Grind Me In The Gears - Lyrics - Misguided Roses - Edwin Mccain

Title: Grind Me In The Gears
Album: Misguided Roses
Artist: Edwin Mccain
Composer(s): Edwin Mccain

Lyric:
I'm holding my last breath
It's burning in my lungs
Clenching up my eyes
Bloody up my tongue

Of the words that might escape
Are ringing in my ears
Grinds me to a pulp
Grind me in the gears

(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)

My frozen spirit aches
I slip another day
Start to lose my grip
And find another way

For the life that might escape
Has been echoing for years
It grinds me to a pulp
Grind me in the gears

(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)

(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)

I've seen all the faces
They mirror me
And I've felt the tearing
Tearing of the teeth

I've given up my ghosts
Barely breathe your name
Offer up myself
Pray you'll do the same

But the love that might escape
Well that's our biggest fear
It grinds me to a pulp
And grinds me in the gears
(In the gears)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
Grinds me in the gears
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
(And it grinds me)
...

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328e07855f0915b511fec390d7c3f16c

Last Day Of The Miners Strike - Lyrics - Pulp

Title: Last Day Of The Miners Strike
Artist: Pulp
Composer(s): Burt Bacharach, Jarvis Branson Cocker, Steve Mackey, Nick Banks, Candida Doyle, Richard Hawley, Mark Weber

Lyric:
Kids are spittin' on the Town Hall steps and frightenin' old ladies
I dreamt that I was livin' back in the mid 1980s
People marchin', people shoutin', people wearin' pastel leather
The future's ours for the takin' now, if we just stick together

And I said
"Hey, lay your burden down
Seems the last day of the miners' strike
Was the Magna Carta in this part of town"

Well, my body sank below the ground, it became as black as night
Overhead the sound of horses' hooves, people fightin' for their lives
Some joker in a headband was still gettin' chicks for free
And Big Brother was still watching you, back in the days of '83

And I said
"Hey, lay your burden down
Seems the last day of the miners' strike
Was the Magna Carta in this part of town"

Well by 1985, I was as cold as cold could be
But no one's underground to dig me out and set me free
'87 socialism gave way to socialisin'
So put your hands up in the air once more, the north is risin'

And I said
"Hey, lay your burden down
Seems the last day of the miners' strike
Was the Magna Carta in this part of town"

Ah, sing Hallelujah
Ah, sing Hallelujah
Don't let them fool you again
Ah, sing Hallelujah, ahh

By now I'm sick and tired
Of just living in this hole
So I took the ancient tablets, blew off the dust
Swallowed them whole

Oh, come on, let's get together
Oh, come on, the past is gone
Well, the very first commandment
Come on, come on

Let's get it on
Come on, let's get it on
Get it on
Ah, get it on

Hey, lay your burden down
Seems the last day of the miners' strike
Was the Magna Carta in this part of town

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532f6b30c0ae9e34e16946c2fc4454f9

All Time High - Lyrics - Pulp

Title: All Time High
Artist: Pulp
Composer(s): John Barry, Tim Rice

Lyric:
All I wanted was a sweet distraction for an hour or two
Had no intention to do the things we've done
Funny how it always goes with love, when you don't look, you find
But then we're two of a kind, we move as one

We're an all time high, we'll change all that's gone before
Doin' so much more than falling in love
On an all time high, we'll take on the world and wait
So hold on tight, let the flight begin

I don't want to waste a waking moment, I don't want to sleep
I'm in so strong and so deep, and so are you
In my time I've said these words before but now I realize
My heart was telling me lies, for you they're true

We're an all time high, we'll change all that's gone before
Doing so much more than falling in love
On an all time high, we'll take on the world and wait
So hold on tight, let the flight begin

So hold on tight, let the flight begin
We're an all time high

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a4c2d9a03be8ebd5e6b270bbc06484d8

Lowell, Ma - Lyrics - We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes - Death Cab For Cutie

Title: Lowell, Ma
Album: We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes
Artist: Death Cab For Cutie
Composer(s): Benjamin Gibbard, Christopher Walla

Lyric:
You've been forewarned of the shake-shakedown
Opinions stamped on the pulp of the tabloid newsstand
Gossip that's stacked at your door

You swallowed the last of free MA
Car starts, four windows lowered away
Last views of cityscapes crumbling

Skyscrapers sink into the ground
All static, no noise turn the radio down
Those bandwidth signals can't reach this far

Don't go holding out on me now, don't go holding
I thought that you had come to expect
I thought that you had come to expect more
I thought that you had come to expect
I thought that you had come to expect more

You've been forewarned of the shake-shakedown
Opinions stamped on the pulp of the tabloid newsstand
Gossip that's stacked at your door

Don't go holding out on me now
Don't go holding out on me now
Don't go holding out on me now
Don't go holding

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11a0dfeb9e9760ca5d7ea0d819d21bea

