Right Here'S The Spot - Lyrics - Kish Kash - Basement Jaxx

Title: Right Here'S The Spot
Album: Kish Kash
Artist: Basement Jaxx
Composer(s): Simon Ratcliffe, Me Shell Ndegeocello, Felix Major Buxton

Lyric:
I hit you with a lick a thang
Love to feel your body move like this
Rub me down
C'mon work that body

I hit you with a lick a thang
Love to feel your body move like this
I wanna make u dance
And feel my effect yeah

Drop your guard, let's jam
Right here's the spot
(Move your body)
We got this thing right here
Right here's the spot
(I'm gonna get to you)

Drop your guard right here
Right here's the spot
(Touch your body and feel my effect)
We got this thing right here
Right here's the spot
(It's electrifying, right here)
Right here's the spot

'Cause I fancy you
Feel my effect

Right here right here's the spot

I hit you with a lick a thang
Love to feel your body move like this
Touch ya body
And feel the desire

I hit you with a lick a thang
Rub, rub ya body
'Cos you can call me up
And we can get down

Drop your guard let's jam
Right here's the spot
(Move your body)
We got this thing right here
Right here's the spot
(Drop it)
(I'm wanna get to you)

Drop your guard let's jam
Right here's the spot
(Touch ya body)
(And feel my effect yeah)
We got this thing right here
Right here's the spot
(It's electrifying)
Right here, right here's the spot

Right here
Right here's the spot
Right here
Right here's the spot

Delirious
Delirious
Delirious

I know you fancy me I fancy you
I know you fancy me I fancy you babe, c'mon
I'm gonna make you dance
I wanna move you

I'm wanna make you dance
I m gonna get to you
I'm gonna make you dance
It's all about anything, everything
I'm gonna get you

Dance if you want to
But if you don't' make you're own way home
Dance if you want to
But if you don't' make you're own way home
Say chant
Delirious, delirious
Delirious

{All you people
Let me hear you make some noise}

Drop your guard let's jam
Right here's the spot
(Move your body)
We got this thing right here
Right here's the spot
(Drop it)
(I'm wanna get to you)

Drop your guard let's jam
Right here's the spot
(Touch ya body)
(And feel my effect yeah)
We got this thing right here
Right here's the spot
(It's electrifying)
Right here, right here's the spot

Right here's the spot
Right here's the spot
Delirious
Right here's the spot
Right here's the spot
Delirious

Play the MP3 online for free!

7a3d39199d645ad9021410ab079a9580

The Main Ingredient - Lyrics - Pete Rock And Cl Smooth

Title: The Main Ingredient
Artist: Pete Rock And Cl Smooth
Composer(s): Corey Penn, Peter Phillips, Les Mccann

Lyric:
One two, one two y'all
One two, check it out
Got my man CL
Can't forget my man, Cee Lo

Can't forget money earnin', Mount Vernon
Can't forget New Roch'
Can't forget Westchester
Can't forget, um, CL, hit me off

Feel the funk by the rap czars in sports cars
Comin' atcha now you listen at the feet of a master
Caution, not wheel of fortune, here's a portion
Of untamedness, approachin' famous, for miscellaneous

The track get crackin' though, unexplainable
When I ground a jewel, sound is simply uncontainable
Release my soul, but never make the mistake
And play me like a stone cold fruitcake man

'Cause you can never fathom G the dough we want so
My flows the steadiest, to never leave us penniless
Come on down to the very necessary legendary
Well, the more the merry stickin' women type of villain

The evidence relentless, I ride to see you magnetized
Mecca to begin you're locked in no doubt
The label better push this, so we can pay the rent
You can season the pot well, but here's 'The Main Ingredient'

'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient'
Yo, 'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient'

Yo, 'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
Yo, 'The Main Ingredient', kick it CL

I know you wonder what kind of way is that to think
Put all the wackiest rappers on a boat and let it sink
Don't blink, next thing you see you spot is taken
No, Jax I'm fakin' soldiers took the whole reservation

On a scale of one to ten, we move rather swiftly
Want a dime piece but we'll settle for an eight fifty
Don't blow mine, your trump card is exposed to pages
Now your beginning's already at the final stages

Pumpin' like 12 gauges from a shotgun blast
I never saw people run so fast, aight?
Stay up all night, then sleep all day
Makin' big Luci and would have it no other way

In conjunction, with the function, as stated
Orchestrated by the Soul Brother nickel plated
Tell the judge you were foolish and try to be lenient
'Cause you never had the 'The Main Ingredient'

'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'

'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
Hit the third verse off kid

This cap is peeled layin' joints like a minefield
When dynamite's my rhythm this is east coast terrorism
The Vernon Ville's Mecca Don, formin' Voltron tactics
Let off three verses and the crowd panics

Get 'em all, the kingpin of the player's ball
Now every tramp in your camp's going AWOL
My Luci situation is a daily operation
On the strip, I refine you like Tales From the Crypt

Right here's the real shit and all that other's counterfeit
Funk to let you know exactly what you're dealin' with
P R slash, C L smash, love to spend cash
For proper livin', slidin' up in wealthy women

Stick your hand in my pants and grab the mic's no crime
'Cause like sisters with voices, it's about time
For you to respect my whole foundation precisely
Be obedient, to 'The Main Ingredient'

Yo, 'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
Yo, 'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'

'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
'The Main Ingredient'
Check out the funk y'all

Mic check, one, two
CL Smooth and Pete Rock
Comin' back, for ninety four

Can't forget, drop us off
Get on, to get on
It's time to get on, peace to I n I
Yeah, can't forget Baby Pah

Can't forget the whole roster
One, two, check it
It's 'The Main Ingredient' y'all

'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all

'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all

'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient' y'all
'The Main Ingredient', bust it

Play the MP3 online for free!

