flipmode take you to war, kids in the hood can't take it no more
I'm the one you looking for
If eight is enough, I rock my stuff, watch you get cuff
Yo, you fucking with the wrong bluff
I got more King than Just
Niggas make me mad, now I got to squeeze and bust
Bringing harm with my lucky charm, me and Saddam
I can't keep calm, release the bomb, (boom)
Radiation, to the nation, call your congregation
My Squad is on plantation
And word up, Rampage, last nigga scout
Quick to punch a nigga in his mouth
That's word to down south
Brothers bite my rhymes, acting on preps, spinning my lyrics
Putting in their lyrical concepts
This is rap with no rules
Fuck being cool, old school or new school
I'm supreme, I'm on the fat winning team
A lot of clicks wanna dream, peep my theme
I'm in it to win it, you damn right I'm getting cream
Microphone fiend, uh

Ehhh, eh eh eh eh eh eh eh, eh eh eh eh eh eh, eh
Hallelujhah, kids hear this (this), you got to hear this (this)
Flipmode's the one and your shit should hear this
Splitting the guns, causing a earthquake
My contradict thick like a Mickey D shake
I give the shit that I know you can't take
Fuck out my way for heaven's sake
I got my eye on you (you), what you gonna do (do), you ain't got clue
(Clue)
Shoo fly shoo fly shoo
Everything's peachy keen neato
Tommy coming fast like Speedo
Make a blast like a torpedo
Deep like Captain Nemo
I brings the primo
My life will be nitro large, jumbo
Your shit be itty bitty bitty bitty micro
In your ass like a vaccine
Point MC's to my hilly bill jeans
I eat MC's with rice and beans (beans), rice and greens (greens)
I wreck the whole scene
Serious, true brother, should not scream

Yo yo, yo, yo
Yo check this here, I be the thug up in your ear
From here to Cakalaka, the microphone attacker
Spliff I split psycho soloist, one of the dopest
Singing songs on recess when I'm giving one fuck, uhh
Pastor of disaster, I brings it on
My Flipmode niggas be like Children Of The Corn
Running through your block blasting (pow)
With no questions asking
Putting bullet holes through your fucking latest fashion
The ignorant immigrant
Magnificent, like Morrocco
Stacking that cheddar like nacho
The number one honcho
Dirty nigga desperado rhyme well bravo
Freestyle felon oops upside your fucking melon
Breaking fool on they ass just like George did to Helen
I got the world yelling
Hit the punashatach unitl it start smelling

Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
Y'all siga siga sing it
(Flipmode is da squad)

Yo yo, yo, yo, yo let me continue
Motherfucker I'm about to send you (ha ha ha ha)
Check me out, the demon done got up in you
What the fuck you talking about I've been waiting
I wanna talk to you, shit, watery shit
Caught the 24 hour flu, soft
Of course, blow you off course
Flying through the sky like the Pegasus horse
You lost to be the boss, I toss
Kill corny niggas with no remorse
Turn my lights off, turn my mic on
Yo Busta Rhymes could manifest so who'd be the true lyric icon
It really don't matter how much bigger
I storm all over motherfuckers, like some end of the world niggas
Like rapid fire, chicka cha, blaow
Bust a shot all up in your face, nigga what now
Mistaken enough I just breaking chicken
Prepare for the undertaking, your whole body faking
I always try my hardest to keep communicating
But you ain't relating
You fucked up on what I'm making
Watch, how we attract like magnets, break your body down to fragments
Cut you down to half size, quarter size, eighth size, nigga
Get up off my dick
Chop you up and bag you up just like a half a brick
Reversible, rehearsable, Busta Rhymes, almighty merciful
Dismantle, example, your whole crew will get trampled
Follow the example, the lyrical nutritionist, the abolitionist
I revolutionize the music like a fucking revolutionist
Busta Rhymes will stay snapping while bitches keep on yapping
When my shit is done, you fuckers start clapping, what the happened
Rhymes feel like a bunch of diesel niggas, hype niggas
We be them type niggas, them side swipe niggas
While you be the apprentice
My dick up in your mouth just like a dentist
You Seventh Day Adventist
My rhymes is in the, uhh
For memory laps, no halfs, caught up in traps
I cross country like traveling maps
Worldwide