Thanks For Nothing - Lyrics - Enemy Of The Music Business - Napalm Death

Title: Thanks For Nothing
Album: Enemy Of The Music Business
Artist: Napalm Death
Composer(s): Shane Thomas Embury, Mitchell Harris, Mark Peter Greenway

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Lyric:
Serve my head on a plate
Pulp my heart with ill will
I did trust you
Let to lust you, to be duped

Thanks for fucking nothing

Serve my head on a plate
Pulp my heart with ill will
Sensed a mystique, turn to spent air
Killed it dead

Thanks for fucking nothing
Scrap the depths to salvage something
Thanks for fucking nothing
Drained my all, then drop the bombshell

True, we were not joined
Our every feature spliced
Though you rushed in and took a lead

Three words spouted
This contagion crossed all divides
Caused a shift in protective focus
Three words flouted

Untimely end, I should've clicked
A sensory cut-out
A spoiling of the harmony
Of which we were about

I don't despise or demonize
But I just know your form
Walk right out and move along
And leap before you look

Thanks for fucking nothing

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96152a8d05c0e1cc269a4971da3556b3

One Armed Scissor - Lyrics - At The Drive In

Title: One Armed Scissor
Artist: At The Drive In
Composer(s): Jim Ward, Cedric Bixler, Pablo Hinojos, Tony Hajjar, Omar Rodriguez

Lyric:
Yes this is the campaign
Slithered entrails in the cargo bay
A neutered is the vastness
Hallow vacuum check the oxygen tanks

They hibernate but have they kissed the ground
Pucker up and kiss the asphalt now
Tease this amputation
Splintered larynx, it has access now

Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor
Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor

Cut away, cut away
So send transmission from the one armed scissor
Cut away, cut away

Banked on memory, mummified circuitry
Skin graft machinery, sputnik sickles found in the seats
Self-destruct sequence, this station is non-operational
Species growing, bubbles in an IV loitering

Unknown origins, is this the comfort of being afraid?
Solar eclipsed, black out the vultures as they wait
Unknown, unknown, unknown, unknown, yeah

Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor
Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor

Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor
Cut away, cut away

Dissect a trillion sighs away, will you get this letter?
Jagged pulp sliced in my veins, I write to remember
'Cause I'm a million miles away, will you get this letter?
Jagged pulp sliced in my veins, I write to remember

I write to remember, I write to remember

Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor
Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor

Cut away, cut away
Send transmission from the one armed scissor
Cut away, cut away, cut away, cut away
Cut away, cut away

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18d6995cad65b96be82970d6bcb6d2b0

Pulp Fiction - Lyrics - Fanmail

Title: Pulp Fiction
Artist: Fanmail
Composer(s): Scott A Silletta

Lyric:
Laying on the floor, I've been here once before
And I'm not proud of it
Misery comes today, it's coming back my way
And I want it to leave me

Doubtful, you are the people
Where your anger run your sleep
Fate of those who's feet are slipping
Or to those, who's eyes or to those
Who's eyes have seen

To him the strength belongs, the weak attempt his arms
And show me my offense
So look away from me because I can hardly see
I'm hiding nothing

Doubtful, you are the people
Where your anger run your sleep
Fate of those who's feet are slipping
Or to those, who's eyes or to those
Who's eyes have seen

Doubtful, you are the people
Where your anger run your sleep
Fate of those who's feet are slipping
Or to those who's eyes or to those
Who's eyes have seen

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2cf444c59f7d70235f6502e6bf7a49b6

Orgasm Addict - Lyrics - Buzzcocks

Title: Orgasm Addict
Artist: Buzzcocks
Composer(s): Howard Devoto, Pete Shelley

Lyric:
Well, you tried it just for once found it all right for kicks
But now you found out that it's a habit that sticks
And you're an orgasm addict, you're an orgasm addict

Sneaking in the back door with dirty magazines
Now your mother wants to know what all those stains on your jeans
And you're an orgasm addict, you're an orgasm addict

Uh huh, uh huh, uh uh
Uh huh, uh huh, uh uh

You get in a heat, you get in a sulk
But you still keep a beating your meat to pulp
And you're an orgasm addict, you're an orgasm addict

You're a kid Casanova, you're a no josep
It's a labor of love fucking yourself to death
Orgasm addict, you're an orgasm addict

Uh huh, uh huh, uh uh uh

You're makin' out with school kids
Winos and heads of state, you even made it with the lady
Who puts the little plastic bobbins on the Christmas cakes

Butchers' assistants and bellhops
You've had them all here and there
Children of God and their joy strings
International women with no body hair

Ooh, so where they're askin' in an alley
And your voice ain't steady
Your sex mechanic's rough, you're more than ready
You're an orgasm addict, you're an orgasm addict

Johnny want fuckie always and all ways
He's got the energy, he will remain
He's an orgasm addict, he's an orgasm addict