7ec6be0145964a53238903eacf2b51e1

Back It Up - Lyrics - Grand Puba

Title: Back It Up
Artist: Grand Puba
Composer(s): David A. Love, Maxwell Dixon, James Mtume

Lyric:
Easy, back it up
Yeah yeah yeah the reel to reel
Easy, back it up
Grand Puba, Stud Doogie, Alamo
Easy, back it up

Kid Capri flippin' shit the way it's 'sposed to be
Easy, back it up
Back it up
And this how we gon' bump this off yo
Back it up, huh, easy back it up"

Hey! Kid Capri, here's the resume for the day
Check the prognosis, here's your daily dosage
Check the 411 on how we flip it
Grab a bag of boom, and a 40, and just sip it
Grand Puba, Kid Capri is on that new shit
In ninety-two aiyyo this is how we flip shit

Don't be alarmed if we start to drop a bomb
Drop a bomb
Drop a bomb like some shit in Vietnam
Prepare yourself, 'cause here we come, if you ready or not
Cold bouncin' in the joint, makin' hotties hot
Grand Puba comes to hit it on the right spot
Kid Capri, cashin' in on the jackpot

So here we go
Flip the show
Get the dough?
Get the dough?
Get the dough?
Yo, you know how that shit go

Back it up, huh, easy, back it up
Back it up, huh, easy, back it up
Back it up
Back it up, huh, easy back it up

Wow, yeah, check test check
Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Dig it y'all
Back it up

First things first, here goes the opposite of worst
Slid out my mother's ass, looked at the nurse, and kicked a verse
This ain't my man Heav's joint, so shit, here's a curse
For those who got stuck, well KCUF means FUCK
That's what I like to do after the Puba makes a buck
For those who say I suck well then step up and push your luck

You're aced out, now your assed-out, I still hit joints
'Til they pass out, at three o'clock I let my MC class out
So keep a clear focus, 'cause I say hocus pocus
That's all I have to say to make the mob swarm like locusts
(Yeah)

Then I climb the bridge, push Uptown to the [unverified]
To the Harlem River Drive to pick up Ali at the Rutgers
Then we chatta-nagga-noogi, to go pick up Stud Doogie
Easy, back it up
Ha hah, so all you Grand Puba wannabees
You better pack it up, easy, back it up

Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Huh, easy back it up
Back it up
Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Huh, easy back it up

Now dig it
Here's the kid, never did a bid
Never hit skid, check out the shit I did
Live in the Bronx, born in Brooklyn
Chilled in Manhattan never got my shit tooken

I'm easy on the flex, you know my shit is right
We're goin on a flight, so hold on tight
Kid Capri is on point with my man Grand Puba
If suckers try to flex they'll get twisted like a tuba
Never cause trouble, that's not my style

Always on the move, stack papes by the pile
I'm crazy on the low, but I go places though
I always do a show so you know I got dough
Girls try to sweet talk, but bullshit walk
For those who try to hawk I stab clit like a fork

I'm very intelligent, so don't try to play me
Try to press the issue and I'll bust that ass baby
I'm thick like a shake, very high yella
Describe Kid Capri, Uptown's big fella
So now you know the flavor, and please do me a favor
Stay your ass out my path, 'cause I snap you like a gator, later

Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Huh, easy back it up
Back it up
Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Huh, easy back it up

Back it up
Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Huh, easy back it up
Back it up
Back it up, huh, easy back it up
Huh, easy back it up

Back it up
Back it up
Back it up
Back it up
Easy back it up

Back it up
Back it up
Back it up
...

Play the MP3 online for free!

1e84615ffb34c29c09be970ef3daf970

Sun Won'T Come Out - Lyrics - Pete Rock And Cl Smooth

Title: Sun Won'T Come Out
Artist: Pete Rock And Cl Smooth
Composer(s): Harvey Scales, Corey Penn, Peter Phillips

Lyric:
Open, Sesame, steppin' through the mist, it's the specialist
Comin' to box and flooded with rocks
We'll get down for mine, the kind that makes cement feel us
Standin' in the company of killers

Follow my trail as I walk through the valley of death
Left, to fear no evil, 'cause what I grip is legal
I'm hot like yard, the point guard of this group, on the loop
Never your right, raising all your game type tonight

Entering the level of high gear
You'd think it took a Bob Marley spliff to get here
Front to rear God of the drugs that you're hearin'
While my neighbors say we need to be jailed for rackateerin'

Now appearin', Pete Rock and CL Smooth, to the jugular
Now you got Mecca and the Soul Brother
Slightly, you might raise a hair of doubt
But if we don't rock the spot, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Check it out, without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
Without, 'Anger in the Nation'
Yo, without 'Mecca and the Soul Brother'
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
You know we can't, 'Reminisce'
If we don't, 'Straighten It Out'
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Un-chained heat, I hustle on the street or beat
To keep you on the edge of your seat, you consumer
A QB-like boomer, the ultimate team
But if I wake up in another woman's bed, I'ma scream

I'm settin' up shop pop to overthrow Castro
Chokin' over Noriega's Garcia Vegas
Guess who supplies the pies and dope triples
Now she leaks ass cheeks, pearly whites and titty nipples

Would CL ever trick loot on PC?
Even if I never had sonny boy I disagree
Cut the small talk, I give more marks
Than a school of sharks on attack
So keep your ass back

When it's wack you get a thumbs down
Another record deal wasted, listen man
Find another occupation man, here's the persuasion
Blazin' one amazin route that's all about
'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Yo, so check it out, with Pete Rock and CL Smooth
You gotta, 'Act Like You Know'
'If It Ain't Rough, It Ain't Right' kid
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
You can't, 'Reminisce' to 'T.R.O.Y.'
If we don't, 'Straighten It Out'
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

I rule chicks off acoustics, watchin' the Knicks
We up ten, but need to stop shootin' bricks
Put the jailhouse funk in under stars
Till the lines on my looseleaf, look like some metal bars

My forecast hits a megablast and what I invent
A pack of bloodhounds could never get the scent
Payin' off the beast now my bills increase
If there's a five dollar rock sold in the park, I want a piece

'The Sun Won't Come Out', unless the crowd start this
'Cause if it was my choice, you all dance in darkness
'Cause any verse rips a total eclipse for sun rays
Anyways was the phrase back in my younger days

Now the God displays the attribute, dealin' with heat
From the basement, enterin' the streets you meet
Pete Rock and CL Smooth and when you see what it's about
You know, 'The Sun Came Out', now pass my shades

Yo, without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
Without, 'Anger in the Nation'
Yo, without, 'Mecca and the Soul Brother'
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
You gotta, 'Act Like You Know'
'If It Ain't Rough It Ain't Right' kid
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
We can't, 'Reminisce'
Yo, if we don't, 'Straighten It Out'
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out'

Without Pete Rock and CL Smooth
Without, 'Ghettos of the Mind'
If you know what I'm talkin' about
You know, 'The Sun Won't Come Out', so check it

One two, Pete Rock and CL Smooth for ninety-four
Breakin' you off somethin' proper
So check it, peace y'all

Play the MP3 online for free!

f427eacbf7e6871059023897b492f2a7

Reel To Reel - Lyrics - Grand Puba

Title: Reel To Reel
Artist: Grand Puba
Composer(s): Maxwell Dixon, Lou Donaldson

Lyric:
Here's that shit, yaknahmsayin'?
As we bounce it like this
For those who don't like it

Hey, yeah, yeah
Yeah yeah, hey
Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah, hey
Yeah, yeah, yeah, hey
It's just that shit, just that shit
That same ol' shit, that same ol' shit
Yeah, yeah, it's time to hit the wreck
What you expect, check out how we connect

