 Muddy Waters » 歌詞 [+ 加える +] |
1. _ Da Ill Out
[Erick Sermon] Yo Reggie, I'mout [Jamal] T-ree F Squad Muddy Waters Don't get it twisted... nigga [Redman] Aiyyo everybody in this motherfucker will get touched Fuck such and such, I roll tight like handcuffs Rock that ass to sleep with discrete techniques I beez that, freak of the week like I made Knee Deep Hold up! Rotate around the solar, badder than Cobra Composure never sleeps, my stream pumps Folgers I'm sauteein MC's with fried rice up in the wok without the MSG and chopped celery See, I made it, my flavor situated from the nickel plated mic that's hot, to leave your brain inflated Plus, I'm thick like Quakers on papers Bodacious MC's get turned to lower cases lettering, and the medicine, that I'm swallowin Get you hollerin, like Marvin Gaye when his father shot him in the chest, I roll with two stacks of Tecs And mad niggaz and sess that I roll up in your rest UHH! Mister Fantastic's crafted, with no 52nd ass kick When I'm blasted, my Method magics get drastic That you can't see with bifocals Watchin MC's go up and down like stock brokers I leave your brains on tilt, with ill skills that's milk That's rougher than jeans that Gloria Vander-bilt I'm poppin mad shit, plus I can back it Your man'll be like "Yo, get that dust off yo' jacket" [Keith Murray] It ain't a test or quiz that my Squad can't win Those who know the biz, know we wreck kids get biz Y'all digest, multiple stab wounds to the chest And I copycat kill the rest, with no Method to my madness Plus the apparatus with the baddest Determined to be the last man, standin on the planet Y'all get attached, like a blood-suckin leech When you fall into my rhythm of speech Your hands get embraced with a touch of the bass Head get wrapped up neck get thrown in a neck brace Rough rhyme mechanical, lyrical at it who? Will ironically chronically murder you and your crew My directive, through where I live, is kinda primitive See I get to the bottom of the problem, and make shit give Step in the jam, hooded and high, plastered the master cast to the masses grabs the mic Ten dollar rappers, is what L.O.D. goes after To my Squad, there's no matches, we bashes Do photo flashes on all flavor S-classes Bomb attack on wax, lyrical mini mac to your back Tie you up, throw you in the act A public figure, who walks around with a gin of jigger Cause I gives a fuck about another nigga, word up [Jamal] Muddy Waters, yo this is the way that my intro should go Drunk slow funk flow for Reggie Noble Fuck with me doe, Mally G doe it's not logic Playin that big shit get broke down microscopic Freak it back keep the track ringin, with the bassline It's major when you savor my flavor, can you taste mine Face the nine I lace your spine with short fat pace Around and round, avoidin the time to put it down Now's the time here yeah [Erick Sermon] Clown where, pick a spot Neutral grounds or not, we give a fuck, lick a shot [Jamal] Gangsta, so called killin, cap peelin Playalistic, I mean is all that shit realistic Play your cards God, black keep your hand held tight Night fall might call your life, shit is trife on these evil streets after dark Niggaz gettin sparked left and outlined in chalk New day, this whole shit's twisted (is it man) It's me bombin on these niggaz shitlist and Mally G open your eyes to see, recognize who be a G Hopin to ride in the, industry with E The villain's had it cause ahead (word up yeah) Killin my psychosomatic pattern mad (yeah) [Erick Sermon] Y'all know, uhh, yeah, Muddy Waters We out for nine-seven, word up, peace more free lyrics |
2. _ Chicken Head Convention (Skit)