One, nation indivisible, with, liberty the god individual
Cripple you
Colonize like pirates and criminals
Convicted of world crimes while I'm world wide in flows
Modernize and digital
Evacuate civilize
Billions tumble
My skill guzzle
Iced tea with cop killas, top billas now
So binoculars to follow
Blood drops in spillage
In treetops my gorillas collapse shit, like Alaskan winters (ha)
Sinners (ha) frostbit
Lost sleds and lost fingers
Lord, commander of large missile militias
Pick, up, dust, like the share croppers galoshes
And spray Agent Orange from helicopters on impostors
Then I, return like a
Jed-i, with guns are Han Solo and never, seen, three, P.O's
The good against evil, flash forever
Spread mash and take
Drastic measures, blast berrettas
I carry nines like math professors
Lord Have, drop jewels, sword slash
Rob crews that snatch treasures
Halt, the global giant unfolds the science
Unify blends the fire to the sea
I bring crisis and crucifixion with the newest Scriptures
Rugged who control hundreds
Who stay cold blooded like anemics
Paint pictures that keep minds twisted like spinal defects
Spit jewels
Watch your platoon
Lick wounds
And form scabs before they grif again
It's Lord hittin 'em
And as the world turns, like, Holy Koran scripts
My response is to keep repping, son
Terrorize, for six days
And gon' rest on the seventh one

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b41e16c9bfadfc50ca49536c41f16dc8

Glory - Lyrics - Confessions Of Fire - Cam'Ron

Title: Glory
Album: Confessions Of Fire
Artist: Cam'Ron
Composer(s): Victor Santiago, Cameron Giles, Kasseem Dean, Damon Emerson Miller

Lyric:
What? One, two
Check me the fuck out
I'm here now, ha, ha, I'm here now
Ya'll should have never let me in the muthafuckin' game B
They fucked up lettin' me in Un
They done did it to theyselves man
I tell ya'll what's goin' down

Yo, eh yo, you see him, Cam in the BM
Wit the Koreans, to G 'em, for land in Korea
Take the Lear jet flight when
Thursday night, overseas

Y'all fuck up it's worth they life
Huh, you niggaz heard me right
Ugh, for that Persian white
I go to church of Christ, search a life
First to heist a nigga for they merchandise

My niggaz ball for weight
Sprinkle ten grams of coke on they corn flakes
To make it frosted flakes
Oh, these jewels on my neck
You'll say the Lord, I'm saved
My shit cost some cake
You think you can afford a date?

But yo, your men should know
That my crew, we intend to blow
Treat you cats like Martin Lawrence
And motherfuckin' end your show
When I say no, what don't you understand the N or O?

Like that nigga Jigga said, "Yo, you either friend or foe"
So respect my wish, I'm a perfectionist and wit the gun
Is the only time a nigga plays catch and kiss
Check the list, how many necks I twist
Who expected this? Exodus
Blow over night, or even sex a bitch

But she catch feelings everytime I hit her off
On my dick so bad I need Cochran to get her off
Ask my nigga Digga, or my other nigga Mr. Ross
Ah the point we get across, to make it that you'll get across
And cats get sued and I ain't wanna holler rape
But you live in the 'burbs, your business or your holidays

You where my down south niggas at, wha, what
You where my north side niggas at, wha, what
You where my east side niggas at, wha, what
You where my west side niggas at, wha, what

You where my Cam'ron niggas at, wha, what
You where my Harlem World niggas at, wha, what
You where my N.O.R niggas at, wha, what
You where my down south niggas at, wha, what

Check it, eh, yo I just wanna walk wit ya'll
I don't wanna rhyme, I just need to talk wit ya'll
How you feel about me? Yo, I think I'm pretty hot
When I rhyme, niggas grab they dick and diddy bop
And pull they skelly down

And put their ice grill on, like they don't trust a nigga
And walk around the club, like they 'bout to crush a nigga
I get a nigga mad enough to where he snuff a nigga
Dont have a toast, yo, you fuck around and bust a nigga

You got to love a nigga, the way I crime what
Out west they fuckin' throwin' gang signs up
Wildin' all out and don't kid where they wind up
Next day same ice grill inside a lineup
Ya'll niggas' time's up

No mean to trouble you
I'll snatch your kids quicker than B.C.W.
What you mad about? I see a lot of tightened jaws
I got a lot of hoes, but I'm really, really liking yours
Not to nag her, 'bout if I could bag her
It ain't if I could have her, it's how I'm gonna have her

Lay her like a cornerback
On her back, on the mat
Found out that you wanna act
We ran through her, you want her back?
Come on wit that, you kiss a hoe
Yo when the bitch leaves
You fuck around and miss the hoe

Oh, I'm the type to twist the hoe then diss the hoe
Choke and threaten to kill her, like her last name's Carlissimo
Listen yo, trick the hoe and get her dough
That was Pryor like Richard yo
See I done been around the world