He's always at it, he's always at it
And he's an orgasm addict
He's an orgasm addict

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2df1041f671a292ff7c56483179a12d1

Control Issues - Lyrics - Revelation - Armored Saint

Title: Control Issues
Album: Revelation
Artist: Armored Saint
Composer(s): John Robert Bush, Joey Vera

Lyric:
Beat my bloody fist to a pulp
Then I'll switch hands
Gotta prove that I'm a worthy man
Privileged to be in God's domain
A monumental task
So listen obey and better never ask

Good at making the call
Bent over backwards
Good at breaking the fall
Repair me

I mourn your blighted life
Bent over backwards
But on this we'll agree
We hate people that we don't like

Control, control, control issues

Force fed until I hurt, regurgitate
Indulgence is my mate
Honest righteousness
Public to be damned
Throw in the towel
And give the king a hand

Can't control my choice
A waver in the voice
Gotta cut the ties that bind
Can't get grounded

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147510014db248b3e16790d23dfd7f6e

Just For You - Lyrics - Rah Digga

Title: Just For You
Artist: Rah Digga
Composer(s): Leroy Jones, Wayne Anthony Notise, Dominick Lamb, William Lewis, Roger Mcnair, Rashia Fisher

Lyric:
All my niggas y'all, Flipmode y'all
Flipmode y'all, hardcore y'all, raw shit y'all
Hardcore y'all, Flipmode y'all

All my bitches y'all, all my bitches y'all
Flipmode y'all, Flipmode y'all
Hardcore y'all, raw shit y'all
Hardcore y'all, Flipmode y'all

Never judge a nigga like the cover of a book
Fuck around and get shot back of the foot
Nigga, fall, stumble and look, nervous and shook
Dragged in the alley and book and beat down to a pulp

Shot up my cops, Dirty Harry
You stickin' me is like niggas fuckin' the Virgin Mary
Shit we carry will have you found layin' down
Somewhere damp and muddy, split your tummy
Puncture your kidney and make you piss bloody

So now I leave your body to rot
Where bitches sell they pussy for rock
Cook they coke in steamin' water, boil in a pot
Do you know niggas like us that clutter they watch
Invest in yo' block, like it or not, involvin' your pops?

You messin' wit a rhyme surgeon
Trade the GS for the excursion, heads is turnin'
Flipmode we still mergin'
Now we splurgin' in suburbans
Dirty Harriet rock the camouflage turbans

Said one for the money and two for mic check
And spit a million rhymin' words in 240 seconds
Get three to get your bitch neck and four to even the score
Graveyard shifter mister, y'all believe in the law

Flipmode like Mary Lou Retton
Suede ballet shoes steppin', do the best that I can can
Like Pointer sisters, who could join the wizard?
Talkin' outta place, I pick the knife up and cut the tongue
Right outta your mouth and fuck your life up

This for my niggas, y'all come get wit us
More raw hardcore shit just for you, you, you, you
This for my sistas, we know y'all miss us
Flipmode got raw shit just for you, you, you, you

Before all the plaques and the Source Aawards
Y'all niggas wanna dick ride, so jump aboard
It's a first class ass whippin', rampage, I ain't trippin'
Check all the magazine clippin's

Yo, I pluck pigeons, get brains in expeditions
Cause friction, every chick I stick my dick in
I'm not trustworthy, like midnight, I'm pickin'
Spliff keep it warm like wool caps to mittens

Watch for me in a new milli, kick up dust with my shoe shitty
New Jack City, wicked ways move wit me
Holla mine, in these violent times crooks bear malice
White collar crime, Columbine, we clear classes

Burn a nigga into ashes, how I mash his ass like Cassius
Finger jabs, I got it mastered, fantastic
Writin? half ass shit, splash kids
Poke ?em with the bassinet in the neck, graphic

Can't tell I'm from QB the way that I talk
Speakin' in tongue with six blocks callin' my dun
Bogie collapsed lung, big and small gats we brung
Bangin' your drums with hot shit and more to come

But then we manifest the truth
The niggas fight predictions from The Bible
Betrayal for niggas is suicidal
Kick swift shit niggas rock harder than Limp Bizkit
Dirty Harriet floodin' all through your district

This for my niggas, y'all come get wit us
More raw hardcore shit just for you, you, you, you
This for my sistas, we know y'all miss us
Flipmode got raw shit just for you, you, you, you

This for my niggas, y'all come get wit us
More raw hardcore shit just for you, you, you, you
This for my sistas, we know y'all miss us
Flipmode got raw shit just for you, you, you, you

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b39b2c67518cbd06afe6039877b1ade6

Brass Monkey - Lyrics - Licensed to Ill - Beastie Boys

Title: Brass Monkey
Album: Licensed to Ill
Artist: Beastie Boys
Composer(s): R Rubin, Adam Yauch, Adam Horovitz, Mike Diamond