Ahwhattup y'all? Live, WFDS At the fucked up Chicken Head Convention Nationwide, Jones Beach, all the boroughs is representin We got the big weaves, the big shoes, bad attitudes Huh, it's on and POPPIN out this motherfucka Well this is Nik D, hood broken to the end tell a friend beyatch And we gon check in with these here chickens Yo shorty, um excuse me, could you tell me your name? I'm buggin out buggin out buggin out yo whassup??!? Pedaddaddi, aiyyyyy!! Oh, shorty, chill chill see, understand, I'm just tryin to interview Dayaaaaamm!! Yeah no, nah fuhreal doe, check it out check it out, one second Tell me... why they call you, a chickenhead? Ahh I understand Niggaz be callin me a motherfuckin chickenhead cause I be goin to the store wearin that same grapefruit t-shirt I had on before, and diggin up my ass, my nose Heh, ah yeah, I see how you get down And the whole nine, my boggle you can kiss my chicken ass I'ma go over here and step to the next chicken head Ahh excuse me, shorty, right there, you, yeah you C'mere, tell me... why are you, at the chicken head convention? I mean, where you comin from? Girl let me tell you I just came from the mall, boostin my motherfuckin ass off Look at all I got here all in this bag Damn! Mad DKNY, Moskino, they got it all girl, they got it all *horn honking* [Redman] Yo c'mon bitch, you know I gotta go! Bring your motherfuckin ass on! Nigga, your man, girl Damn, here he go! [Redman] Always runnin your mouth *car door slams* Anyway umm, I'ma step on over here *car peels out* to the silver jewelry booth Mad chicken heads over there, them bitches swear they fly... more free lyrics |
3. _ Creepin'
All my country, funky, brother, motherfuckers Verse One: To my, no good niggaz, and my, no good bitches Sorry if I left somebody leavin out with stitches Seems y'all too bold for ya britches Enslaved your mind like cotton pickers for runnin wit some rotten niggaz I get raw to the core with hardcore metaphors Resevoir Dog style, truly yours Yes, I be the slug up in your chest Then you wonder why you can't feel the full strength of ciggarettes My nationality is, brutality I got the gun up under your leather nigga so walk casually You'd be surprised how much info you can get For a bottle of crack to find yo' punk ass and yo' kinfolks Plus, that crew you run with is butt I was dusted one day when I made your man choke up Rappers comin to New Jersey and be gettin fucked up Talkin about where they from and shit when dem sons ain't runnin shit and go off a BIT if you do a show in da Bricks You'd swear you was fly and how we bring so much turbulence I keep your nervous level high nigga You better kiss your son and daughter, tell em bye nigga When we creep Verse Two: I give respect to all my woolly niggaz with the Rolex Shinin briquettes, flashin cash and dumpin Moets Especially when my royalty check is late, I don't hesitate I scoop up Keith, and see who's flashin at the Palla- -dium, hide your weed niggaz cause here I come Lookin bummy for low profile, so loud MC's overlook me I slip the bartender some more Just to tell me [how much cash and Dom P you pour] Huh, I should start robbin rappers in the industry If we ain't clickin then I'm engineerin your injuries Forty-eight tracks of automatics and facts Lyrically splat-datted till your mentality blacks And I don't give a FUCK if you did thirty bids Still I bring Ecstasy like I'm the rapper Jaleel Blaow blaow blaow, lickin shots for your fuckin mind, I got you niggaz duckin out like I'm one-time Or five-oh, po-po, I drive hoes nutty Like I be doin security at my live shows Your A&R is a punk, he got you gassed when I brutally smash any contender in my weight class Aiyyo Twinz yo this nigga got jewels (hold that nigga while I rob this fool) When we creep more free lyrics |
4. _ Intro
[LL Cool J] Ayo this is the infinite, intelligent, extravagant and eloquent That shit y'all talkin is irrelevant I put it down from the gutter to the tenement It's LL Cool J nigga, everything I do is excellent And I got to represent, Q-Boro, the thorough Y'knawmean? We get down, we get down baby Check this shit out right here, uh E Pluribus Unum is the album I'ma drop It'll make you bitch niggas as hard as rocks Givin head to the glock, pretend it's hard cock Splashin niggas I came slow through the block I'm, the original, visual, individual Ten times platinum your career's lookin critical Reach for this, motherfuck being a criminal Look in your bitch eyes, the vibe is subliminal You wanna freestyle fuck that I need at least seven figures to even touch that But since everybody was underestimatin' my format