White Lady White Powder - Lyrics - 21 At 33 - Elton John

Title: White Lady White Powder
Album: 21 At 33
Artist: Elton John
Composer(s): Elton John, Bernie Taupin

Lyric:
Dust settles on a thin cloud
Sends a fog drifting to a worn out crowd
I've had my face in the mirror for twenty-four hours
Starin' at a line of white powder

High-priced madness pays the tab
I've scraped too much of nothing from your plastic bag
I'm a catatonic son of a bitch who's had
A touch too much of white powder

And she's a habit I can't handle
For a reason I can't say
I'm in love with a wild white lady
She's as sweet as the stories say

White powder
(White powder)
White lady
(White lady)
You're one and the same
Come on down to my house, won't you?
And hit this boy again

Shock waves to a tired brain
Sends that hungry lady to my door again
She's my shelter from the storm when I feel the rain
Entertaining white powder

I feel I'm dry-docked and tongue-tied
Heaven sends a stretcher for the kids to ride
I might just escape while the others might die
Riding on a high of white powder

And she's a habit I can't handle
For a reason I can't say
I'm in love with a wild white lady
She's as sweet as the stories say

White powder
(White powder)
White lady
(White lady)
You're one and the same
Come on down to my house, won't you?
And hit this boy again

I feel I'm dry-docked and tongue-tied
Heaven sends a stretcher for the kids to ride
I might just escape while the others might die
Riding on a high of white powder

And she's a habit I can't handle
For a reason I can't say
I'm in love with a wild white lady
She's as sweet as the stories say

White powder
(White powder)
White lady
(White lady)
You're one and the same
Come on down to my house, won't you?
And hit this boy again

White powder
White lady
(White lady)
Hit this boy again

White powder
White lady
(White lady)
Hit this boy again

White powder
White lady
(White lady)
Hit this boy again
...

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Tha Beehive - Lyrics - La Bella Mafia - Lil' Kim

Title: Tha Beehive
Album: La Bella Mafia
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): Ray Evans, Kimberly Jones, Estate Of Christopher Wa

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Lyric:
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy

Ms. White, that bitch with a thousand looks
Come through with a thousand crooks
I just know what it takes to get this money like Blow
Catch a body, get a face lift, disappear like Pablo

Y'all niggas think I won't jump in the heap
Well, let's dance, you lames are finished
I serve all y'all cowards like a game of tennis
Act like you want some of this and I'll give you the business

You see the yellow and black, you know what it's about
Wrinkled assed niggas gets ironed, to straighten you out
I got thugs in the east, thugs in the south
That'll stick with the AIDS needle and piss in your mouth

I kept 'em on a leash and now it's time to let 'em out
Better pray to Jehovah, the game is over
Don't ever, ever, ever, ever underestimate
Lil' Kim the poster girl at 718

Ride outta town with my nigga, holdin' his weight
After it's cooked, chopped in eights the size of plates
You bitches ain't been through shit, you just minors
What you know about stuffin' half a bricks in your vagina

It's the dick licker, it's the baby sipper
Ain't a bitch alive can make a nigga cum quicker
Baby girl's pussy get wetter than a shower cap
Got my mans back like a Jansport napsack

And Queen Bee gon' bring you nothin' but heat
Homicide is lookin' for me for killin' these beats
You in the wrong department, this the upper class section
You hoes is startin' to irritate me like a yeast infection

Good heavens, somebody get the Monostat 7
And hit me why don'tcha, hit me why don'tcha
The boss lady, I hold it down for my babies
Rappers better run and hide 'cause here comes the Beehive

It's your boy, Money Cash, I get love in the streets
Breathin' dro colored Benz's with dutch colored seats
Lay in the crib on Tuesdays, duckin' the sweep
Nigga jump off, then get pumped off your feet

I'm like Rostein, low key and brilliant with numbers
I'm tryna blow sticky in Brazil with the Hummer
If you spittin' and I'm grippin' this tech
Then that's 32 shots, our throwback's like Mitchell and Ness

Man, I'm a project nigga, still piss on the steps
And keep the brim on my fitted a little twist to the left
I play the block, fifth in my sweats, reppin' my set
It's Rossie from the pharmacy, get it correct
(Beehive)

Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch
(Beehive)
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
(Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out)
(The Beehive)

Yo, it's Bunky S to the A, and my guns ain't warm
Beatin' niggas close to death with my house slippers on
You ain't a thug cocksucka, you a coward to front
Fuck your project, your building got flowers in front

Every chick I roll with, OZ in the cunt
I was OT in Mass, pushin' flower for months
Sprinklin' gun powder, oughta put a haze on my blunt
I spit a hundred and fifty bars when I'm blazin' 'em out