Lyric:
Brass Monkey, that funky Monkey
Brass Monkey junkie, that funky Monkey

Got this dance that's more than real
Drink Brass Monkey, here's how you feel
Put your left leg down, your right leg up
Tilt your head back, let's finish the cup
M.C.A. with the bottle, D rocks the can

Adrock gets nice with Charlie Chan
We're offered Moet, we don't mind Chivas
Wherever we go with bring the Monkey with us
Adrock drinks three, Mike D is D

Double R foots the bill most definitely
I drink Brass Monkey and I rock well
I got a Castle in Brooklyn
That's where I dwell

Brass Monkey, that funky Monkey
Brass Monkey junkie, that funky Monkey

'Cause I drink it anytime and anyplace
When it's time to get ill, I pour it on my face
Monkey tastes Def when you pour it on ice
Come on y'all, it's time to get nice

Coolin' by the lockers, gettin' kind of funky
Me and the crew, we're drinking Brass Monkey
This girl walked by, she gave me the eye
I reached in the locker, grabbed the Spanish Fly

I put it with the Monkey, mixed it in the cup
Went over to the girl, "Yo baby, what's up?"
I offered her a sip, the girl she gave me lip
It did begin, the stuff wore in and now she's on my tip

Brass Monkey, that funky Monkey
Brass Monkey junkie, that funky Monkey

Step up to the bar, put the girl down
She takes a big gulp and slaps it around
Take a sip, you can do it, you get right to it
We had a case in the place and we went right through it

You got a dry Martini, thinking you're cool
I'll take your place at the bar, I smack you off your stool
I'll down a '40 dog in a single gulp
And if you got beef you'll get beat to a pulp

Monkey and parties and reelin' and rockin'
Def, def girls, girls, all y'all jockin'
The song and dance keeping you in a trance
If you don't buy my record, I got my advance

I drink it, I think it, I see it, I be it
I love Brass Monkey but I won't give D it
We got the bottle, you got the cup
Come on everybody let's get fff

Brass Monkey, that funky Monkey
Brass Monkey junkie, that funky Monkey

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089a48a56077a515146b696fa83608cb

Cool Aide - Lyrics - Bracket

Title: Cool Aide
Artist: Bracket
Composer(s): Raymond Castro, Zachary Charlos, Martin Jr Gregori, Larry Jr Tinney

Lyric:
It's starting to get hot outside
I think my feet are gonna fry
I have to go but I sit down in the weeds
It takes a lot to get me in

I need to stop for my cool aide now
I want my friends to leave anyhow, mix a batch
Just a little bit more will get me through the day
The daylight's going away

All my friends drink from a can
They don't know the cool aide, man
I have to go but I'll sit down in the weeds
It takes a lot to get me in

I need to stop for my cool aide now
I want my friends to leave anyhow, mix a batch
Just a little bit more will get me through the day
The daylight's going away

Cherry-flavored, berry-flavored
Tropical punch over ice
I want my cherry-flavored
Tropical punch over ice

I want my cherry-flavored
Tropical punch over ice
I want my cherry-flavored
Tropical punch over ice

It's got no pulp, it's got no seeds
My mom likes the added c

I need to stop for my cool aide now
I want my friends to leave anyhow
I need to stop for my cool aide now
I want my friends to leave anyhow, mix a batch

Just a little bit more will get me through the day
The daylight's going away

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ea2ce400e1871f6474768d596badcfbc

Us - Lyrics - Death Certificate - Ice Cube

Title: Us
Album: Death Certificate
Artist: Ice Cube
Composer(s): Bernard Worrell, William Earl Collins, George Jr Clinton, O'Shea Jackson, Anthony Wheaton

Lyric:
Could you tell me who released our animal instinct?
An' the white man sittin' there tickled pink
Laughin' at us on the avenue
Bustin' caps at each other after havin' brew

We can't enjoy ourselves
Too busy jealous at each other's wealth
Comin' up is just in me
But the black community is full of envy

Too much back stabbin'
While I look out the window I see all the Japs grabbin'
Every vacant lot in my neighborhood
Build a store and sell their goods

To the county of sips
You know us po niggas nappy hair and big lips?
Four or five babies on your crotch
And you expect "Uncle Sam" to help us out?