I dropped Ill Bomb and now niggas want more of that Aint a rapper dead or alive fuckin wit me Ask the last bitch that tried to come and get me Talk about paper, I can talk about broads I can talk about movies, I can talk about awards Fuck the fantasies, yo I got all four And 2001'll be mine, by law Why name the Greatest Of All Times? Because for fifteen years I kept y'all standin in line Lovin the way I shine and my lyrics combine With the ruggedest, illest beats that Def Jam can find Fuck them other niggas with their 9 or 10 hits My hits run deep as the emotions of your bitch Back in the days it was the M fast stick But now the Bentley is all get more whores on the dick This ones for Clue and my Riker's Island niggas That remember when I came through The big O B C C H D M 2 C 74 Little Nasi and the crew, y'all niggas come home Word up, the new album gon' be the shit baby Aint no doubt about it, E Pluribus Unum Out of many one, The G.O.A.T., Greatest Of All Time... more free lyrics |
5. _ The Stick Up (Skit)
*bus door shuts, bus pulls out* [some singin fool] Yeahhhahhyeahhhahahhehhh I got a soda, you can't have none of! I got a soda, it's only enough for one, hon I got a soda, y'all can't have a god damn sip I got a soda, I know you want it I... [Redman] Aiyyo shut that singin shit up nigga Ladies and gentlemen, this is a motherfuckin stick up! Put your motherfuckin hands in the air! *blam, blam blam* The first motherfucker that move is gonna catch this motherfucker Word up, up the motherfuckin wallet, the jewels The cash, take your motherfuckin sneakers off I'm not fuckin pl... bitch, if you move, I'm tellin you You gonna get it Nigga you tryin to hide your motherfuckin hands Take them rings off motherfucker! Ay man, gimme that motherfuckin cola nigga I ain't fuckin playin! more free lyrics |
6. _ Rollin'
Nineteen ninety mother fuckin six That's that shit though Get the motherfuckin Squad packed We got to pull these shoes out like carpet, word is bond Test the crew with the guns and let's get this shit on Why, must I be like that? Why, must I pack the gat? On my left, niggaz be rollin with the ruckus Ready to get deep bust rounds upon some suckaz Heard PPP and LOD is a bunch of crazy motherfuckers Journey to the land is on The winner of the spittin bomb marathon The fuck you up lyrathon, whatever you choose prepare to lose that title Turnin vital situations suicidal, my idols, is my Uncles who started smokin weed outta bibles Gave me a puff when I bust my first rifle Men-estration cycles, I give bitches Bring your craziest nigga, I'll give stitches Whateva, go crew for crew, blow for blow Bang your headpiece and sniff the snow off your hoe I keep it rollin... Ask yourself man How ugly do you have to be to be a hardcore MC? Niggaz be fooled by my plaques and my light skin complexture My whole texture is bombin, destroyin da schools of the wack From the Land of the Lost, you get tossed Listen to my veloc(ity), my crew's comin off Yeah, more sneaky than casino switches Diggin ditches for all Moskino bitches Clockin decimal figures, I'm gettin out diggers Now my choice of truck is a Land cause a Landcruise much bigger It pack two to three more niggaz Damn I hate a golddigger Yeah, gimme that microphone I make opponents shit bricks like Tyson's home I keep the jacked cellular phone blown in three zones Love seafood and keep my nine millimis chrome So it can shine up your dome When I proceed to give you what you need and clear spots like Sea Breeze Wreckin your ass armaggedeon style Twenty four seven while My crew chin check your profile (Rollin...) I'm the master of disaster, super rhyme maker Grimy by nature, database maker Play em out like Sega, Saturn Blow your blocks in patterns for about nine acres Testes, crew wearin bulletproof and double S's Karl Kani down, camoflouge can't hide the sounds of a fo' pound (boo-yaa) Givin you Six Flags, bustin merry go rounds But my crew stay ill with that unreal appeal I be the raw water, my cheek bones outta have gills below like the opera Smooth on the trigger for all you block cockers I be the key to criminology Blast