Well, it's the reel to reel, it's the reel
Well, it's the reel to reel, well, it's the reel
It's the reel to reel, it's the reel
Well, it's the reel to reel, it's the reel

It's time to shake that shit because you know this one's
The answer, Hon's cut off, 'cause I smoke boom, my sign is cancer
Time to clear the pack 'cause here comes Mr. Jolly Rancher
Who's gonna flip that shit? You know the answer
Jump into my briefs, because the boxers my jewels jingle
I got a girl, but you can play me like I'm single
Don't worry hon, my pops showed me where it tingle
It's time to catch on, to this Grand Puba lingo

No fuss, don't worry, toys ain't us
Some call me horny so just call me Mr. Lust
Dope shit we got it so it's time to get retarded
So play like Handiman and lah-guu-guu got it
No fakes see we got it what it takes
We stay far away from snakes, sippin' on the chitlin' shakes
You know the deal, on how we really feel
C'mon hon, this shit is real

'Cause it's the reel to reel, it's the reel
Well, it's the reel to reel, it's the reel, Stud Doogie
Aiyyo, it's the reel to reel, it's the reel, Alamo
Well, it's the reel to reel, it's the reel

Now, back at it is a dope rhyme addict
Niggaz try to copy but man your shit has had it
So just let me do my thang, for all my people, hey, hey, hey
It doesn't matter the demo, just to keep it simple
Take the A-Train to the show so you can cancel the Limo
Stud Doogie, Alamo is on the top top, top top
And if ain't a zigga, zigga then it ain't hip-hop, hip-hop
I like when girls shake they booty to the rhymes

That I send 'em, some look good, so pardon if I bend 'em
Used to live in the rule, smoke a mic like kools
Niggaz that I used to swing with is smokin' wools
Damn they won't drop it, I strive to make them stop it
That shit's depressin' so let me change the topic
Honey, how's it feel when the real shit hits ya?
Hey yo, Puba that shit is real, chill I get witcha
Here's my number, just gimme a call

{The number you have reached
Has been temporarily, disconnected}

Oh shit, must how I played her out, yeah fuck it
So I go and get a guinness stout just waitin' for the
Next young girl to sprout, aw man, mommy better not
Let her out, Grand Puba, Stud Doogie, Alamo to hit
The right spot, back up diddy claat, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, here's the resume for the day, check the
4-1-1 hon, now check it yo, before we bounce on off
Like we gon' end it like this, on that realism
Yaknahmsayin'? The flavortism, check it yo, do them one

Now big up to my people in 60, 60
Big up to my people in 70, 70
Big up to my people in 81, 81
Big up to my people in 51, 51
Big up to my people in 80's
This is how we move on, so don't act shady
Grand Puba, Stud Doogie and Alamo
Catch on yo, 'cause this is how it go

Yeah yeah, ha hah, you know the flavor
Right up on out of here yaknahmsayin'?
The big kids in the house, toys ain't us, word is bond
This is that high tech shit knahmsayin'?
This ain't no Playland shit, nah
Great Adventures or Ashley Park

All of that shit, Kingdom of Whatever
I don't give a fuck where you're at
This is where you got to be
You know what I'm sayin'?
Stud Doogie how we bounce on, yaknahm sayin'?
Yeah, yeah, Coney Island, word up, that's good

Play the MP3 online for free!

7c1d0dad9e7a0405341c2a62f284e1e6

Crew Of The Year - Lyrics - The Movement - Harlem World

Title: Crew Of The Year
Album: The Movement
Artist: Harlem World
Composer(s): Ameen E Burns, Samuel J Barnes, Mason Betha, Chauncey Hawkins, Jean C Oliver

Lyric:
Yo throw the beat on
Yeah yeah yeah
Trackmaster
Harlem World The Movement
The Commisioner
Cuda Love up above
This shit is not a game
Ya hear me?

Suprise I'm 'bout to blow right before your eyes
Recognize the steelo of this nigga Meeno
First of all there will be no type of discussion
For this money the industry I'm bum rushing
And trusting who? Never that, only crew
And who's my crew? A chosen few that's how I do
So I could walk Harlem days, let it creep Harlem nights
Bum bitches givin' blows, parties and gunfights
Only right, I be the spark that will ignite
Explosions, MIC erosion, niggas is foldin'
And we are holdin' down the track
Proceed with caution, stop your flossin' or see a coffin
Guess what, what? It's really not too often
That I let loose like this, but fuck it
Here's a portion with no endorsement
Doin' what I gotta, to make it hotta
A nigga frontin' hard, so now I gotta blow his spot up
Show 'em I'mma be the one that's gonna blow 'em
Out the box, with the ox, nice to know 'em
Then screw him, like White Castle I ran right through him
Right through him, like I never knew him

Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
Scream it out, we don't give a fuck who isn't here
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
And murder niggas, all we do is a year
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
Scream it out, we don't give a fuck who isn't here
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
And murder niggas, all we do is a year
Scream it out

Yo, I was sworn, never again to sell drugs
But every now and then, yo, I tend to bust slugs
It's bug, how niggas get rolled up in rugs
Fold up, and dumped in a hole of a dug six feet
You creep, niggas know who the thug
And that's why Loon never showed you no love
You feminine, and don't know the shit you swimmin' in
Fucking with this thing was gentlemen that boost my adrenaline
Cool the momentum and flow, I'm in it for dough
And don't need to gimmick to blow
When I get it you know nigga, 'cause I visit yo' hoe
I hit it befo', I be there hit it some mo'
Y'all niggas on coke. Me? I think your shit is a joke
But y'all find out when the heavy hitters awoke
And opposed to me? Y'all niggas hoes to me
How the fuck you gettin' money doin' shows for free?

Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
Scream it out, we don't give a fuck who isn't here
(Harlem World)
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
(The Movement)
And murder niggas, all we do is a year
(All Out)
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
Scream it out, we don't give a fuck who isn't here
(Yeah kid, Harlem on the rise)
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
(C'mon, c'mon, c'mon)
And murder niggas, all we do is a year
(C'mon, c'mon)
Scream it out

Yo, now why talk Willy livin' in the tenements?
Why shoot Dominicans then go to the Hill again?
Then again, why repent when I'mma sin again?
Why eat at Blimpies if I could eat in the Bennigans?
Dumb niggas with Timbaland, til they body tremblin'
Messin' with Mase money and they'll be rememberin'
I hate the color green 'less it comes in Benjamins
Is that the same color my brother got sent up in?
You laugh all day but cry the sinner's sin
Stranded on the Island, I don't mean the Gilligan
You thug gentlemen, deep down feminine
'Cause in the pen, change your name to Cinnamon
You speakin' on money and you ain't put a penny in
You gon' float on the same shit they put the penguin in
And my adrenaline won't let me be no Minute Man
'Cause I put my dick in any bitch I could fit it in
C'mon

Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
Scream it out, we don't give a fuck who isn't here
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
And murder niggas, all we do is a year
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
Scream it out, we don't give a fuck who isn't here
Harlem World'll be the crew of the year
And murder niggas, all we do is a year
Scream it out

Play the MP3 online for free!

