Put Your Records On - Lyrics - Corinne Bailey Rae - Corinne Bailey Rae

Title: Put Your Records On
Album: Corinne Bailey Rae
Artist: Corinne Bailey Rae
Composer(s): Corinne Bailey Rae, Steve Chrisanthou, John Beck

Lyric:
Three little birds, sat on my window
And they told me I don't need to worry
Summer came like cinnamon, so sweet
Little girls double-dutch on the concrete

Maybe sometimes, we got it wrong, but it's alright
And nothing seems to change, and it all will stay the same
Ohh, don't you hesitate

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams
Just go ahead, let your hair down

You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow

Blue as the sky, sombre and lonely
Sipping tea in a bar by the roadside
(Just relax, just relax)
Don't you let those other boys fool you
Gotta love that awful hairdo

Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but it's alright
The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change
Don't you think it's strange?

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams
Just go ahead, let your hair down

You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow

Just more than I could take, pity for pity's sake
Some nights kept me awake, I thought that I was stronger
When you gonna realise, that you don't even have to try any longer?
Do what you want to

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams
Just go ahead, let your hair down

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song
You go ahead, let your hair down
Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams
Just go ahead, let your hair down

Ohh, you're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow

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b49eb961fed9041bdf80b93e85738ef6

Put On Your Shit Kickers - Lyrics - Fine Malt - House Of Pain

Title: Put On Your Shit Kickers
Album: Fine Malt
Artist: House Of Pain
Composer(s): Erik Schrody, Larry Muggerud

Lyric:
Yea, check it out now everybody check it out now
Yo, I got the corn beef I got the moz
I got the shotty ay yo, I got the buck shot
Ay yo, I got the burgers I got the grill
If you're steppin' up next ya better flex that skill
The House Of Pain is in full effect
Everybody in the place give full respect
If your girl's in the house keep the ho in check
And if I'm bustin' off caps, you better hit the deck

Steppin' on stage with the fly routines
I'm hemmin' up suckers like bell bottom jeans
I always switch trains in Jamaica, Queens
When I go to by the street to see my Aunt Ilene
Danny boy's comin' with the Irish style
The money back guarantee, I make it worth your while
I'm layin' out fools like kitchen tile
You come around with a frown, and ya leave in a pile

Step back man, I ain't a black man
But everytime I grab the mike I rock a Phat Jam
Without the slim fast, and if I skim past
You know I step up and get a ho with gym blast
I give her what she wants, even if she fronts
The hill is down with the house, they got the philly blunts
Ya know we roll 'em up, and then we light 'em up
And then we puff 'em up and pass them
So Danny Boy blasts 'em

I got the shell-toed Adidas, with the fat strings
The Celtic crosses, and the claudor rings
The straight edges razor and the marther pump
You heard me shit clickin', now it's time to jump
Jump around just like a frog on a log
Fuck the dukes because I like Boss Hogg
I'm hittin' home runs like my man Wade Boggs
And if you try to act stupid, I'm droppin' the dogs

Every time I go to town people start kickin' my dog around
It makes no difference if my dog's a hound
You better stop kickin' my dog around

Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit

Now I've droppin' records since the age of seventeen
First I came solo, but I now I got a team
It's the four man crew, with the Irish stew
You catch us puffin' on a blunt, and sippin' a brew
What's up with that brew man, hurry up and finish
Now grab the bar maid and order me another Guinness
You can drink the Guinness while I'm sippin' on the Mickeys
When it comes to hookers, yo, the ever last is picky

Always got my hat in case I come across a quickly
And when I do my shows I get the hoes all hot and sticky
The House Of Pain is in full effect, yeah
I say The House Of Pain is in full effect
You know The House Of Pain is in full effect, yeah
And anyone who steps up is gettin' wrecked

Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit

Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit
Put on your shit kickers and kick some shit

Check it out now! owww
I said The House Of Pain
We out

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91e3e077710ed848fdd37a01947b7d63

Keep It Real... Represent - Lyrics - Kool Keith

Title: Keep It Real... Represent
Artist: Kool Keith
Composer(s): Kurt Matlin, Keith Thornton

Lyric:
Yeah, rappers, spread your cheeks
Pull your panties down, take your wig off
Let me see your bald head, that's right
I got you on Kodak, your pictures are goin' out to
Black Tail, you're gonna be a star, yeah

I heard you quit rap, your wife went back to porno flicks
You turned drag queen, a call girl doin' tricks
Nighttime prostitute kid, I'ma take your loot
I heard you queer now like Boy George blowin' flutes

With high heels, you stole your mom's birth control pills
You on some new stuff, I heard about that sex change
You got a vagina, your grandmother think it's strange
New eyeliner, you was flirtin' with a gay designer

Your girl felt mines, and pulled off her Calvin Klein's
I saw Tampax, gonorrhea red stop signs
I looked at her and said, "Mmm, put your panties back on"
Then jerked off to Foxy Brown, when her verse was on

I wanna stand back and bust nuts at your butts
Your girl is cocked up, with lollipops, doggie style
I feel I'm dealin' with plastic, watch these fake smiles
Yeah, meet my left and my right

Keep it real, represent what? My nuts
Keep it real, represent what? My nuts

I got utensils, back up kid, yo guard your rectum
I'm crazy out here, mental man, don't respect him
You now in pain, your mom just had the abortion
Big head Boo, I put some roaches on your whole crew

Have you scared with crack pipes? Your family throwin' doodoo
Wear out your welcome, your little girl sex desires
Have you handicapped, some friends of mine blow your tires
Like Alfred Hitchcock, the ghost stands on your block

With nine mil's for drug addicts, I keep triggers cocked
You on some methane, my witchcraft is on your brain
Blow out your headpiece, and break out quick on the plane
Seal up your coffins, and celebrate with champagne

Get my drink, Absolut, cranberry juice
Paranoid by rug spots, you see the purple moose
You smokin' sherm or what? I paralyze that butt
Lick my d-head, you girls still pee in the bed
Yo take that wig off, yo punk let me see that, Caesar

Keep it real, represent what? My nuts
Keep it real, represent what? My nuts
Keep it real, represent what? My nuts

I gets more wreck, than [Incomprehensible] kids in baby's Pampers
Your wife is banned for leavin' bras in my hampers
That heffer's ugly, plastic why you still bug me
I'm on Melrose, Nicole's takin' sun strolls

Black girls with weaves, white girls with flat butts
With the name H O M O spelled in your name
You was a woman one time, man I know your game
With panties stuck up, sweat leakin' in your crotch