'Cause I can do that with razor blades stuck in my mouth
Forget a hotel, I'm fuckin' shorty right on the couch
Any rap shit I ever barked on, to hot to handle
And my rims bigger than lower Manhattan manholes

Listen up for 2003 tan rover
Stash box hold guns like Afgan soldiers
Wanna murda 16, well we the niggas you call
Queen Bee and Gotti Kids, muthafuck all y'all
(Beehive)

Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch
(Beehive)
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
(Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out)
(The Beehive)

Uh, yo Vee The Kid, that's the name I earned in the streets
'Cause my bars so hot, it be burnin' the beats
Meltin' my pen, I have slugs meltin' your chin
When I throw you over the bridge, helpin' you swim

You better wear a metal hat when you rappin' on stage
Or have my bullets like [Incomprehensible] packin' your waves
Or snatch your face off like I'm Nicolas Cage
And it could be five of y'all, puttin' eight in your grave

'Cause niggas think they hard, but they softer than bread
When them shells hit your throat, you be coughin' up lead
The next step is to off you, dead
I'ma cut your fuckin' neck off and have Kim auction your head
(Beehive)

See the kid don't rap for love, I rap for cheques
Even if I know you, I demand respect
And if I put you in the body bag, your man is next
The Advakid and Queen Bee gon' leave the game in a mess
(Beehive)

Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch
(Beehive)
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
(Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out)
(The Beehive)

It's young Goldie, the Advakid, put you to rest
I ride around with two 38's tucked in my sweats
A pump in trunk and a nine under the seat
Enough ammo to blow the earth from under your feet
(Beehive)

And we got cake for killas like Hyde and Jeckyl
Snippers put red dots on your face like freckles
Don't make me have to reach for the lead
You'll think the bullets was rain drops how they all hit your head

I'm that slim kid that they say is probably hot
She only with me 'cause of what she think I probably got
Am I gon' be with her for long, probably not
Unless you're cute and suck a dick like a lollipop

Niggas talk about guns and they just bust caps
Niggas talk about ki's whey they just flip packs
When it come to my money, suggest you gimmie that
'Cause you know bullets fly in pairs like Petey Pab
(Beehive)

Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch
(Beehive)
Fuckin' with the Teflon bitch from the Stuy
(Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out)
(The Beehive)

Now putcha hands around your mouth and holler out
The Beehive

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One - Lyrics - Supreme Clientele - Ghostface Killah

Title: One
Album: Supreme Clientele
Artist: Ghostface Killah
Composer(s): Dennis D Coles, J Tineo, Ronnie Williams, Bettye Jean Bar Crutcher, David Porter

Lyric:
Girl,
(New Ghost Face)
Yeah to glorious days
Yeah God, check it out y'all
We back, yes yes y'all
(Fake roller derbies)
Yeah, Masked Avengers
We're here to sharpen your sword"
All praises due to T.M.F.,Wu-Tang Clan
Scream on it, ghost

Eh yo, we at the weed gate
Waitin' for Jake we want eight Ravioli bags
Two thirsty villains yelling belly aches
Heavyweight rhyme writers hittin' the grass
Stash the right bitch pull out his kite from this white bitch
Talkin' 'bout dear ghost, you the only nigga I know
Like when the cops come, you never hide your toast

Guests started mashing, C.V.L, ice water battalion
Past tense place to gold caskets
Dru Hill bitches, specialist loungin' at the mosk
Suede Cufy, rabbi come dig up a dentist
Rhymes is made of garlic, never in the target
When the narc's hit, rumor is you might start to spit
You nice Lord, sweet daddy grace, wind lifted
On the dance floor, mangoes is free followed by ghost

Dug behind monument cakes, we never half-baked
Alaskan, cess-capade, pushin' new court dates
Trauma, hands is like candy canes, lay my balls on ice
The branches in my weed be the vein
Swimsuit issue darts sent truly from the heart, boo, I miss you
See that he rock a wrist, dude
Moder-en slave God, graveyard spells, fog your goggles
Layin' like needles in the hospital
Five steps to conquer, AX Vernon debt, big ass whistle
Ziploc your ear, here thistle

To my real bitches take your draws off
To all my high niggas, snatch her skirt off
Just in case she wanna play, get up in that bitch face
And tell her ghost said, "Take your clothes off"

Eh yo, the Devil planted fear inside the black babies
Fifty cent sodas in the hood, they goin' crazy
Dead meat placed on the shelves we eat cold cuts
Fast from the heart y'all and grow up

Eh yo, crash thru, break the glass, Tony with the goalie mask
That's the pass, heavy ice rollin, layin' on the gas
Love the grass, colliflower hurtin' when I dumped the trash
Sour mad surgeon, every glass up at the Wally Bash
Sun splash, autographed lesson with your name slashed
Backdraft, four powders, screamin' with the pearly hats