and rotate enemies at three buck sixty Pick me, as your Senator Take the dove from your battlefield son, fuck Pat Benatar Run, head for the hills Back in the day, these niggaz rolled up on me with the trunk filled with Bomber Brooklyns, sheeps and quartervilles Aiyyo take that shit, aiyyo Money snap the grill Body caught chills as he ate this nine mil Mine kills two but my nine was sign sealed And ready to deliver, but Money had me too close to reach for toast, soon as that nigga blink I broke ghost Dash back to South Orange Ave with dollar bill to smoke dope I keep em rollin... This is DJ SAY WHAT?? on this motherfucker Sayin the dick is long, but my time is short Before I go, just remember If your box ain't on FDS radio, you're fuckin up more free lyrics |
7. _ Welcome (Interlude)
(DJ SAYWHAT??) Our phone are open for all you high motherfuckers At 1-800-DIKINYABOOTY [Redman] Welcome That's 1-800-dick-in-ya-boo-tay!! [Redman] Welcome *ringing phone is answered* Aiyyo this is Mad Duke callin from Da Bricks I'm on the block with Uncle Quilly and Leroy Sweetdick gettin my smoke on, for you onionhead motherfuckers Hi this K-Spark from the Al Parks, dammmn! Welcome to another nineteen ninety-six Funk Doctor Spock tape As we take y'all minds on another journey, through the darkside We uplift you! Def Squad force comin through with the ruckus Jammin for all knotty-headed peasy motherfuckers, ahh And for funky bitches, we got a funky thing for you I said I gets down like that, who am I (Funk Doctor) (as I kiss the sky) I said I gets down like that, who am I (Funk Doctor) (as I kiss the sky) Bomb troll, funkier than Haitian underarms Represent Jersey, the land of firearms Hotwired cars, emptying cigars Afros, mofo's, on knees with momo's It's nasty as I come my shit be douche I used to be the chief instructor for Bruce Choose your weapon -- A FATALITY Line your crew up now -- BABALITY In nineteen ninety-six bitch ass niggaz all in my mix On some rah rah shit, get my rah rah dick! Nuts alert, first sound de alarm on de expert My network, operate sharper than a Gilette works Off the corner style Blinds in Knightening Armor About more Facts of Life than Tudy or Blair Warner Chi-Town where you at (we got your back) D.C. where you at (we got your back) My crew Come Strapped like MC Eiht with nickel plates Gettin mad Dead Presidents ask Lorenzo Tate Ahh, gettin loot rollin craps in the yard Can't be scarred by media, SO FUCK THE MEDIA Most MC's are terrible, unbearable Couldn't get stupid if you were sliced cerebral Ahh no need to... act like he's shittin Man you're funnier than Ed Griffith, it's Red's kitchen My infrared's missin, damn I'm slippin I'm out of ammo, yo Crossbreed, stick the clip in more free lyrics |
8. _ On Fire
("Them bitches swear they fly...") Hahha Now everytime I grab the mic I always start shit up Sharper than your double-edger, watch me cough shit up Live and direct, respect it to the underground connect Pah!! I'm wreckin any MC you select Yo E, load me in your gun, light the flares Give me forty-eight bars, and I go out like gays at Billy Bear Wear and tear, I'm wreckin for the Bricks is where Jump in my way and get your body splattered everywhere Conjunction junction what's your function It's that nigga who's so swift I could lose a compass Step into jams, with seven niggaz in a Land And forty motherfuckers in some fucked up caravan Drop the farenheight back down to zero Bring Heat to the streets like I'm Pacino and DeNiro Raw dog material, grand imperial Talk to my shotty nigga, my ears ain't hearin you So take heed to what I'm saying Cause tonight's the night, and me and my nuccas ain't playing Now do I look crazy? Deranged, maybe? You shot first, your glock burst, but it graze me Now time for lyrics, put up your guns And watch me get this shit hoppin like the West was won Got that lyrical chicken feed, for all chicken heads Crowd your Rap City committee, like I'm [Big Leads] Most bigger than them Melendez brothers You need Cochran when you're fuckin with Judge Red Put your fingers up if you love hash and cash I been that way since Ike Turner was