Collard greens you wet pig, you can't eat that much
I shut you down, your whole face two o'clock
Have your girl on sunset, in Denny's suckin' cock?
With white pumps up, blonde wigs rottin in the trunks

That homeless monkey, Barbie doll crystal junkie
I'm no joke and have respect for your kinfolks
Tie your tubes back, my scope is on your ass crack
You got paid for doodoo, that package rap was wack
Yeah yeah, you know what? Yeah

Keep it real, represent what? My nuts
Keep it real, represent what? My nuts
Keep it real, represent what? My nuts
Keep it real, represent what? My nuts

That's right, nine, six and seven
(Reverand Tom)
Representin' the scrotum
(Octagon)
All the hairs under the testicles
(The SharkMan)
Lick
(Kool Keith)
Yeah, don't buy 'The Basement Tapes'
Sheisty things going on, somebody's on the pipes
Labels foldin', goin' down in ninety six
Nobody play the records, city's out, no Tuff, Tuff, pity

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275ad952216b1011c00e8a4850eb5716

Too Much Room - Lyrics - Gerald Levert

Title: Too Much Room
Artist: Gerald Levert
Composer(s): Randall Bowland, Gerald Levert, Michael Tyler, Flemuel Brown

Lyric:
Ow, good God
(I'm down at the club, y'all, yeah)
Boogie down, baby
(Move ya)
Shake what ya mama made
I see by how you movin'
You could take it, take it, take it

Hips don't lie, her booty be talkin'
Grip your thighs
We ain't gon' let no big fat woman come pump us
We gon' get so bodacious and rambunctious
Get down baby, don't let nothin' hold ya back
Daddy movin' in, I'm 'bout to close the jam

I'm on fire when you're moving that thing at me
Got me burnin', I need your body up close to me
My emotions got me feelin' real freakily
Don't be nervous
I'm gonna whoop ya like it's s'pose to be, baby

Do you wanna party, baby?
Shakin' what yo' mama gave ya
Just wanna dance, I wanna dance
Don't cha be ashamed to back that thing up
It's too much room
(It's scandalous)
Too much, too much room, babe, babe

There's too much room up in here
Put your hand a little closer babe
So you can feel me shake it
Yeah, yeah, come on, babe
Baby, but you can handle it, it's scandalous

There's too much room up in here
Put your hand a little closer babe
So you can feel me shake it
Yeah, yeah, come on, babe
Baby, but you can handle it, it's scandalous

You give me a fever
'Cuz I'm runnin' like a rent-it sign
Ain't no reason
We can't do it to new styles
Can't you feel me?
And you know that it's gettin' hard
To control it
Baby girl, I'm ma have to call the cops
Come on, babe

Do you wanna party, baby?
Shakin' what yo' mama gave ya
Just wanna dance, I wanna dance
Don't cha be ashamed to back that thing up
It's too much room
(It's scandalous)
Too much, too much room, babe, babe

There's too much room up in here
Put your hand a little closer babe
So you can feel me shake it
Yeah, yeah, come on, babe
Baby, but you can handle it, it's scandalous

There's too much room up in here
Put your hand a little closer babe
So you can feel me shake it
Yeah, yeah, come on, babe
Baby, but you can handle it, it's scandalous

Here we go, here we go now

Talk to me, hello, what's that?
A duet with Mystikal and Gerald?
Hell yeah, yeah, you right fo' sure
(Damn right)
Get on the flo', Electra Records
About as fire as a bottle with a jar of peppers
Bad mothafuckin' baboon
'Cuz baby, if I can't reach it
There's too much damn room

Do you wanna party, baby?
Shakin' what yo' mama gave ya
Just wanna dance, I wanna dance
Don't cha be ashamed to back that thing up
It's too much room
(It's scandalous)
Too much, too much room, babe, babe

There's too much room up in here
Put your hand a little closer, babe
So you can feel me shake it
Yeah, yeah, come on, babe
Baby, but you can handle it, it's scandalous

Uh, oh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Sing it again
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, oh well, well
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Back that thing up on the bed
And move it, I can take a big bed shakin'
My temperature's risin' and I feel your thighs bending

Don't deny, I can take it
It's too much room, all this room
Tellin' me not to be all over you, babe
It's too much room, all this room
Tellin' me not to do all the things I wanna do, baby
Yeah, get a little closer, baby
Don't cha be ashamed

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a2f48169808802c91ce20287af867092

Dr. Dooom'S In The Room - Lyrics - Dr. Dooom

Title: Dr. Dooom'S In The Room
Artist: Dr. Dooom
Composer(s): Keith Thornton

Lyric:
Yeah, for the motherfuckin' 2000
In this mother
Straight from Houston, Tex
The motherfuckin' Dr. Dooom

I'm shuttin' rappers down like guiliani shut down strip clubs
Turnin' your fake gangster hardcore stories
Into some Mickey Mouse, Teletubbies shit
Y'all niggaz need to quit, stop pullin' your silicone tits

And this city is my town
Don't even fuckin' tryin' to say a fly rhyme
I'm holdin' possessions you don't own
And your cellular phone don't even fuckin' roam

Y'all got the nerve to be standin' in the hot rap zone
Against somethin' you can't afford
Rappers be soundin' bored at the show
I need to start pullin' your bitch-ass fuckin' extension cord

Suckers be fakers, ATM pullin' frauds
I'm sendin' two men, out to boo men
Quick to get to y'all niggaz like Western Union
I'm comin' like the fax machine

I pour it on your whole team
Y'all niggaz ain't got time to scheme
I'm out to shatter your fuckin' rap dreams
Top to bottom, any angle, whatever your bullshit mind think

Your words gon' tangle
Sound like shit on a tascan mix
A bunch of y'all tracks need to be fixed
Professionally, you sound like the dog toto

When I see Flex, I'ma ask him
Why he playin' a lot of records from a bunch of homos
With feminine vocals
I catch niggaz when clubs are packed, rubbin' elbows

Tryin' to whisper shit in ugly bitches earlobes
Dr. Dooom callin' wack niggaz houses from the Radisson hotel room
Penthouse suites, bitch niggaz get 911 beeps
I'm always hearin' more softest MC's talk shit about the streets

Fuck your seedy impression of pain
Ninety-nine percent of your shit was normal
One percent sound strange
A&R's be suckin' a lot of dick
And spreadin' they ass cheeks to get the hits

Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat

Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin up

You couldn't rap with me if we was twins stuck together
You be the deformed one, catchin' the warm one
I pay a crack head five dollars
To fuck up your million dollar marketing plan

With a brand new sub-machine gun
And a hot dog, on a Yankee stadium bun
First class rates, hire wall street messengers
To move your antique rap styles in milk crates

Special delivery for all you motherfuckers
Sportin' hard boots with ashey faces tryin' to get with me
Y'all suckers is amateurs, gettin' fucked up the assholes
By the top worst managers

On the publishin' deal, wipe my condoms off your Ampex reels
No games to be played, you lookin' fuckin' jiggy
MC's with collared shirts and shoes tryin' to duplicate biggie
No matter where, you only got one pair

Alligators don't match with them fuckin' flares
Who's doin' your dress code, some old stank bitch
With mascara touchin' up your face on the road
You feelin' healthier, your rap audience

Is only New Pork to Philadelphia
Baltimore never even heard your fuckin' metaphor
Shut the fuck up, put your buck up, look at the dicks you suck up
Maximum ass thoughts, you fuckin' get crushed

Like the five o'clock train rush, sweaty as a motherfucker
The best rapper can lick my ass
I make your girl pick me up lick my sperm in your E-class
Leave my diapers moist in the back seat of your rolls Royce
Stop your whole organization on park avenue and start laughin' at you

Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat

Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat

You ain't the top rap in the country
New jacks, you shoulda knew that
From experience, you couldn't write from the beginnin'
Bookin' studio time, with some scramblin' concert shit on your mind

Who's crowd, the blues feel my news
Accurately in New York City
There's a thousand motherfuckers tryin' to rap and look pretty
Save it for David

Take that motherfuckin' rented ride back to Avis
When it come to rap I'm the big motherfucker on the pay list
Ridin' the Amtrak, lookin' at Billboard
You need to be hung on a steel cord

Sittin' next to a Doberman, shit in Harlem
Any poodles on the mic, we gon' stop 'em
I'm in the dressin' room with the average bitch
Lookin' like halle berry, rubbin' my nuts

My fingers all up in her guts
Watchin' Monday night football with my dick all up in her butt
MC's stand away when I pull out my mitt put your hand away
Most of these fake hard rappers never seen the projects

Live in fuckin' pesquateway
Scared, palm that away
Why don't you bastards move back in the metro area
The Marriott is the spot

Where the prostitutes lick your Rolex watch
Left you naked out with your stomach out
Hangin' out with cocaine on the dresser
With a Puerto Rican girl with HIV from park chester

You sniffin' that shit again
Souped up from the neck up from the butt crack up
You need a fuckin' checkup

Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat

Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat
Dr. Dooom is in the room
Walkin' up the street, with bare feet, eatin' raw steak meat

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f2eb84e64e8902650e1dcbb1ac74b199

Off The Wall - Lyrics - The Notorious K.I.M. - Lil' Kim

Title: Off The Wall
Album: The Notorious K.I.M.
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): George Kranz, Sean Combs, Mario Winans, Kimberly Jones

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

Lyric:
Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now do it

Queen Bee, Bad Boy baby
Let's go

Ready or not, here I come
I'm a Bentley, y'all something like a Hyundai
Win more skins than crack without dunja
Tasty like a sundae

Eat it like a Kit Kat
Be forge a climax, replay back
Lil' Kim records hit the streets
DJs wanna spend that back like

Me and Lil' Cease is the real tag-team
While most of y'all broads is just drag queens
It's gonna take years before you match our cream
And only in your dreams can you see what we see

Now lend me your ear, listen closely
I wear these jewels like a rosary
This is how the rap game is supposed to be
One king, one queen, things supposed to be

Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now do it

Niggas lean left, bitches lean right
Come on, you gotta ride 'em, baby

It's the year 2G and things about to change
Trade in that Range, get a motherfuckin' plane
Your girl is lame, what?
Want a bitch like me, what?

If it's diamonds you want, baby I got 'em
Money in a briefcase who needs a wallet?
Be a pigeon nigga you sound retarded
I'm the girl with more cream than St. Patrick's Day

House by the bay so what do you say?
Me and you, nigga like running Roulette
The game is strip poker, is you ready to play?
Make it last all night and I'm ready to stay

Put your money and your jewels up one at a time
And if you lose this game, all this shit is mine
What you got? Full house, triple ace and two kings
Royal flush beats ten jack, here give me, I win, give it up

Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now do it

Niggas lean left, bitches lean right
Come on, you gotta ride 'em, baby

When it comes to status, call me Dr. Ruth
I ain't a prostitute, I just speak the truth
Dicks, I like 'em fat like a pickle
Hard like a nickel, juicy like a Popsicle

Niggas mention me for a sexual reference
Lil Kim's everybody's sexual preference
A bitch like me gives it on the first date
Why hesitate? I ain't got time to wait

'Cause y'all know how I get down
Niggas from the East know how I get down
Cats from the West know how I get down
From the North to South say, "Can you get down"

Now lend me your ear, listen closely
I wear these jewels like a rosary
This is how the rap game is supposed to be
One king, one queen, things supposed to be

Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now get your back up off the wall
Dance, come on
Now do it

Niggas lean left, bitches lean right
Come on, you gotta ride 'em, baby

Queen Bee, 2000
Get your backs up off the wall
Dance, come on
Dance, come on
Dance, come on

Notorious K.I.M.
J.M., come on
[Incomprehensible], come on
B.I.G. come on, forever come on

Come on
Come on
I see you, yeah

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5016d5fbafb5d3c05717d3543bc82eeb

Hip-Hop (Remix) - Lyrics - Dead Prez

Title: Hip-Hop (Remix)
Artist: Dead Prez
Composer(s): Lavonne Alford, Clayton Gavin, Andrew Mair, Vonkeli Williams

Lyric:
You are listening to the sounds of the RBGs
'Turn Off The Radio', tune your frequency
This is DPz nigga, 'Revolutionary But Gangsta', holla back

Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(Come again, break them chains, come on)
Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(Break them chains, come on)

Who shot 2Pac? If we don't get them they gon' get us all
I'm down for runnin' up on them crackas in the City Hall
We ride for y'all, all my dogs stay real
Nigga don't think these record deals
Gon' feed your seeds and pay your bills

Because they not Emcees
Get a little bit a lovin' think they hot
Talkin' 'bout how much money they got
Nigga all your records sound the same

I'm sick of that fake thug
R and B rap scenario all day on the radio
Same scenes in the video
Monotonous material, y'all don't here me though
These record labels slang our tapes like dope

You can be next in line and signed
And still be writing rhymes and broke
You rather have a Lexus? Or justice?
A dream or some substance?
A Beamer a necklace or freedom?