82c42d2a49dc62a1f5b2f61c2f29ab6d

Lower Da Boom - Lyrics - Artifact

Title: Lower Da Boom
Artist: Artifact
Composer(s): Rahem Ross Brown, Todd Ray, William E Williams

Lyric:
Hey man, try some of this
It's absolutely dynamic
Oh yea, shit

A lot of cats put down grass man
Like uh, uhh, because they say things about it
Like it makes you, lose your memory and all that
Well I just wanna say that uhh, uhh
I forget where I was man
Ohh, okay cut, Freddy, Freddy stop
Boom Skwad in the house

I lower da boom when I do the cypher dance
With naps and saggy pants as I romance the plants
I take puffs on stuff, rough enough to give a buzz
To my 'cuz even though he don't touch the stuff
See this blunt in my front, some say might stink
But yo the skunk helps me think

I'm a boom smoker joker with the knack because I'm gifted
Some say misfit, but fuck it let's get lifted
I get a box of 50, get nifty with a spliff G
And tick tackle new jacks who tried to diss me

I walk through the rain for dimes at the sess spot
Not hot with cops, 'cause I'd hate to get popped
I'm a terror to a trey bag, son, you'll soon see
But I gots to get higher, lower the boom G

Lower da boom, you got to lower da boom
Where the brothers puff the ism and the smoke clouds the room
Spark that blunt, represent don't front
We got what you want, it's the indo funk

Ahh, I just catch the fumes so I consume
Bend the room, with the duplicate tune
Spark another L for the cypher
Sit back and light the five inch adventure that's alright

Lower the boom for the sess bags thicker
One's a flight to Phillie, while the other one's the liquor
Off to the weed spot, the bag's better be fat
Or else you catch the speed knot and Holmes, you don't need that

Spark the indo or the L, sniff the weed
But I never get splits mista 'cause Tame's been hip ta
The baby of the blunts, so I'm down to catch the contact
Here's the rap chat, it's a fact that I react

Smooth from the boom consumed a zoom, zoom a zoomin'
MC El, the leaner cleaner thoughts dials tune-in
Into the matter roll the blunt, bunt batter
Pass the shit quick, don't flip with the chit chatter

I never puckered once, my lungs got jammed
My man said it wouldn't kill, but I choke, goddamn
The sess starts to cloud the room
The Artifacts, commences ta, lower the boom

Lower da boom, you got to lower da boom
Where the brothers puff the ism and the smoke clouds the room
Spark that blunt, represent don't front
We got what you want, it's the indo funk

Ohh, I hope I live to see the day they make it legal
So all the people can see what I'm smokin' ain't evil
Stop callin' me a pusher 'cause I take pulls and take tokes
Cut snakes, cut breaks and I hate fake folks

So pass the cheeba, senorita 'cause I need a
Fat fuckin' Phillie just before I funk a freaker
Creatin' from the milk crate with hooks and riffs
I can lift 'em and shift 'em makin' jams like this

With the blunt in my left hand and the Phillie in my pocket
MC El, at my right, with the mic so I can rock it
Sess makes my eyes red, but shades only cost three bills
In Hooter ville, so I'm chill

See the bigger the blunt, is how I feel about my indo
Because my moms would never throw my shit out the window
I puff herb 'til noon, chill and watch cartoons
Yes once again, I lowered the boom

Are you weeded? Nope see, I'm doper for the session
Catchin' wreck, check the tec 'cause I'm sober for the sketch
If I'm caught smokin' blunts, I catch a bad one from my clan, see
I'm higher than a Messiah so you know I'm handy dandy

Legalize it Holmes 'cause the zone's gettin' bigger
From the whites to the Ricans 'cause they learned it from the niggaz
So who's the first to kick it real for the cypher?
Eight Phillies so you know you gots to pass the other lighter

Pass the incense gents, it smells out in the hall
My groupies think I'm stunnin' 'cause I'm six feet tall
No need for the sheepa cheeba cleaner than Beaver Cleaver
Though I'm down to pitch, with my skit like Tom Seaver

Either or my jaw speak of true features
I must be, the freaker of this doper class teacher
So pass the Visine, so you can keep your eyes clean
Look to Looney Tunes, we lowered the boom

Lower da boom, you got to lower da boom
Where the brothers puff the ism and the smoke clouds the room
Spark that blunt, represent don't front
We got what you want, it's the indo funk

Lower da boom, you got to lower da boom
Where the brothers puff the ism and the smoke clouds the room
Spark that blunt, represent don't front
We got what you want, it's the indo funk

Lower da boom, spark that blunt
Lower da boom, ya got to lower da boom
Spark that blunt, represent don't front

I just wanna say that, ahh
A lot of you cats, that don't think
Marijuana should be legalized
Well, you're all fucked, cut
Lower da boom

Play the MP3 online for free!

93f4846f04a2fce185c5a13fc532c0c4

G.O.D. Pt. Iii - Lyrics - Hell On Earth - Mobb Deep

Title: G.O.D. Pt. Iii
Album: Hell On Earth
Artist: Mobb Deep
Composer(s): Kejuan Muchita, Albert Johnson, G Moroder

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

Lyric:
Some of that 151, son, yeah, some of that bogus
Aight, aiyyo, son, yo, yo
You think that motherfuckin' nigga's out there right now, son?
Word, what he doin' out here?

Son, we got drama with that nigga
Be tryin' to fuckin' front last week
What, that kid out there?
Yo, I seen that nigga earlier, knahmsayin'?

Nah, fuck that, go, go open the window real quick, son
Open that fuckin' window
You gonna take him from the window, nigga?
Yo, hold up, that, there go, that's that nigga right there, son
Right next to the basketball court?

Yeah, yeah, that's the one
Oh, shit, c'mere, c'mere, c'mere, c'mere, turn the lights out
Turn the lights out, c'mon through
Back up, back up, they lookin'

Aiyyo, son, I'ma hit that nigga right now, son
Word to Mom, I'ma hit him out the window, son
Yo, you buggin', son, nah, chill 'Zo, fuck that
I'ma hit that nigga right out the motherfuckin' window

Hold up, you want somebody go bust him?
Nah fuck, that I'ma hit this nigga out the window, son
Ga head, man, shit, shit, shit, don't blow it up, duck down

Yo, let me do it, man, let me do it, go 'head
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, nigga, yeah
Yeah, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, fucker, what?

Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yeah, that's a small thing

G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

Awright, now pay attention to the crime rhyme Houdini P
Keepin' you niggaz in perspective
Mobb, representative, call me the specialist
Professional professor at this rap science

Up in the laboratory, here's why your small rhyme bore me
Store bought rap ain't shit, my category
Is that of an insane who strike back
I draw first blood, it's over with and that's that

You wanna square off, sayin' slice that cat?
You get splashed from back of your head to ass crack
Surgical signs to the end with iron map
Which bring Apocalypse to this game called rap

Not a game but quite serious and yo, in fact
You'll be runnin' for dear life so far you might fall off the map
Fuckin' with P, you need a gat
At least to have the opportunity to bust back

First shot, the motherfucker pack around world premier
Shook individuals bound from blind fear
Scared to death niggaz fall to they worst fear
Horror tales in Braille for vision impaired

You lookin' for P, well, you can find him everywhere
In a project near you, I'll be right there
I was brought up and taught to have no fear
Live wire niggaz stay behind me in the rear

Cowardly hearts step aside, stand clear
My bloodthirsty niggaz got they eyes on you
QBC, lime Bacardi, G.O.D. Father Pt. III
On some hashish in Embassy Suite, crash your party

Yo, it's the G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

It's the, G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

Yeah, yo, lime Bacardi, gettin' bent, crash the party
Handle B-I, bringin' it to anybody
Physical damage, crowd control handle cannons
Hittin' you ripped, leave your bloodstream contamin-ed

While you actin' out of character, we observin'
Drillin' 'em down so hard, I know we felt it comin' at 'em
Hennessey raps float like the Phantom
Runnin' you up out of the spot in which you standin'

Never second-guess a cat who hold gat
Concealed but easily revealed and fast
Body castin' raps to get your back snapped in half
And severed, impossible pain beyond measure

Sheisty livin' brought him to his last bread
Life changed around quick to one stead
Face full of fear, conquerin' your ice grill
Tragedies, put him to sleep like NyQuil

Givin' a overdose of this rap potent
Potentially dangerous, fatally left open
For the roaches, scavengers, that's EMS
Funeral homes, anticipatin' your death

That's the dead truth, check in the morgue
You'll find proof enough to make you think and stop before
Your ship sink to the bottom
Night owl leave the mark and spot him
You know the routine, face up before I shot him

Yo, it's the G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

It's the, G.O., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

What? Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
G.O.D., Father Pt. III, niggaz

Play the MP3 online for free!

54eb86ddb5d44319e2f29f137caae7e6

G.O.D. Pt. Iii (Remix) - Lyrics - Soundtrack Exclusives & Rarities - Mobb Deep

Title: G.O.D. Pt. Iii (Remix)
Album: Soundtrack Exclusives & Rarities
Artist: Mobb Deep
Composer(s): Kejuan Muchita, Albert Johnson, G Moroder

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

Lyric:
Some of that 151, son, yeah, some of that bogus
Aight, aiyyo, son, yo, yo
You think that motherfuckin' nigga's out there right now, son?
Word, what he doin' out here?

Son, we got drama with that nigga
Be tryin' to fuckin' front last week
What, that kid out there?
Yo, I seen that nigga earlier, knahmsayin'?

Nah, fuck that, go, go open the window real quick, son
Open that fuckin' window
You gonna take him from the window, nigga?
Yo, hold up, that, there go, that's that nigga right there, son
Right next to the basketball court?

Yeah, yeah, that's the one
Oh, shit, c'mere, c'mere, c'mere, c'mere, turn the lights out
Turn the lights out, c'mon through
Back up, back up, they lookin'

Aiyyo, son, I'ma hit that nigga right now, son
Word to Mom, I'ma hit him out the window, son
Yo, you buggin', son, nah, chill 'Zo, fuck that
I'ma hit that nigga right out the motherfuckin' window

Hold up, you want somebody go bust him?
Nah fuck, that I'ma hit this nigga out the window, son
Ga head, man, shit, shit, shit, don't blow it up, duck down

Yo, let me do it, man, let me do it, go 'head
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, nigga, yeah
Yeah, gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme, fucker, what?

Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yeah, that's a small thing

G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

Awright, now pay attention to the crime rhyme Houdini P
Keepin' you niggaz in perspective
Mobb, representative, call me the specialist
Professional professor at this rap science

Up in the laboratory, here's why your small rhyme bore me
Store bought rap ain't shit, my category
Is that of an insane who strike back
I draw first blood, it's over with and that's that

You wanna square off, sayin' slice that cat?
You get splashed from back of your head to ass crack
Surgical signs to the end with iron map
Which bring Apocalypse to this game called rap

Not a game but quite serious and yo, in fact
You'll be runnin' for dear life so far you might fall off the map
Fuckin' with P, you need a gat
At least to have the opportunity to bust back

First shot, the motherfucker pack around world premier
Shook individuals bound from blind fear
Scared to death niggaz fall to they worst fear
Horror tales in Braille for vision impaired

You lookin' for P, well, you can find him everywhere
In a project near you, I'll be right there
I was brought up and taught to have no fear
Live wire niggaz stay behind me in the rear

Cowardly hearts step aside, stand clear
My bloodthirsty niggaz got they eyes on you
QBC, lime Bacardi, G.O.D. Father Pt. III
On some hashish in Embassy Suite, crash your party

Yo, it's the G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

It's the, G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

Yeah, yo, lime Bacardi, gettin' bent, crash the party
Handle B-I, bringin' it to anybody
Physical damage, crowd control handle cannons
Hittin' you ripped, leave your bloodstream contamin-ed

While you actin' out of character, we observin'
Drillin' 'em down so hard, I know we felt it comin' at 'em
Hennessey raps float like the Phantom
Runnin' you up out of the spot in which you standin'

Never second-guess a cat who hold gat
Concealed but easily revealed and fast
Body castin' raps to get your back snapped in half
And severed, impossible pain beyond measure

Sheisty livin' brought him to his last bread
Life changed around quick to one stead
Face full of fear, conquerin' your ice grill
Tragedies, put him to sleep like NyQuil

Givin' a overdose of this rap potent
Potentially dangerous, fatally left open
For the roaches, scavengers, that's EMS
Funeral homes, anticipatin' your death

That's the dead truth, check in the morgue
You'll find proof enough to make you think and stop before
Your ship sink to the bottom
Night owl leave the mark and spot him
You know the routine, face up before I shot him

Yo, it's the G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

It's the, G.O., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC, sip lime Bacardi
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama, we bring, yo, that's a small thing

What? Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
G.O.D., Father Pt. III, niggaz

Play the MP3 online for free!