We ain't nothin' but porch monkeys
To the average bigot, redneck honky
You say comin' up is a must
But before we can come up, take a look at us

And all y'all dope-dealers
Your as bad as the police 'cause ya kill us
You got rich when you started slangin' dope
But you ain't built us a supermarket
So when can spend our money with the blacks
Too busy buyin' gold an' Cadillacs

That's what ya doin' with the money that ya raisin'
Exploitin' us like the Caucasians did
For 400 years, I got 400 tears, for 400 peers

Died last year from gang-related crimes
That's why I got gang-related rhymes
But when I do a show ta kick some facts
Us blacks don't know how ta act

Sometimes I believe the hype, man
We're messin' up ourselves and blame the white man
But don't point the finger you jiggaboo
Take a look at yourself ya dumb nigga you

Pretty soon hip-hop won't be so nice
No Ice Cube, just Vanilla Ice
And y'all sit and screamin' and cuss
But there's no one ta blame but us

Us will always sing the blues
'Cause all we care about is hairstyles and tennis shoes
An' if ya step on mine ya pushed a button
'Cause I'll beat you down like it ain't nothin'

Just like a beast
But I'm the first nigga ta holler out 'peace'
I beat my wife and children to a pulp
When I get drunk and smoke dope

Got a bad heart condition
Still eat hog-mogs an' chitlin's
Bet my money on the dice and the horses
Jobless, so I'm a hope for the armed forces

Go to church but they tease us
Wit' a picture of a blue-eyed Jesus
They used to call me Negro
After all this time I'm still bustin' up the chifforobe

No respect and didn't know it
And I'm havin' more babies than I really can afford
In jail 'cause I can't pay the mother
Held back in life because of my color

Now, this is just a little summary
Of us, but y'all think it's dumb of me
To hold a mirror to ya face
But trust, nobody gives a fuck about

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Dear Summer - Lyrics - Memphis Bleek

Title: Dear Summer
Artist: Memphis Bleek
Composer(s): Justin Gregory Smith, Damon J Blackman, Shawn Carter

Lyric:
Dear Summer, I know you gon' miss me
For we been together like Nike Airs and crisp tees
S dots with polo fleeces
Purple label shit with the logo secret
Gimme couple years, shit, I might just sneak in
A couple words and like peaches and herb

We'll be reunited and it feels so hood
Have the whole world saying, "How you still so good?"
Well, I do, this in my slumber summer
I ain't none of these half-assed newcomers

You know how I do Summer, I drop heat when you bring the sun up
The combo make niggaz act up, I pick the gun up
Niggaz back up, they know I'm not no fronter
I don't talk shit, I just flip it, ya

Sorry Lance, I'm just trying to advance my quotes
I ain't making you the butt of my jokes
But let's not stray from what I came to say
To my beloved, think we need sometime away

They say if you love it, you should let it out its cage
And fuck it, if it comes back you know it's there to stay
It's tugging at my heart but this time apart is needed
From the public, who should've gave me the Pulitz'

Instead gave me they ass to kiss
But you know me, thugging 'til the casket dips
But still shine light down on all my peers
I know they weird some queer, I still want them to share

And all the success I received, I know you can't believe
I still love 'em but they don't love me
They like the drunk uncle in your family
You know they lame, you feel ashamed but you love 'em the same

It's like when niggaz make subliminal records
If it ain't directed directly at me, I don't respect it
You don't really want it with Hov for the record
I put a couple careers on hold, you could be next kid

Keep entering the danger zone
You gon' make that boy Hov put your name in a song
If you that hungry for fame, motherfucker, c'mon
Say when take ten paces and spin

But on another note, 'bout to take another vaca'
On another boat, goddamn a motherfucker rode
His way out the hood and I pray that I stay out for good
But any day you know a nigga could

Try and play like he Suge then I gotta play like Dutch Schultz
You pass the dutchie, I blast you, trust me
Niggaz can't fuck with me
I'm in a good mood, you lucky, I got a good groove

And I ain't trying to fuck my thing up
But I will lay down a couple green bucks, get you cleaned up
Now, I'm 'Pulp Fiction', Colt four-fifth
And young niggaz that blast for me, no religion

Listen here, Summer baby
I just believe it's the right thing to do
I got a brand new bitch, corporate America
She showing me a lot of action right now

And I know you put me on my feet and all
But I mean, it's time for me to grow
You gotta let me go, baby, you gotta let me go

I'm done for now so one for now
Possibly forever, we had fun together
But like all good things, we must come to an end
Please show the same love to my friends, dear Summer

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5bff7beef9dc09dbff25e4e2d765b078

The Holey Man - Lyrics - The Wolfgang Press

Title: The Holey Man
Artist: The Wolfgang Press
Composer(s): Mark Alan Cox, Michael Derek Allen, Andrew Keith Gray

Lyric:
Tame my heart, take my fears away
Tame my heart, I'll turn to pulp someday
Saint in my home, shame on my shame of pace
Hole in my bag, complacency
Hole in my soul, deficiency
Hole in my book, where someone's been
Say to me, "Come back" and sink in me
Say to me, "Come back"
Turn my night to day, save my home
Shame on my big black sin

Surround me with the King of Pause
Don't say, "The meek come back"
We're gonna burn in the bowl of fools
Don't say to me, don't say to me, "Burn a hole"
I'm gonna kill one day, don't burn a hole
Shave my belly, you gonna say to me
"I'm gonna fake every hollow break"
You gonna look like a bird wood cage
Somebody's hands have reached inside of me