See a nigga like me don't playa hate
I just stay awake it's real hip hop
And it don't stop till we get
These crackers off out block
(C'mon)

We be DP RBG for life, 'Turn Off The Radio'
The revolution won't be televised
Turn off that bullshit
We be DP RBG for life, 'Turn Off The Radio'

One thing 'bout music when it hit you feel no pain
White folks take control of your brain
I know better than that, that's game and we ready for that
Two soldiers head of the pack, matter of fact who got the gat?
And where my army at? Rather attack and not react

Back to beats it don't reflect
On how many records get sold
On sex drugs and rock 'n roll
Whether your projects' put on hold
In the real world, it's just people with ideas

They just like me and you
When the smoke and camera disappear
Again the real world it's bigger
Than all these fake-ass records

When po' folks got the millions
And my sisters' disrespected
If you 'Check 1-2'
My word of advise to you is just relax

Just do what you got to do
If that don't work then kick the facts
If you a fighter, ryder, biter, flame-ignitor
Crowd-exciter, or you wanna just get high
Then just say it but then if you a liar-liar
Pants on fire, wolf-crier, agent wit' a wire
I'm gon' know it when I play it, it's bigger than

Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(We be DP RBG for life)
'Turn Off The Radio'
Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(The revolution won't be televised)
Turn off that bullshit

Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(We be DP RBG for life)
'Turn Off The Radio'
Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(The revolution won't be televised)
'Turn Off The Radio'

My neck, my back
They put a noose on my neck
And whips on my back
My neck, my back
You got a tie around your neck
But they breakin' your back

My neck, my back
They put a noose on my neck
And whips on my back
My neck, my back
And if you got bling on your neck
You better watch your back

Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(Nigga it's bigga then)
Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(It's still bigga then)

Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
(Nigga it's bigga then)
Hip-hop, hip-hop, hip-hop
'Turn Off The Radio'

Word up, eyes open, fist clenched
Dare to struggle dare to win
Goin' out to all the ryders
RBG love, that's 'Revolutionary But Gangsta'

Word up, my whole team, D-Don
([Unverified])
Stik Daddy Dollas, maintain hold strong
Fred Hampton, Jr., we got they eyes on them
We know they got they eyes on you

Word up, everybody doin' time
Minimum, medium, maximum
Super maximum security concentration camps
All the ryders we right there with you
RBG love it's goin' out like that

Everybody, push that middle finger up in the air
To George Bush if you know what time it is
Yeah, turn off the motherfuckin' radio

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2847871a145bb70c19e080c4f0ed738e

Murdergram - Lyrics - Mama Said Knock You Out - Ll Cool J

Title: Murdergram
Album: Mama Said Knock You Out
Artist: Ll Cool J
Composer(s): Marlon Williams, James Todd Smith

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

Lyric:
Aiyyo, don't go near the speakers

The big showdown, the display is skill
I'm the type of guy, so put your girl on the pill
Take a family snap shot, kiss your wife
'Cause I'm like a knife, the concrete is right
And I'll take your life and take you like python
I'ma do you wrong

Any emcee, who you wanna name?
I want pain that I can be tamed
Talkin' 'bout guns, punk, it don't alarm me
Got enough cash to make a whole damn army
I can't hold back the way that I feel
'Cause when I bust a rhyme it's like you're slippin' off banana peels

You're like fruit cake, your fruit cocktails
First your title now I'm takin' your female
All of a sudden you're so proud of black
A baseball hat but you ain't sayin' Jack

The ripper is back and you can't escape
'Cause one of my records will sell more than your whole tape
I want beef, bring on the rookies
I got more than just Cool J cookies

Rip Rock, crush, stop
Cop, I'm poison come and take a drop
I bet your teeth will end up around the corner, kid
Don't ask me why I did it?

I'm civilized damage to a nobody
And I'm carryin' a gun if I'm rhymin' at the party
New York, Chicago, Detroit, L.A.
I'll slay wherever you play

D.C. or Philly or Baltimore
I'm worryin' the rich, invadin' the poor
Perpetratin' in your video, here's the real smoothin'
Country accents, who do you think you're foolin'?

I play crushable, late night craps
You only knew 'cause you onto your raps
And rap city and V E T
The channel 31 and but now here I come

To save the day and the now you're gettin' done
Like a hooker, don't try to soul, crumb
The first sign of the battle you little fake
It's [Incomprehensible] comin' out your kitchen sink

Your mic's a baby bottle, son
Some say they ain't but I am the one
The slice is that the fire boy, it'll break you
Servin' or heard em a word occurred to him
Then he could move a would get moved on

Like a shotgun blast
Big mouth emcees, I'll bet you none last
?Cause they ain't stable or able
And I boost the party like jumper cables

So plug me in and put me on
I'm serial hard so I can battle a-more
From coast to coast fly, cripple, and crazy
Use a dictionary but you still don't phase me

Listen and we can sound cheap
Reach out for my blackness but you represent wackness
You?re bitin' on the castle door
But when you fall in the moat, I won't see you no more

Let's get together and diss LL
Use his name and your records might sell
I can't believe you band of dead maggots
Crawlin' all over my name, I won't have it

You better look in the mirror and re-think your plan
Why walk in quicksand?
When you can stand on your own two feet
I'm rippin' emcees, a funky drum with a big beat

Name the date and a arena
Your three year old ballerina
I can't believe the suckers try to throwdown
Whether you're new or older than motown

Just kick back
I don't like a stagger wagger psycho rap
You can't handle the format
Whether you're swab or swoon
Ruff or rugged, all I need is a broom

If I slay the way they slay, punk, play the pay
Mr. Morris has entered the buffet
Some of y'all are sittin' in rows
Plates of the hot butter rolls

Beat your with boloney, slap you with salami
'Cause when I get hot I get hot like pastrami
Then I make you wonder
Why you don't hear bass but you feel the thunder

You get cooked, I'll knock out your tooth
We'll be fightin' from lobby to the roof
You are on me like I wrote your dinnertime
Yo, Marley, whassup? Spill the time

Nah man, just kick a little warmth
Pass the brass knuckles then we break his jaw
When I'm on the microphone I want silence
Let KRS-One stop the violence

Ain't no rivals, ain't no competition
Punk, I'm beatin' you into submission
I'm gettin' busier than ever before
Never more will I'll slack, I'ma keep it real raw

Eat you up like a pack-jam
Video for poppin' over a Batman
Rippin' you to shreds, tappin' you on the head
Then leave the battle lookin' as happy as a newly wed

Give me a Tech-9 to spray
Save the peep and put it on lay away
I'll make a major main event and send a jam, the fans will understand
Then you weep about the murdergram

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7f2b866a41edc69d5422b52ddc34f75a

Beef - Lyrics - Notorious B.I.G.