6637718f213edaf95e60041a75118910

Baby Appeal - Lyrics - The Red Hot Chili Peppers - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Title: Baby Appeal
Album: The Red Hot Chili Peppers
Artist: Red Hot Chili Peppers
Composer(s): Hillel Slovack, Michael Peter Balzary, Cliff Martinez, Anthony Kiedis, Jack Sherman

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

Lyric:
On the city streets, I got the tunes in my pocket
I'll play the Chili Pepper so the public can rock
Excuse me mister, won't you hear my thought?
I play in a band, yeah, we're called the Red Hots

While I'm away, boy, I'm afraid not
I've got no time to flick and talk
But this baby rocked out on the spot
She was a shakin' and a kickin' and that did a bit of tot

Her pop said no but I just couldn't stop
The killer had a case of tod the rock

But here's a funky fact that I know is real
The Red Hots have baby appeal
They dig a funky spiel, they'll make some spiel
I say the Peppers have baby appeal

The funk mobile is the one we wheel
I'm overjoyed, we have baby appeal
We serve those tots in the funk mobile
I'm overjoyed, we have baby appeal

We stop the fire, we quench the heat
We groove the buttocks walking out in the street
'Cos that's when in the store, when who do we meet?
On a hop, skip, jump up a baby beat

She was a shakin' and a kickin' those itty bitty feet
The next thing you know was, she got out of her bleat
Five thousand babies, walkin' out in the street
Well, that's a serious sight for me and golly gee wizz

I just can't tell ya how much we did
Rockin' right out for those itty bitty girls, right out

But here's a funky fact that I know is real
The Red Hots have baby appeal
They dig a funky spiel, they'll make some spiel
I say the Peppers have baby appeal

The funk mobile is the one we wheel
I'm overjoyed, we have baby appeal
We serve those tots in the funk mobile
I'm overjoyed, we have baby appeal, so get down

Got the tunes in my pocket
Baby appeal, rock out
Play the chili, play the chili, play the chili
Yes, we're called the Red Hots

On the city streets, I got the tunes in my pocket
I'll play the Chili Pepper, so the public can rock
Excuse me mister, won't you hear my thought?
I play in a band, yeah, we're called the Red Hots

While I'm away, boy, I'm afraid not
I've got no time to flick and talk
But this baby rocked out on the spot
She was a shakin' and a kickin' and that did a bit of tot

Her pop said no but I just couldn't stop
The killer had a case of tod the rock

But here's a funky fact that I know is real
The Red Hots have baby appeal
They dig a funky spiel, they'll make some spiel
I say the Peppers have baby appeal

The funk mobile is the one we wheel
I'm overjoyed, we have baby appeal
We serve those tots in the funk mobile
I'm overjoyed, we have baby appeal

Play the MP3 online for free!

9b2611426ddcc378cd159a1a6b9253a4

Fair Xchange (Remix) - Lyrics - Better Dayz - 2pac

Title: Fair Xchange (Remix)
Album: Better Dayz
Artist: 2pac
Composer(s): Mya Marie Harrison, Johnny Jackson, Kim Ratcliffe, Troy Johnson, Tupac Shakur

Lyric:
No, no

Picture of perfection, the object of a nigga affection
Partners in passionate sex, a place to put my erection
Fantasies of you in submission, freaky positions
Pushin' permanent twistin', I'm on a mission got me on the mash

Tried to dig, you was screamin' when I did
Steady yellin out spots for me to hit, and aww shit
Soon as I seen her saw us playin' hide the weiner
Wanna, "Freak Like Me" fuck Adina

Up and down is the object, side to side
Make you holla out my name when a thug nigga ride
Can I come inside, say you don't feel it that's a lie
You just scared to get this penitentiary dick, the trot caught your eye

When I walked by, I said, "Hi" but you was so shy, I can't lie
Damn near stuttered when you walked by
You want me to lick it and even worse
Got your heart set on me goin' first, and that ain't no fair exchange

Only one thing that you can do for me
Baby, you can treat me right, we can do it every night
Nothin' more than a fair exchange
Hit my G-spot and make me scream your name
If you can get with me, you won't, I got what I want and gone
Nothin' more than a fair exchange

Open your legs
Got me watchin' like it's a million, you tremble from the feelin'
Look up, 'cause I got mirrors on the ceiling
And if you willin' then we can ride until the sun shine
And just for fun, I betchu I can make you cum sixty-one times

Close your eyes, let me heat it up
'Cause when we fuck I refuse to bust a nut until I beat it up
Drop the top, time to fuck while the wind blow
Baby, throw yo' legs out the window

Remember on the balcony, bend over baby bounce on me
And let me hit it where it counts and flee
Remember me? "I Get Around," and I'm haunted by my temptations
Sexual participation, my motivation

Even though I like the way you work it
You don't deserve it 'cause you walk around actin' like you perfect
Took a while but I finally got it, and like a boss player
Bitch you ain't doin' me no favors, fair exchange

Only one thing that you can do for me
Baby, you can treat me right, we can do it every night
Nothin' more than a fair exchange
Hit my G-spot and make me scream your name
If you can get with me, you won't, I got what I want and gone
Nothin' more than a fair exchange

Now yo' attitude ain't realistic
Yeah, it's true I'm gettin pussy, but baby you gettin dick!
And since you bein' laced with the penetration
It's only right to show a form of appreciation

Instead of fakin' like you can't hear the bed shakin'
In bed naked you so twisted think yo' legs breakin'
You said take it so I'm blind in my passion, how long will I last?
Doggie style, steady pumpin' on that ass, until I blast

And then I laugh as we lay back
See I wait 'til you asleep and that's the payback
'Cause you actin' like you did somethin', givin me a piece
I had you mufflin' your screams in the sheets, fuckin' with me

A true digger that love triggers, a thug nigga
Hustlin' bitches like drug dealers
Before I say, "Good-bye", put an end to all the games
Here's my number for another fair exchange

Only one thing that you can do for me
Baby, you can treat me right, we can do it every night
Nothin' more than a fair exchange
Hit my G-spot and make me scream your name
If you can get with me, you won't, I got what I want and gone
Nothin' more than a fair exchange

Only one thing that you can do for me
Baby, you can treat me right, we can do it every night
Nothin' more than a fair exchange
Hit my G-spot and make me scream your name
If you can get with me, you won't, I got what I want and gone
Nothin' more than a fair exchange

No one, gives me lovin'
Quite like you do
No one, gives me lovin'
Quite like you do

Play the MP3 online for free!