Children fix the contrast as the sound clashes
Misses dash, sprinkle wit her Icsicle eye lashes
Ask Coward Pendergrass for backstage passes
Special guest, no more Johnny Blaze, Johnny Mattress
Acrobat, run up on that Love Jones actress
Distract that cat while I'm hot sugar get a crack at this

Dickin' down Oprah, jump rope, David think he's Rasta
Black man, DC hit to Mocha
Two tangerine sofa, two super soakers in the Rover
Hit the Sport's Bar, tell a young lady to bend over
Meditated yoga, powder ball, dancin' with the vulture
Pastor Troy layin for Travolta
Yo, switch the lingo, five-nine-seventy
God glow, seven-fifteen, fall be Heavenly

Eh yo, the Devil planted fear inside the black babies
Fifty cent sodas in the hood, they goin' crazy
Dead meat placed on the shelves, we eat cold cuts
Fast from the heart y'all, and grow up

Eh yo, Wu-tang Clan,T.M.F.
In the motherfuckin' joint, we all connect as
Straight up and down y'all
(Staple town, y'all)
Yo, how many girls you gotta fuck, yo?
(Know I'm sayin Trey-Mack, what?)
How many nuts you might have bust?
(Straight up and down)
(How many shots?)
(That's it)
Word up
How many cakes we bake, y'all?
How many L's we smoke' at a time nigga?
At a time, you know how we do, at a time

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Child'S Play - Lyrics - Supreme Clientele - Ghostface Killah

Title: Child'S Play
Album: Supreme Clientele
Artist: Ghostface Killah
Composer(s): Dennis David Coles, Robert F. Diggs

Lyric:
Pretty little Sally sat up by the tree trunk
White miniskirt with a Betty Boom bum
She had a ass like Deborah Cox, face like Lauryn
Waist like a Coke bottles scoring
Pretty young thing loved the swings
And times she got my ding-a-ling hard
When she said push hard, she kept Vaseline
Open as she swung back, couldn't help her dress blue back

Now I'm held accountable right for my actions
Right before the Wallabee Champ was rockin' wallows
Drawin' cards, sent her rap message through a bottle
Lines from Dolomite, few tips from Goines
Birthday, gave her two 50 cent coins
Puppy love, gorgeous face, amazed by lip gloss
Cherry cent, when the princess spoked yo it bounced off
Mole like Marilyn Monroe, threw a rose in her mouth
Wherever God go will be Mrs. Coke

Girl's so pretty, kids with little niddys
Hope the years go slow, slow
Surrounded by intelligence, life through education
Healthy minds will grow, grow
Catch me on a bus-stop, dustin', cursin' out
The cops are still coming, vibe with me
Everybody's talking about Wu-Tang frontin'
But you still telling lies to me

Beautiful in light shows, having no intentions on love
But having strung eyes of oppose, here we go
It's not the way she bubbed the gum, shooked her ass
I'm not the one, double dus', waiting for the bus
The fagot Nore son, now year later
Lady 7th floor, building 7-80
Fancy fox, booties for her socks, nothing else can change me

Young Nefertiti, knowledge seed with no jewelry on
Tahitian fresh berry tree, she's a Capricorn
I really liked the girl, had dreams about her
Thinking to myself some nights she got
But hating, was Shinene and Grace and Key-lolo
Trick bitches jumped my boo at the school a few years ago
Hit me, you hit me, Grace got the last hit
Eh yo, these bitches started swinging and shit

So I jumped in
Those were the days, made faces in school plays
Paper trays, city wide test, made half a days
Shooting puppy water, might hump the pillow, dick a inch taller
Stapleton bum nigga, I pop a cherry for her
Fresh air fun, here's dunn, alphabets, berets
Jellies, bubble yum, soda tongue, too young to cum
Then engage him with them candy rings
Eh yo, I hit that shit, got jealous when she kissed Rob
I broked her chicko's sticks

Guys and girls, y'all remember those days and shit
Girls walk around in school, one ponytail with the beret
Next looking like baby powder
You know what I mean? Those were the days right there
Boston baked beans, girls come to school with mad candy
You know what I mean? You'd just come in school for half days
And all that
Just to see that little girl right there? In mind to this
Go home and think about it, you know what I mean?
May hump the bed sometimes on her, You know what I mean?

Word, those days man, those, those were the good old days right there G That shit was fun, lunchroom, see in the lunchroom
You know what I mean? Might get a little, go to the G.O
Store or something, you know what I mean?
Word, buy a little chocolate, a little shake or something
You know what I mean? A little Butter crunch joints or something
You know what I mean? That's that real shit, G I miss those shits, man
I wanna go back to school, man
That's my word, man
For real y'all, those were, those were the goddamn y'all you remember

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