Title: Beef
Artist: Notorious B.I.G.
Composer(s): Burt Bacharach, Christopher Wallace, Hal David, Nashiem Myrick, Kazumi Tabata, Sean Puffy Combs, Albert Johnson, Carlos Broady, Phil Hurtt, Bunny Sigler, Kejuan Waliek Muchita

Lyric:
We here, we ain't goin' nowhere
Y'all motherfuckers don't know what beef is

Ha ha ha ha ha, check out this bizarre
Rapper style used by me, the B.I.G., I put my key
You put your key in, money we'll be seein'
We'll reach the fuckin' ceilin', check it

My Calico been cocked, this rap Alfred Hitchcock
Drop top notch, playa hatin' won't stop
This instant, rappers too persistent
Quick to spit, Biggie name on shit

Make my name taste like ass when you speak it
See me in the street, your jewelry, you can keep it
That'll be our little secret, see me, B that is, I that is, G whiz
Motherfuckers still in my biz

Hope they know my nigga gutter fuckin' kidnap kids
Fuck 'em in the ass, throw 'em over the bridge
That's how it is, my shit is laid out
Fuck that beef shit, that shit is played out

Y'all got to go, all I make is one phone call
All y'all disappear by tomorrow
All your guns is borrowed, I don't feel sorrow
Actually, your man passed the gat to me, now check this

What's beef? Beef is when you need two gats to go to sleep
Beef is when your mom's ain't safe up in the streets
Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be an I.C.U., one more time

What's beef? Beef is when you make your enemies start your Jeep
Beef is when you roll no less than thirty deep
Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be an I.C.U., check it

I done clapped at the best of them, been caused the death of them
These dudes don't want no more, shit is affectin' them
Tops popped off, them niggaz from the bridge
Just be wildin' on you line, that red dot on you

Don't know or warn you, catch them all hogged up
Sober that ass up with clips, the ratchet spit
Number one with the buddhaka
Henny sour diesel, ain't no tellin' what I do to ya
It's obvious ma, you ain't fuckin', keep it movin' ma

Pow pow pow pow pow, they shot 'em in they cars
I wish I was there, I would've shot back all 'em
They fire return fire, put it right back on 'em
Sacrifice myself for you no problem

In the flames I burn for my niggaz that's gone
And the niggaz that took the hits on my niggaz
You been warned, P's not the one, Hav not the one
You try to run up on us, we already bustin' the guns

What's beef? Beef is when you need two gats to go to sleep
Beef is when your mom's ain't safe up in the streets
Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be an I.C.U., one more time

What's beef? Beef is when you make your enemies start your Jeep
Beef is when you roll no less than thirty deep
Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be an I.C.U., check it

They'll be nothin' but smooth sailin'
When I spit shots, now your crew's bailin'
All I got is heat and tough talk for you
Tie you up, cut your balls off just for you

Man this is straight torture, look what that slick shit bought ya
A first class ticket to Lucifer, real name Christopher
Watch me set it off like Vivica, here lies your demise
Close your eyes, think good thoughts

Die while your skin start to glisten
Pale blue hands get cold, your soul's risen
It's bad 'cause I just begun
What make the shit real bad, I was havin' fun

What's beef? Beef is when you need two gats to go to sleep
Beef is when your mom's ain't safe up in the streets
Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be an I.C.U., one more time

What's beef? Beef is when you make your enemies start your Jeep
Beef is when you roll no less than thirty deep
Beef is when I see you, guaranteed to be an I.C.U., check it

Beef doesn't happen on records, beef does not happen on records
You don't know what beef is, you don't want no beef
You fuckin' fake studio ass, gangsta rappin' motherfuckers
Fuck outta here

Beef is B.I.G. not bein' here, beef is your love ones not bein' here
Beef is every so called ghetto superstar that rose to the top
And dropped just as quickly on some bullshit, what's beef 2006?
What's beef? Y'all motherfuckers don't know what beef is
Fuck all y'all, Bad Boy Bitch we still here

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e69445c2b1e1fa23cf6410cb8d7544fb

I'M Seein' Robots - Lyrics - Kool Keith

Title: I'M Seein' Robots
Artist: Kool Keith
Composer(s): Keith Thornton

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

Lyric:
Voice mail, pagers, these are the things that robots carry
To get they hair done, eyes made up
Difference effects to their bodies
Sometimes too many to even know the life of a robot

Yo, don't waste my time on the phone, girl I'm goin' to bed
That movie restaurant you need cash that game is dead
I pull your wig off, you step back, you have a tantrum
I hold your rent money, contacts I hold for ransom

Cut off your phone bill, Mercedes wrecked in the Mobil
That's on the real deal, your credit's off, how you feel?
Give me my meat back, now think back, you sing on four track
Your mother's callin', for WIC checks, she soundin' wack

I bought your first food, high class, you was rude
House with no heat on, with slippers on, you walkin' nude
Back with your girlfriends I cancel banks stop your shoppin'
You work with kneepads, you loose stiff on soul train poppin

Your head keep boppin', you face out, with purple tracin'
I put you out, we can end this at the gas station
Let's do this now
Not impressed, I'ma show you how

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein' robots, lah lah lah lah lah lah

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein' robots, lah lah lah lah lah lah

I'm seein' robots, passin by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
You drive in Hollywood, long hair, Buick Regal
License in California, ID's phony not illegal

Livin' with roommates, you camp out, with paper plates
Broke Panasonic speakers missin' playin' Puff and Mase
Clear up yo' acne, girl what yo, how you act B
Call police up, tell them what? How you tried to smack me

I'm movin' thorough on the freeway callin' you on three way
Watchin' my back got your friends all on instant replay
You say you married sewed your weave in, yo where's your ring at?
Interscope records got your demo girl, where you sing at?