Think to myself, cross nothing left to say
"Come with me like w-w-walking on the water"
Walk on me, walk on me like walking on the water
Walk on me, walk on me
Walk on me like walking on the water
Like swimming in the water, like sinking in the water
Like walking on the water
Sinking in the water, sinking in the water

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772c68205ad56a3665f8c18fcea64e0b

Eat Or Be Eaten - Lyrics - Zombie Birdhouse - Iggy Pop

Title: Eat Or Be Eaten
Album: Zombie Birdhouse
Artist: Iggy Pop
Composer(s): Robert Du Prey, James Osterberg

Lyric:
I got nothin' to eat in this old house
I gotta go out and catch a mouse
I can't be wrong, so I gotta be right

It's eat or be eaten

Something's hungry like a hunter
And it's probing like a finger
As the drumbeat keeps things hurrying
That's the part that's so appealing

It's the beat that dominates
Each breath you draw
Each step you take
Strike or be stricken

Eat or be eaten yum, yum, yum, yum
Eat or be eaten

Your skills are highly specialized
But still that girl can magnetize
You sense the hunger in her eyes

It's beat or be beaten

There's no softness in her eyes
A weird dull glint is in her eyes
With a stubborn will to tantalize

Like some cheap devil in disguise
And it's troubling me
Hell, it's nervy, that's what it is

Eat or be eaten
Beat or be beaten
Strike or be stricken

The night is dark the night is pulp
Tilt back your head and take a gulp of air
That's screamed a thousand times

The main thing is to victimize
It's just the night for a conquering tribe
Oh, it's just the night for a conquering tribe

Eat or be eaten
Beat or be beaten

Faster than the arrow flies
Or the man who smiles while he lies
It's just the night for a conquering tribe
And the girls are calling in her yellow dress

That girl is calling in a yellow dress
She says, "Eat, eat, eat here boys
Eat, eat, eat here boys"

And then a bop a doo ba doop ba abop
A dooba ba bop bohma bop a doo bop bohm
A doopee dee a dop adoop
A bum bayo bayum bohmbayum

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Pearly Gates - Lyrics - Blood Money - Mobb Deep

Title: Pearly Gates
Album: Blood Money
Artist: Mobb Deep
Composer(s): Robert Matthew Bowles, A Manfredi, Kejuan W Muchita, Curtis James Jackson, Albert Johnson

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Lyric:
Yeah

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

Now if you followed my footsteps and walked through my shoes
You wouldn't go against me cause you know you would lose
It's been along time comin' I done paid my dues
Now every time I turn around it's like I'm back in the news

I know alot of niggaz want me wearin' cement shoes
And Uncle Tom niggaz wanna see me locked up to
Around the same time KRS was writin' Black Cop
I was busy tryin' to pump cracks in the black blocks

Poppin' shit to my homeys about how my gat pop
Got rid of that chrome thing and got back a black glock
P ninety hold ten but I had six shots
I used to walk around with it and risk gettin' knocked

I bought a fresh box of bullets from Old Man Sam
Wanted to shoot a nigga so bad it was itchin' my hand
Some shot it out with me, and some of them ran
And some of them dashed were good and some of them jammed

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

Now if you take a good look and look into my face
And if they wouldn't even dare to violate my space
Som' I did so much dirt, I'm tryin' to clean my slate
And ate so many niggaz food and now they want mines ate

The dogs bark when I walk and since the souls I took
Moms pray for me with her right hand on the good book
Saw shots fly by me, no, I shouldn't been trippin'
The Pulp Fiction must have been God's divine intervention

Wouldn't thought then from that, I learned my lesson
And clean my act up and go straight to perfection
Uncle La got knocked the feds hit it with seven
And left me with the fifty cal and a mac eleven

Start everything from everything from heads to the worries
And had half the hood damn near wanted to mirk us
Found myself askin' God what the fuck is my purpose
You go to heaven, know I'm foul but put a good word in

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

Now homey if I go to Hell and you make it to the pearly gates
Tell the boss man we got beef
And tell his only son, I'm a see him when I see him
And when I see him, I'm a beat him like a movie

For leavin' us out to dry on straight poverty
For not showin' me no signs they watchin' over me
Yo! We a new breed in two thousand six
We don't give a fuck about that religious bullshit

Nigga show me where the cash at
The nice whips with the three car garage to fit them shits
Man my life is painful, pray to angels
I'm prayin' to myself hopin', I ain't got to spank you

My bullets shank you, and when my guns start cuttin'
Ain't nobody gon' save you
In the bible times, they ain't had to deal with the shit
We dealin' within, these survival times