7fd3c782f32626a99644b74a5e3599a7

All The Places - Lyrics - Pete Rock And Cl Smooth

Title: All The Places
Artist: Pete Rock And Cl Smooth
Composer(s): Fonce Mizell, Larry Mizell, Corey Penn, Peter Phillips

Lyric:
All the places and spaces I've been
All the places and spaces I've been
All the places and spaces I've been
All the places and spaces I've been

Welcome to the zone where the strong only survive
Places I drive all the gangsters can't stay alive
Take my universal journey through the jungles of the hardest town
Where my brothers lay their life down
You want something to play with?
Go find some toys when you mistake these grown men for little boys
More real than what is real so feel I'm sending
Compare the God with no beginning and we'll have no ending
My blessed rings are down with the kings revalation
Had heard me on the run-dmc's reincarnation
Child abuse, women loose, robbery and triple homicide
Every where this black man resides still
Check the monolouge, I'm on a 6 a.m. jog
To regain my powers, do a set before the showers
I'm prime for the summertime, the big time bowler
But any season or reason we can't take it over

All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?

Are you ready for the legendary crazy rugged ready war?
Known to be the smooth that sat by the door
Furthermore, for you and I to click, here's the stats
Take all that dirty money, set the wash doors and laundromats
You love to gamble now we open an after-hours spot
20 Sacks with the guiness for the jackpot
Members only, playing pool like willie marconi
With a tenderoni chatting about the gs I'm batting
I'm patting down with the sound of a general
Fully supplied by my ghettofied residential
We come to rebuild and turn off the heat now
Hoping we can take it back to yugenot street
Palled around the screen tv watching the fight
Tonight, cause if it ain't rough it ain't right
Ink tents in all of my circumference I connect
Now demanding all types of respect, can you dig it?

All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?

Traveling the warp speed we come to the peak
Like a missle I probe and seek, many can't critique
My physique is still solid, chiseled down to the very last compound
I'm trying that chin, fool, where you been?
Still sliding girls in as soon as pops fall asleep
His game tight, set to flip a shorty late night
I like rocks and groupies, condo shows and cuties
The hottest cars and the strongest drinks at the bars
This is one of those joints that make you stand by the exits
Cause every time I'm yapping something crazy happens
Keep my tool in my baggy jeans rolling with sneaker feet
Who got a life term working for the firm
My labor's fruit off of business as usual
Plus my two clan band is making me a wealthy man
Now from where I stand, believe it's not a game
Pete rock and c.l. smooth's a household name

All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?
All the places and spaces I've been can you feel it?

Play the MP3 online for free!

7a32388dd149f25174c211002e4c177a

The Hype - Lyrics - No Pressure - Erick Sermon

Title: The Hype
Album: No Pressure
Artist: Erick Sermon
Composer(s): Erick Sermon, George Jr Clinton, Allen Mcgrier, Teena Marie Brockert, David L Spradley, Garry M Shider

Lyric:
Here's a little story I gots to tell

Hype, one, two like that y'all
Check it out one, two y'all
It's the beat, that make it one and two y'all
It's the beat, that makes me wanna [unverified]
Peace to my niggards, peace to my mens
Like that, one, two y'all, check it out

Sunday's here, the end of the week
And the club's packed and shit, I feel like freaking'
Pick up the phone, call my niggaz, yo what up dude?
Need me a bitch man, to put me in the fuckin' mood
Check this here, I'll pick you up around twelve O'clock
Right around the parking lot, I'll find a spot, it's on, man
I'll see you soon in about twelve hours, yeah past noon

It's the hype yo, it's the hype

Word, pulled up brake by the front door
Parlay and I stepped out hardcore
I tipped the boy park the car in the front
Not the back, in case I have to run and get my strap
I walked inside, somebody sing, "Erick Sermon"
That's me, got me in free, looked around the club

Man, no half steppin', walked straight up to the V.I.P. section
Sat by the wall, so I can see what's happenin'
My boys, spread out, got their girls, and rappin'
Oh no, I see a girl comin' towards me, posse deep
So I paused for the cause G, she approached me
Hi, told me her name, I told her my name, then kicked the game

Sat beside me, like Little Miss Tuffet, hello
Talkin' bullshit, knowin' I want to fuck it
Basically, I figured she was widdit
So I pulled out my ink pen and exchanged the phone digits
Gimme a call when you get to your crib
So I can get directions, right to where you live

She smiled and left, the girl was wide open
I'm no jokin' when the E blows the smoke in
Check the Rolex, asked for my check
The waitress came over in a pair of black spandex
Gave me a look like, aren't you Erick Sermon?
Yes, and who is it concernin'?" Me, that's the hype

It's the hype

I asked her, "What time you get off?" Oh, in fifteen minutes
So I stormed the bitch like a blizzard
Can I take you home? Sure meet me in the parking lot
I'll flash my high beams, so you can find my spot
She came out, man, she was all that
Cool like that and stacked like that

She jumped in with a wide open grin
Before I went to her crib, I dropped off my best friend
Got to his house and gave him dap
He knew what time it was, so he passed me a jim hat
Got to her house, then parked the Jeep

I asked her who was home, she said, ?Her sister but she sleep?
Walked upstairs, right into the room
With one skylight, lookin' straight at the moon
She wasted no time, man, she was on it
Grabbed for the bozack, and her hands was packed
Took off our clothes, went to work, man trust me

I heard someone knockin', somebody tried to bust me
It was her sister, man, I must be buggin', shit
It's the same girl, I met from the night clubbers
That's your sister? Oh I didn't know, I'll go
And they both screamed, "Hell no", they smiled
With a devilish grin and the other sister jumped in

That's the hype, it's the hype yo
That's the hype, word 'em up
One, two it's the hype, check it out yo yo
It's the hype yo, it's the hype, yo it's the hype
Word em up it's the hype
Yo, [unverified] take 'em out

Play the MP3 online for free!

59b96e2b1c17edf22b0cb0ac2ebe476f

Do That S*** - Lyrics - Ruff Ryders

Title: Do That S***
Artist: Ruff Ryders
Composer(s): Eve Jeffers, Darrin Dean, Kasseem Dean

Lyric:
Sick when she rock shit, stop when block shit
Never try to run when she pull back the cock shit
Stop, drop, shut 'em down open up shop shit
Got 'em goin' crazy, wonderin' when they could cop shit

First lady, Ruff Ryder, honey got the hot shit
Star-bound, money now, for jet-black drop shit
Eve guarantee, betcha' niggaz wanna pop this
Little kids be behind me screamin' out, "Can you stop Miss?"