Pull out your masters, your dat's, all you have is cats
Pet little turtles in your bedroom, enough for headroom
Usin' your restroom when, company come, that's your best room
I stay the dopest while you party hard, losin' focus

Starin' in mirrors combin' hair, with the kids on welfare
I watch your mailbox like Vietnam guerrilla warfare
That's not your real hair, rip credit cards, I don't care

Liposuction, Jenny Craig is yo' introduction
Volkswagen fog up, your dirty engine Boo smog up
You hit the malls and, with chip phones, makin calls
And I'm audi 5, yeah

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein' robots, lah lah lah lah lah lah

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein', goo goo gah gah, them ugly kids call me da da

Missin they father while you try to pawn the ring and phones and
You probably jonzin', gettin' greedy, eatin' at Tony Rhome's and
Stuffin' your mouth out with fat pigs, you smokin' cigs
Rip out your butt crack, no bras out, to fit your back

Skinny legs, trip on, you get your grub and rip on
The DJ spin the club is wack, yo they close at ten
They turned the lights on, I seen your mug, you looked bugged
Close your face, I see your rims, I know you freebase

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein' robots, lah lah lah lah lah lah

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein' robots, lah lah lah lah lah lah

I'm seein' robots, passin' by, everyday
(I'm seein' robots)
I'm seein' robots, lah lah lah lah lah lah

(I'm seein' robots)
All you model robots
With mechanical legs, fake hips, implants
Little chips in your arms

Body movement, metal metallic, unpure robots
(Little robots)
Stiff arms, kneecaps, oil
(R O B O T, R O B O T)
Metal, robots
(Little, go, go, romance, robots, little, go, go, romance, robots)

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f097117cba69de485e8c436fd27bd1e2

Viva La White Girl - Lyrics - As Cruel as School Children - Gym Class Heroes

Title: Viva La White Girl
Album: As Cruel as School Children
Artist: Gym Class Heroes
Composer(s): Disashi Lumumba-Kasongo, Sam Hollander, Travis Mccoy, Matthew Mcginley, Dave Katz

Lyric:
Fame, fortune, platinum records
It's every boys dream

True story
Somebody asked me one time
Travie, you high, you look high
Shit yeah, I'm high [Incomprehensible]
Let's go

The world is yours, so play the role
Blow the dust off this record and put the needle down slow
Our veins are cold, but we'll never grow old

Let's have a toast and raise our drinks
No hearts on our sleeves, just eagles on our cuff links
It's such a rush to know you love me so much

We'll do whatever you want to
Girl, I'll make a movie star of you
You know that I could
If you let me be your Hollywood

We'll get high and hide
We are lovers to the glamorous
White girl so fine
Going up on the downtown line

We'll get high and hide
We are lovers to the glamorous
White girl so fine
Going up on the downtown line

Take your razor, break down my line
Put your nose to the speaker
Now breathe in

Clean up your nose and face the crowd
Then kiss your mirror 'cuz we're all stars now
Isn't it fun how music makes your lips numb

We'll do whatever you want to
Girl, I'll make a movie star of you
You know that I could
If you let me be your Hollywood

We'll get high and hide
We are lovers to the glamorous
White girl so fine
Going up on the downtown line

We'll get high and hide
We are lovers to the glamorous
White girl so fine
Going up on the downtown line

Take your razor, break down my line
Put your nose to the speaker
Now breathe in

We'll get high and hide
We are lovers to the glamorous
White girl so fine
Going up on the downtown line

We'll get high, and hide
We are lovers to the glamorous
White girl so fine
Going up on the downtown line

Breathe in
Breathe in
Breathe in
Breathe in

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32123d4fd11199d22b46379143aac2e9

There Only Was One Choice - Lyrics - Harry Chapin

Title: There Only Was One Choice
Artist: Harry Chapin
Composer(s): Harry F. Chapin

Lyric:
There's a kid out on my corner hear him strumming like a fool
Shivering in his dungarees but still he's going to school
His cheeks are made of peach fuzz, his hopes may be the same
But he's signed up as a soldier out to play the music game

There are fake patches on his jacket
He's used bleach to fade his jeans
With a brand new stay pressed shirt
And some creased and wrinkled dreams
His face a blemish garden but his eyes are virgin clear
His voice is Chicken Little's, but he's hearing Paul Revere

When he catches himself giggling
He forces up a sneer
Though he'd rather have a milk shake
He keeps forcing down the beer
Just another folkie, late in coming down the pike
Riding his guitar, he left Kid brother with his bike

And he's got Guthrie running in his bones
He's the hobo kid who's left his home
And his Beatles records and the Rolling Stones
This boy is staying acoustic

There's Seeger singing in his heart
He hopes his songs will somehow start
To heal the cracks that split apart
America gone plastic

And now there's Dylan dripping from his mouth
He's hitching himself way down south
To learn a little black and blues
From old street men who paid their dues
'Cause they knew they had nothing to lose
They knew it, so they just got to it

With cracked old Gibsons and red clay shoes
Playing 1 4 5 chords like good news
And cursed with skin that calls for blood
They put their face and feet in mud
But oh, they learned the music from way down there
The real ones learn it somewhere

Strum your guitar, sing it kid
Just write about your feelings, not the things you never did
Inexperience, it once had cursed me
But your youth is no handicap, it's what makes you thirsty

Hey kid, you know you can hear your footsteps
As you're kicking up the dust
And the rustling in the shadows tells you secrets you can trust
The capturing of whispers is the way to write a song
It's when you get to microphones, the music can go wrong

You can't see the audience with spotlights in your eyes
Your feet can't feel the highway from where the Lear jet flies
When you glide in silent splendor in your padded limousines
Only you are crying there behind the silver screen

Now you battle dragons, but they'll all turn into frogs
When you grab the wheel of fortune, you get caught up in the cog

First your art turns into craft then the yahoos start to laugh
Then you'll hear the jackals howl 'cause they love to watch the fall
They're the lost ones out there feeding
On the wounded and the bleeding
They always are the first to see the cracks upon the walls

When I started this song I was still thirty-three
The age that Mozart died and sweet Jesus was set free
Keats and Shelley too soon finished, Charley Parker would be
And I fantasized some tragedy'd be soon curtailing me

Well just today I had my birthday, I made it thirty-four
Mere mortal, not immortal, not star-crossed anymore
I've got this problem with my aging, I no longer can ignore
A tame and toothless tabby can't produce a lion's roar

And I can't help being frightened on these midnight afternoons
When I ask the loaded questions
"Why does winter come so soon?"
And where are all the golden girls that I was singing for
The daybreak chorus of my dreams serenades no more

Yeah the minute man is going soft, the mirror's on the shelf
Only when the truth's up there can you fool yourself?
I am the aged jester who won't gracefully retire
A clumsy clown without a net caught staggering on the high wire

Yesterday's a collar that has settled round my waist
Today keeps slipping by me, it leaves no aftertaste
Tomorrow is a daydream, the future's never true
Am I just a fading fire or a breeze passing through?