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

Homey, if I go to Hell and you make it to Heaven
Just get me to the gate, and I'll talk my way in
Got a gift, I'm special with the flow I'm good
Shit, I done talk my way out of the hood

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Musical Massacre - Lyrics - Follow The Leader - Eric B. &Amp; Rakim

Title: Musical Massacre
Album: Follow The Leader
Artist: Eric B. &Amp; Rakim
Composer(s): G Thomas, J Pruitt, Eric Barrier, William Griffin, J Castor

Lyric:
How could I keep my composure
When all sorts of thoughts fought for exposure?
Release, then veins in the brains increase
When I let off, make a wish and blow the smoke off my piece
Unloadin, unfold and the rhymes are explodin
And the mic that I'm holdin' golden
Cordless cause the wire caught fire like a fuse
Gunpowder and the slightest bruise is a friction
The outcome is there so listen
Here's the brief description
A boom then flame then smoke, ashes a dust to dust
Contact is compact when I bust
MC's are now in a massacre
A disaster a, master at fashion a beat to death
To a pulp, till it can't pump
Speakers aint sayin nothin
Now the ball can thump
As I'm lookin' I stand like great buildings in Brooklyn
Then the stage is took then
Havoc struck that could product a whole court
Keep in touch with the mic when you're holdin y'all
Sumpin and pumpin and slobbin and droolin
Nothin's pumpin, who do you think ya foolin?
Tommy Tucker, the neighborhood sucker
What you oughtta do, is pick up a tempo
From what I invent, so hard not to bite, but you can't prevent so
You start to kidnap
I watch the kid rap
When he get off he know he shouldn't a did that
Minor, old timer, weak rhymer, stay in liner
You won't be inclined to go so yo
Maybe later, you're gonna be
But for now, you're almost one of me
Now the immature imitations taken from originations
Made by tracin and a little arrangin
So perform, If ya still aint warm maybe after
A roast by the host with the most it's a musical massacre

Never tired, don't even try it, keep quiet
Like a storm, you could rain, but a riot
Remains, the gangs power just like the towerin inferno
The beat's gonna burn so
Distance I kept, ou better watch your step
Volunteers go from here and get
Ya out of the flames
Appreciate the temperature change
Anywhere within the range of celcius
Fahrenheit on the mic, mic melts see it
Burns soon as it's felt see it's torchin, scorchin
Mic's pipin hot, steamin who's schemin now ya not
James Brown must a been dusted
Disgusted, now he can't be trusted
Embalmed with fluid
Static can cause an explosion, in fact impact's closin in
Time was up, so I don't need a time bomb
Beat gives me a heat-stroke when I rhyme calm
Pull out the tool, sometimes I wanna break fool
But I was cool, like one in the chamber
Lets play a game of rhymin roulette
And put me up to your brain and name a rhyme about ya clout
One mistake, ya out
If this imitation it can't be the same show
Maybe what you'll find somewhere over the rainbow
Courage, heart, brain, you need rhyme
Turn on your mic, snap your fingers three times
We gone, or the story won't end the same
And you'll feel the flame
The potion was weak, make another antidote
Whats the science? why can't ya quote?
Elements for musical intelligence
Rhymes are irrelevant, no development
And that settles it
Go manufacture a match, send me after a blast
From the master that has to make musical massacre

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Rebel Without Applause - Lyrics - The Big Dirty - Every Time I Die

Title: Rebel Without Applause
Album: The Big Dirty
Artist: Every Time I Die
Composer(s): Jordan Buckley, Keith Buckley, Michael Novak, Andy Williams

Lyric:
Sound the bells and take to the streets in arms
We're descending fast, a pox on your house of cards
Dry your eyes, your daughters have lost their faith
And started feeding upon the bait that we wear on our sleeve

Promise us you won't tell the public
The fury with which we despoil
I got a wife and kids and a hybrid car
I got a good life, I can't risk losing

If you can keep it a secret
Then me and the boys will bring pale hell to this town
We're trouble bound and we summon the devil electric

Prey on the faint of heart
We sing praise of the rebels who went by the book

Gravitate to teenagers artlessness
And sing it aloud the content is trivial
Its pillow talk plagiarized by the gadgets of lust
Just go to sleep, leave the gestures and customs to us

Cry fraud and let play the anthem of war
Cry fraud and let play the anthem of war

Boys stand your ground
Keep delicate fingers but wrath in your white knuckled grip
The film is loaded and it's aimed at the whites in their eyes

You put out to get in
And we slipped right past the guards in the belly of a horse
And we sunk our fangs into the pulp of a desperate angst
We're powerless just until we're invited inside

If you can keep it a secret
Then me and the boys will bring pale hell to this town
We're trouble bound and we summon the devil electric

Prey on the faint of heart
We owe thanks to the rebels who went by the book

Don't give up the ship
Don't give up the ship
We'd rather sink than admit it
Don't give up the ship