See I met Puff and I know Mason
But still the best nation, nigga is donation
So let me hold somethin'
Yo, you can't change my livin'
This robbery's a holiday
Call it Thanksforgivin', 'cause you a turkey

Talkin' bout you sell weight
Nigga you had soul mates, I had cell mates
But now I've been in the same three hummers
For the same three summers
And dice love me
They stay on the same three numbers

You where my down south niggas at, wha, what
You where my north niggas at, wha, what
You where my east side niggas at, wha, what
You where my west side niggas at, wha, what

You where my Cam'ron niggas at, wha, what
You where my Harlem World niggas at, wha, what
You where my N.O.R niggas at, wha, what

You where my down south niggas at, wha, what
You where my north niggas at, wha, what
You where my west side niggas at, wha, what
You where my east side niggas at, wha, what

What, what, what, what
What, what, what, what
What, what, what, what

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5269f8779fd1202f5fb7095a55040866

This Is What It Is - Lyrics - Hip-Hop Lives - Krs One

Title: This Is What It Is
Album: Hip-Hop Lives
Artist: Krs One
Composer(s): Marlon Williams, Lawrence Krisna Parker

Lyric:
We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

A man once said that the streets are watchin' us
If this be the truth we must keep hip-hop in us
They'll never topple us, you done heard them thugs
Now, it's time to hear from the philosophers

Buildings fallin', employment stallin' us
Now, it's time, the future is callin' us
Television is boring us, radio is whorin' us
Lurin' us with a chorus plus, you can't even trust

The church, the synagogue, they all deceivin' us
It's time to believe in us
To believe in a hip-hop lifestyle that agrees with us
No squeeze or bust, bo, bo, you find ease with us

The DJ's, the MC's is us
The ice we've seen enough
It's time for hip-hop and this is what it is

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

You know we lead a movement
It's called 'I am hip-hop'
Cats debate about it, but I am hip-hop
Cats wanna talk about but I am hip-hop

My cats in New York like "I am hip-hop"
My cats in Atlanta like "I am hip-hop"
Cats in Miami like "I am hip-hop"
Chi-Town like "I am hip-hop"
All over L.A., "I am hip-hop"

Keep the rawness, the gutter the real
The movement's growin' like corn in the field
KRS-One was born with the steel
I'm on top of my game like Shaquille O'Neal

No surprises, hip-hop come in all sizes
Now, watch as KRS rises up, up, up, up and away
Now, you critics mouth shut, got nothin' to say
And that's good for the kids, 'cause hip-hop
This is what it is

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

Stay focused, focused
Stay focused oh, oh
Yeah, uh-huh, focused
Yo, look, look, this is what it is

Y'all need to stop confusin' the kids
Makin' 'em think you gotta do a bid to be hip-hop
Man that ain't it
Rob a nigga, kill a nigga, man that ain't shit

How you figure, how murder make you hip?
You need to hop to the bookstore and look for Kris
Anything by KRS-One
Will lead you to peace, to love, to unity and havin' fun

Y'all know but some of y'all don't
And some of y'all won't that's why only some of y'all dope
The rest of y'all, food for the Gods
I eat everything but Pop's 'cause I don't eat lard

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is

We keep showin' you and showin' you and showin' you
This is what it is
We gon' flow with you, you know it's true, hip-hop
This is what it is, is

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33426a6a94493132e3c5391d15d58eea

Country Fair - Lyrics - Lonestar

Title: Country Fair
Artist: Lonestar
Composer(s): Robbie Cheuvront, Richie Mcdonald, Chris Waters

Lyric:
Twenty bucks buys ten coupons
Two ears of corn and one ride on
The tilt-a-whirl with your favorite girl
Keep on walkin' down the midway
Three-eyed goats and games to play
Step right up, Carney says, "Try your luck"

You can tell the sweet smell of summer in the air
Whole town shuts down, everybody's gonna be there

Down at the county fair
Big time, big top, big crowds, big hair
There's nothing bigger all around
The country anywhere
Than the county fair

Judging pigs and judging pies
Fighting for the first place prize
And have you seen this year's queen
4-H club and F.F.A.
Working toward a better day
And a petting zoo, yeah, they got that too

And eight o'clock rolls around, everybody knows
The grandstands open up and it's time for the big show

Down at the county fair
Big time, big top, big crowd, big hair
There's nothing bigger all around
This country anywhere
Than the county fair

Down at the county fair
Big time, big top, big crowds, big hair
There's nothing bigger all around
This country anywhere
Than the county fair

Down at the county fair
Big time, big top, big crowds, big hair
There's nothing bigger
In small towns everywhere
Than the county fair
County fair
Yeah, county fair

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161e7bd63f7d2696d941c1fa25324323