Hello my Country, I once came to tell everyone your story
Your passion was my poetry
And your past, my most potent glory
Your promise was my prayer
Your hypocrisy my nightmare
And your problems fill my present
Are we both going somewhere?

Step right up young lady
Your two hundred birthdays make you old if not senile
And we see the symptoms there in your rigor mortise smile
With your old folks eating dog food and your children eating paint
While the pirates own the flag and sell us sermons on restraint

And while blood's the only language
That your deaf old ears can hear
And still you will not answer with that message coming clear
Does it mean there's no more ripples in your tired old glory stream
And the buzzards own the carcass of your dream?

Oh B U Y Centennial
Sell 'em pre-canned laughter
America Perennial
Sing happy ever after

There's a dance band on the Titanic
Singing nearer my God to thee
And the iceberg's on the starboard bow
Won't you dance with me

Yes I read it in the New York Times
That was on the stands today
It said that dreams were out of fashion
We'll hear no more empty promises
There'll be no more wasted passions
To clutter up our play

It really was a good sign
The words went on to say
It shows that we are growing up
In oh, so many healthy ways
And I told myself this is exactly where I'm at
But I don't much like thinking about that

Harry, are you really so naive?
You can honestly believe
That the country's getting better
When all you do is let her alone
Harry, can you really be surprised?
When it's there before your eyes
When you hold the knife that carves her
You live the life that starves her to the bone

Good dreams don't come cheap
You've got to pay for them
If you just dream when you're asleep
There is no way for them, to come alive, to survive

It's not enough to listen, it's not enough to see
When the hurricane is coming on, it's not enough to flee
It's not enough to be in love we hide behind that word
It's not enough to be alive, when your future's been deferred

What I've run through my body, what I've run through my mind
My breath's the only rhythm and the tempo is my time
My enemy is hopelessness, my ally honest doubt
The answer is a question that I never will find out

Is music propaganda, should I boogie, rock and roll
Or just an early warning system hitched up to my soul
Am I observer or participant or huckster of belief
Making too much of a life so mercifully brief?

So I stride down sunny streets and the band plays back my song
They're applauding at my shadow, long after I am gone
Should I hold this wistful notion that the journey is worthwhile
Or tiptoe cross the chasm with a song and a smile?

Well I got up this morning, I don't need to know no more
It evaporated nightmares that had boiled the night before
With every new day's dawning, my kid climbs in my bed
And tells the cynics of the board room your language is dead

And as I wander with my music through the jungles of despair
My kid will learn guitar and find his street corner somewhere
There he'll make the silence listen to the dream behind the voice
And show his minstrel Hamlet daddy that there only was one choice

Strum your guitar, sing it kid
Just write about your feelings not the things you never did
Inexperience, it once had cursed me
But your youth is no handicap, it's what makes you thirsty, hey kid

Strum your guitar, sing it kid
Just write about your feelings not the things you never did

Dance band on the Titanic
Singing nearer my God to thee
The iceberg's on the starboard bow
Won't you dance with me

The dance band on the Titanic
Singing nearer my God to thee
And the iceberg's on the starboard bow
Won't you dance with me

Yeah the dance band on the Titanic
Singing nearer my God to thee
And the iceberg's on the starboard bow
Won't you dance with me

Come on
Yeah the dance band on the Titanic
Singing nearer my God to thee
And the iceberg's on the starboard bow

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e5213eca1cadcf27ed0d7127c9a0c231

In Your Face - Lyrics - Sex Style - Kool Keith

Title: In Your Face
Album: Sex Style
Artist: Kool Keith
Composer(s): Trevor Randolph, Keith Thornton

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

Lyric:
I'll get my manager crazy as hell, he'll pull steel
Show these sheisty people, the sawed off, the pump is real
Then smack niggaz when they don't feel Keith's right direction
Put niggaz in fear, the bullets in they head section

Pick up drug dollars, leave rings around niggaz collars
Front me cash, you catch them bodies, put 'em in a stash
Never laugh at you, explain plans, what to do
Machine guns on tour, pajama for your soft crew

Don't step to me with shit the candle wax is gettin' lit
I'm solo now, and still money I have to fuckin' split
Business ain't straight in glamour world, fuckin' hell gate
All these things I been through, your skull deserves a metal plates

Not the platinum plaque, just gun staples in your back
Hung from a tree with rusty nails in your rectum crack

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

For everybody a problem manager
30% get my photo session ready, songs to the fuckin' president
I been spendin' my ASCAP, waitin' out there brain-walkin'
Up with hit records on feet, in the fuckin' rain

Through merry-go-rounds, past politic circus
Then shift flop first, and now it's time that you work this
Suck my ass, we pass on acts if you think they good
Niggaz ain't platinum, they album still, went barely wood

I bring your [Incomprehensible] down, samples now you have to clear it
Niggaz talkin' shit like lyric records, I ain't tryin' to hear it
Even if I'm deaf no mouth, one fuckin' ear left
You think they worth investments, hold your fuckin' breath

You might as well bite Kane, Rakim, study G. Rap
I got some new shit, mental secrets for yo' ass crack
Let me get real, before that ass breach that contract
I got witnesses watchin', statements over budget

Don't try to hide behind that fuckin' mask now
Throw the pistols away, and hide the shit in the grass now

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I'm sittin' quiet with tons of threats, and Baskin-Rob
Extortion is over, I cock back, you lose your fuckin' job
Two years of my time is precious in my kid's mind
With child support, I drag your coffins in the court

We even-steven, fuck that, my time and rent is short
I've been writin' songs, I'm calm, I'm a good sport
One year has gone by, with techs jam up in your eye
I'm on some clever shit, fuck it man, go 'head lie

I wake up six o'clock with triggers cocked every morning
I'm no joke, you're bound to smell the fragrant gun smoke
I'll be scrubbin' halls, wipin' blood off the office walls

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

I get personal direct straight, I bring it forward
(Where?)
In your face
(In yo' face)

Yeah, yeah, let's get some fuckin' hit records goin' right now
East coast to West coast, I don't give a fuck
His shit is wack, their shit is wack
That shit is wack over there, ain't nuttin' fuckin' movin'
Get some fuckin' bullets on the fuckin charts
Fuck that, let's do this
(Y'all ain't ready)