We only have one night in town
We only have one night in town

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Z - Pop 4 Roc - Lyrics - Vol. 3... Life and Times of S. Carter - Jay

Title: Z - Pop 4 Roc
Album: Vol. 3... Life and Times of S. Carter
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): M Cox, Ken Ifill, Shawn Carter, Amil Whitehead, D Grant, Ernesto Shaw

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Lyric:
Alright yeah
Would ya love me? Alright
Would ya hate me? Watch this yo
I know ya love me, alright
I know ya hate me, Clue
Would ya love me? Brand new Duro
Would ya hate me? I know ya love me
Feel this yo

See me comin' through hair done just a slinging my shit
With something Gucci on clinging to my hips frontin'
With the Star Tech ringing in the whip icy ears, neck
Fingers for years got the show wild with the toes out
Shit I don't fuck with no stingy nigga, I rock Prada, Chanel
And Fendi nigga, what I'ma do with your little blunts

And Henney nigga? I'ma Major Coin with a pretty Bentley
Nigga my niggas will ride for me, you should see all the things
They buy for me, it's obvious how I spend my time around ballers
All day don't have to spend a dime, callin' up room service when
It's dinner time get my tan on in the tropics in the winter time nigga

Would ya love me? If we couldn't cop the drop
Would ya hate me? If we couldn't drop the top
I know ya love me 'cuz you know we pop 4 Roc
I know ya hate me 'cuz you know we got shit locked

Would ya love me? If we couldn't cop the drop
Would ya hate me? If we couldn't drop the top
I know ya love me 'cuz you know we pop 4 Roc
I know ya hate me and you know we got shit locked

We gon' stop this here get this clear the general of the Roc in here
Beanie Siegal hottest thing on the block this year, keep the ego
We been bound to the top ya hear forget about it you don't know me
Yo stop the stares I've been about it pop you then pop ya peers
You know how I do six coup, top be clear, you know how
I play low layer Roc-A-Wear catch Siegal in the kitchen balloon
In the pie, y'all from whom to buy, y'all niggas know if y'all cross

Mac y'all soon to die 'cuz you know I bring heat like June and July
Spit like August I'm the truth I'm not lying I'm the reason why Jay
Feel comfortable retiring I gotta laugh 'cuz y'all work hard at this shit
Think about yo I just started this shit, just imagine if I put my heart
In this shit scary sight y'all niggas feel me right God damn yo
I barely write but every rhyme be in check like a pair of Nike's

Would ya love me? If we couldn't cop the drop
Would ya hate me? If we couldn't drop the top
I know ya love me 'cuz you know we pop 4 Roc
I know ya hate me 'cuz you know we got shit locked

Would ya love me? If we couldn't cop the drop
Would ya hate me? If we couldn't drop the top
I know ya love me 'cuz you know we pop 4 Roc
I know ya hate me and you know we got shit locked

Yo, yo, well I'm gold now, Memph Man coming of age
And I'm grown now sittin' on chrome now, I'm the youngest gun
I get it on with anyone, I've been in thirty beefs shit I'm barely 21
Guns I hold 'em like offensive linemen, bring 'em back to the streets
Like a brick on consignment interlining of the Mark Buchanan
Spark two hammers Memph Man gold marks the understanding

We don't engage in war we elope orange juice style
Beat niggas to a pulp we broke nigga you just told
3 jokes me, Biggs, and Dame we get some things
See the six dames me and Biggs live in the Range
Mines platinum his Champagne, niggas whisper 'cuz
If they talk they gets slain, y'all's was looking for me

On the charts the bricks came, left the same night
In the morning the chicks came I just use rap to put
Shit in my name the death's just a matter of time the
Hit's been arranged contracts signed the shits in your
Name, just to lame rap niggas I'm the king mother fuck
The ring mami kiss the chain I don't got game to waste on y'all

I'm don't think with my dick or chase my balls I'm a hustla
Hit me with an eighth of raw and when I get on top
I'ma blaze all y'all keep 'em laced some more I know you
Want some things I drink a lot of water mami come clean
Chicks I pump her then dump her cars we got 'em bumper
To bumper rap niggas y'all days are numbered, nobody
Drop nothin' next summer, yeah

Would ya love me? If we couldn't cop the drop
Would ya hate me? If we couldn't drop the top
I know ya love me 'cuz you know we pop 4 Roc
I know ya hate me 'cuz you know we got shit locked

Would ya love me? If we couldn't cop the drop
Would ya hate me? If we couldn't drop the top
I know ya love me 'cuz you know we pop 4 Roc
I know ya hate me and you know we got shit locked

Yeah R-O-C for the 2 triple O, you heard me
You are about to witness a dynasty like no other
Beanie Siegal, The General Amil-lion, Diana Ross of the ROC
Memph Bleek, Young God
Jigga Man, get your mind right niggas

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