I know they daddy's fiendin', daydreamin' bout me topless
Real bitches listen while they ride around and knock my shit
Try not to move ya head, come on now, stop it
Hustle nigga betty take yours quicker than coke profit

'Cuz I can double it, and put
Bitch on bitch, brick on brick, stich on stich, who you fuckin' wit?
Not me, can't a nigga or bitch stop me
You hatin' mothafuckas line up for your first copy

Y'all fuckin' with the right ones, uhh
Role it up and just lite some, uhh
Where my niggaz with the big guns?
And when you smoke that shit it's like, whoa, whoa

Y'all fuckin' with the right ones, uhh
Role it up and just lite some, uhh
Where my bitches that take ones?
And when you smoke that shit it's like, whoa, whoa

Uh, yo start the beef, hold up, ran when we rolled up
Tough guy, wanna try ya luck? Betcha' fold up
Ask around partner, got this whole shit sewed up
Gotcha' cryin' like, "Man I wanna blow up"

Cowards make me sick, swear to god I wanna throw-up
Answer in a session with me? You better flow tough
Offended? Don't agree with what I'm sayin' nigga? So what?
Now I gotta teach you respect, you better slow up

Question, 'Can she really hold it down?' Sure enough
Philly's where she from, but when she smoke, she like to go Dutch
You know what? Quick to take the next man Shyne
Quick to make him start bitchin' make the next man whine

Fuckin babies!! Go ahead and lay down, it's nap-time
Same shit you spittin', heard it in your last rhyme
Ain't to much thatchu' could do, so that'chure skills could pass mine
Career fineto, here's some dough, go watch a peep show

Y'all fuckin' with the right ones, uhh
Role it up and just lite some, uhh
Where my niggaz with the big guns?
And when you smoke that shit it's like, whoa, whoa

Y'all fuckin' with the right ones, uhh
Role it up and just lite some, uhh
Where my bitches that take ones?
And when you smoke that shit it's like, whoa, whoa

What me to talk crazy, shit, my mom's made me
And all ya'll niggas can do is spend a paybie
Ain't gonna never change, do anything for bricks
Call my celly to come get you while I pass you in your Range

Nigga ride ya shotgun in the car wit' your friends
And what the fuck you wanna do? But wanna blow out your brains?
Clown, I spot 'em from the time you buy me a drink
Instantly I get a vision of diamond studded links
And full ink minks, and little doggies dyed pink

'Cuz I know ya wanna spend your last, before you even think
If you know somethin', speak the shit, I can keep a secret
To me, the niggas with the most money, is the cheapest
Wanna give me money off the book? Daddy you can keep it

That's why they got the most sites, and in the most fights
And walk with big brolic niggas thats protectin' they life
If you know you pussy nigga, take off the ice

Y'all fuckin' with the right ones, uhh
Role it up and just lite some, uhh
Where my niggaz with the big guns?
And when you smoke that shit it's like, whoa, whoa

Y'all fuckin' with the right ones, uhh
Role it up and just lite some, uhh
Where my bitches that take ones?
And when you smoke that shit it's like, whoa, whoa

Play the MP3 online for free!

bd6f40384a0263db1698ddf126f88946

Can’t Forget About You - Lyrics - Hip Hop Is Dead - Nas

Title: Can’t Forget About You
Album: Hip Hop Is Dead
Artist: Nas
Composer(s): Chrisette Michele Payne, Irving Gordon, William Adams, Nasir Jones

Lyric:
There comes a day in your life when you wanna kick back
Straw hat on the porch when you're old perhaps
Wanna gather your thoughts, have a cold one brag
To your grandkids about how life is golden

So I will light a cigar in the corridor of the crib
Pictures on the wall of all the things that I did
All the money and fame, 8 by 10's
Of the whole Rat Pack inside of a big frame

Collidin' with big names that could've made your career stop
All that, and your man is still here and I'm still hot
Wow, I need a moment y'all
See I almost felt a tear drop

When was the last time you heard a real anthem?
Nas, the millionaire, the mansion
When was the last time you heard your boy Nas rhyme
Never on schedule, but always on time

These streets hold my deepest days
This hood taught me golden ways
Made me, truly this is what made me
Break me, not a thing's gonna break me

These streets hold my deepest days
This hood taught me golden ways
Made me, truly this is what made me
Break me, not a thing's gonna break me

Ohh, I'm that history, I'm that block
I'm that lifestyle, I'm that spot
I'm that kid by the number spot
That's my past that made me hot

Here's my life long anthem
Can't forget about you
Can't forget about
Can't forget about you

Can't forget about the old school, Bam, Cas, Melle Mel, Flash
Rock Steady spinnin' on they back
Can't forget when the first rap Grammy went to Jazzy, Fresh Prince
Fat Boys broke up, rap hasn't been the same since

So irregular, how it messed you up
When Mr. T became a wrestler
Can't forget about Jordan's retirement
The shot Robert Horry hit to win the game in the finals, kid

Some things are forever, some things are not
It's the things we remember that gave the world shock
They stay in a place in your mind so snug
Like who the person was with whom you first made love

When was the last time you heard a real anthem?
Nas, the millionaire, the mansion
When was the last time you heard your boy Nas rhyme
Never on schedule, but always on time

These streets hold my deepest days
This hood taught me golden ways
Made me, truly this is what made me
Break me, not a thing's gonna break me

These streets hold my deepest days
This hood taught me golden ways
Made me, truly this is what made me
Break me, not a thing's gonna break me

Ohh, I'm that history, I'm that block
I'm that lifestyle, I'm that spot
I'm that kid by the number spot
That's my past that made me hot

Here's my life long anthem
Can't forget about you
Forget about you
Forget about you

Unforgettable, unsubmittable
I go by N now, just one syllable
It's the end 'cause the game's tired, it's the same vibe
Good times had right after James died

That's why the gangsta rhymers ain't inspired
Heinous crimes help record sales more than creative lines
And I don't wanna keep bringing up the greater times
But I'm a dreamer nostalgic with the state of mind

The past, the past enough of it, aight then
But nothing gives me chills like Douglas and Tyson
Or Mike when his talk was live
Or when he first did the moon walk on Motown 25

When was the last time you heard a real anthem?
Nas, the millionaire, the mansion
When was the last time you heard your boy Nas rhyme
Never on schedule, but always on time

These streets hold my deepest days
This hood taught me golden ways
Made me, truly this is what made me
Break me, not a thing's gonna break me

These streets hold my deepest days
This hood taught me golden ways
Made me, truly this is what made me
Break me, not a thing's gonna break me

That's why, darling, it's incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

Play the MP3 online for free!

5f04ac84e9af949d45938dd30ed88ae8