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d750ecf67fb10aaa20c29e161e685a3a

Potion - Lyrics - Red Light District - Ludacris

Title: Potion
Album: Red Light District
Artist: Ludacris
Composer(s): Tim Mosley, Christopher Bridges

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

Lyric:
What up, ay shawty what it is
What up, ay shawty what it is
What up, ay shawty what it is

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

Man I'm like a needle in a haystack, so face that
Go back to the drawin' board connect dot but cant trace that
Matter fact erase that 'cuz on this base track get your face slapped
And I'm straight so don't chase that

Try somethin' different n shit, so listen n shit
Speakin' about what hip-hop is missin' n shit
I'm about to fill a void
Ludacris born in Illinois, raised in Atlanta
Tote hammers since I was a little boy

Ain't nobody like me, say they wanna bite me
Fight me, step to me now but it ain't like me
People swear they sight me
Just 'cuz hes light skinned with braids in his hair
Don't mean that nigga look like me'

Trick get your mind right, livin' in the lime life
So picture what they'll do for my Jimmy and a Klondike
Bar, bar, hardyhar, tell your momma I'm a Ghetto Superstar

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put your back in motion

Only stand 5 '8, but still a big shot
Plus I got a big cock
Clean every day, stay fresher then whats in a zip-lock
Tell your man to kick rocks, when I make my pit stops

I'm in, then its hard to get me out like I'm a slipnot
Wanna be a leader and not, no not a follower
Only hang with chicks that got more twist then Oliver
Not much of a hollara but I like to borrow her lips
Bringin' out the best in me, specially if shes a swollowa

Freaky deaky yellow man, and I'm sayin' hello man
To all the lovely ladies that like to jiggle like jello man
Bigger booty, small waist, put em' in a small place
And if ain't no ass where I'm at then I'm in the wrong place

Bail like a bondsman, but keep em dancin'
Got pop potential stay black like Bob Johnson
Who the hell is that in that fancy car
Tell your momma I'm a Ghetto Superstar

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

Jump down turn around pick a bale of cotton
Jump down turn around pick a bale a hay
Ohh Lordy pick a pail of cotton
Ohh Lordy pick a pail of hay

Jump down turn around pick a bale of cotton
Jump down turn around pick a bale a hay
Ohh Lordy pick a pail of cotton
Ohh Lordy pick a pail of hay

Still workin' like a slave learnin' tricks of the trade
In a ghetto state of mind say I'm rich and I'm paid
Pickin' records like cotton in the thick of the day
Till I'm spoiled and I'm rotten in a sinister way

Life no different then those all minimum wage
More money but still locked in a similar cage
Either losers of tomorrow, or we winners today
Now just that and there's really nothin' missin' to say but

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

Little buddy what you on, some violent shit
Two steppin' laid back, still wylin' shit
What up, hey baby I got the potion
Take a sip of this and put yo back in motion

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39f2becad6f865d325a1639c1848c069

Another Head Put To Rest - Lyrics - Sittin' Fat Down South - Lil' Troy

Title: Another Head Put To Rest
Album: Sittin' Fat Down South
Artist: Lil' Troy
Composer(s): Brad Jordan, Bruce Isaac Rhodes

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

Lyric:
Dig it, comin' back, I'm too large, I'm widdit
Come test me, you wanna get scarred, back in effect
That means that Ak is comin' hard
And you're regrettin' that you tried to pull his card

I start to sweat, when MC's get out of hand
And I don't let you amateurs get on the stand
I just go get Johnny B the right-hand man
And watch 'em jet, when the Akshun takes a stand

I'm on the set in other words, I'm in effect
Grab your cassettes, hit your rewinds and your ejects
Tell your friends that Ak is back and Ak is def
Another head put to rest

When you wanna step to me
I think you should know that
I am a nightmare walkin', psychopath talkin'
Akshun

I go for broke, so why would you waste time
Here comes an Einstein, bringin' the bassline
Boy, you're a sad case, still wanna test mine
Yeah, this is Brad's race and here comes the next rhyme

You shoulda thought, before you stepped into
The center square, now I'm gonna bend you
You shoulda broke out, right after when you
Had the chance, so let me continue

I've got rhymes that can go on forever put 'em in mines and combine
And make 'em clever, irritatin' the most minds
Aiyyo money, it's toast time, let us compare
Who's got the dope rhymes?

I take it as it comes, I got the gall
I couldn't fake it, so who's the one you call
To rock a party, and you know that Ak won't stall
Pass me the 40, I'm back in effect y'all
And step and give the man some respect
You guessed, another head put to rest

When you wanna step to me
I think you should know that
This is how it should be done
Akshun

Back, comin' back like a crack fiend
Strong, I leave a mark like a vaccine
Stop, you comin' off on a wack scene
You're steppin' on Ak's green

Move, up close to the animal
Not a vegetarian, I'm more like a cannibal
I'm comin' hard, I'm comin' hard, you can't stop the press
Ak is a madman and I'm grabbin' hostages

Flow, at will, stand at attention
Now go, no more plottin' and no mo' bitchin'
Ak is a man, who's gonna get off
Whassup? Step off

I heard your rhymes and nevertheless
I never fess and I'm back to progress
I yell whassup? Put you to a test
Another head put to rest

When you wanna step to me
I think you should know that
B, is on the cut

As you sit in your crib just imaginin'
How to make up a jam that just hasn't been used
By the Ak kid now that's a laugh
It's over, on the level, stack up the trash

Pause and let me break it down the way
I want to break it and see how it sounds too
I couldn't fake it 'cause Ak ain't around to play
I couldn't take it, now H-Town is bound to pay

Bet, the man tried to hold me back
Now sweat, you couldn't control the Ak
Go get, upset 'cause I told the facts
You'll jet 'cause here comes a load of wax

I cool, on the scene I'm in the spotlight
A fool, tried to test me then I got hype
I taught school, told them to take a hike
Grab the mic, psych, that jam is too hot right

I prove to all you punks just like Willie D
Ooh, don't mention names, oh silly me
But on the real tip, take it seriously
You couldn't handle Ak, I mean really D
I'm coolin' and steppin', whassup with that?
Backs to progress, another head put to rest

When you wanna step to me
I think you should know that
Ain't no half steppin'

I'd like to send a shout out to Class Quarter Productions
My man Troy's in the house, y'knah 'm sayin'?
Shortstop Records, Johnnie B's on the set
Crazy C in the house, Def Jam blastin', rockin' it on and on
Special shout to my mixmaster, DJ Bruce

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