kickin Tina ass Hookers ridin dick, like I'm a motorcycle You wanna shine bitch? Let me simonize you I make sure your vision blur, till you don't know what occurred Until I black out every nerver Foul women get served as chicken head hors d'ouerves I drop your tops like your heads was convertibles!! Hah, if you still look up in the sky I'm still high All the way live like Lakeside Wann die? E (whattup son), you got this beat pumpin The way I feel niggaz ain't leave until they up in somethin Pack my dutch like the niggaz in the county Dayrooms, stay tuned, for Doc Illuminati Up around them big butt freaks is where you find me (Martini and Rossi, Asti Spumante) So take heed to what I'm saying Cause tonight's the night, and me and my nuccas ain't playing To my people in the back, if you're not the wack, say Don't stop, the body rock To my people in the front, if you're tokin on blunts, say Don't stop, the body rock... aoowwwwwowwwww I'm too strong for you to listen I started spittin, that's why the brick niggaz be lickin They stay on magazine written equipments And lyrics I got em by the shipment, where your bitch went I'm smokin leaky out the Lec-y, fatal My Squad steps with the ultimatum, true dat My muzak, move crowds, like down the hill moved crack For those who stepped on toes, I want my shoes back Buddy, bringin money to your girl for your little daughter like I'm Cutty Twenty dollars a pop to dub me, I bug G, quote it I see you notice how I leave microphones corroded Hahahahaha, your staff not up to par You raw, you're more like Zsa Zsa Gabor Call deep niggaz, keep the gas pedal floored And I pump the funk to keep a room and board *record scratches, rooster cackles* more free lyrics |
9. _ Case Closed
[Dr.Trevis like voice] Hah (huh, hah, hah, hah, HAHHAH, hah) Nineteen ninety-six (hah, come on!) Coming with the sickedest motherfuckers in the perimeter (huh, whooo! nineteen) You hit em with a newwwww (ninety-six, nine six) tree, dick be fly, in your ass (Dick! Di-dick, check) Yo! Amazing grace how sweet the sound is of the fo' pound To blast all these sound men that got the po' sound Yippie-yi-yay, motherfuckers here's the show down But since we're broke now with dope sounds now here we go now Check the motion while I be puffin the pot-enent Blow spots and urban networks with other experts Plus this thing between my ear thinks clear And the only thing it fears is the man upstairs So fuck your bulletproof gear If I decide to get your ass you better believe it's more than a blast (boo-ya) More like rough paragraphs out Alcatraz And ash, your staff, let the grime our your ass Everybody's hustling with sons toting guns When Reggie Noble's sprung we stick nuns that got funds Bomb niggaz like they did in Oklahoma Freez, you're froze, Def Squad UHH, case closed [Crossbreed] I be the, sneaky, second dimension, creepin through your sector Have nectar, leaking out you wack rhyme stressers Extra deez disease leave rashes on rappers Makin MC's so feel the breeze of the Grandmaster Packed with swift solid style structure Simonizing MC's with the degree of street ruckus Aiyyo who got guns? I split precise, spleen splitter Return my physical presence to the borough of the hard hitters I devour, night sun shower, menace last hour, weak man's last power Body, the six four mind shotty The one you handle, second dimension mind vandal Laceratin your retina for tryin to see this As I'm flowin through the prism of the X-3-D See at forty belows I freak flows that burn your nose When you inhale the verbal blows, case closed Chorus: Redman, Crossbreed Aiyyo, why the fuck you tryin to get funky on me nigga? Aiyyo, why the fuck you tryin to get funky on me nigga? Yo, don't you know, who I am motherfucker? [Redman's the name fool] That's my nigga! Why the fuck you tryin to get funky on me nigga? Aiyyo, why the fuck you tryin to get funky on me nigga? Yo, don't you know, who they are motherfucker? [Crossbreed's the crew fool] They're my niggaz! Verse Three: da otha Crossbreed MC Things ain't easy, cuz we be, strugglin day to day A bunch of stressed black men with not really much to say Twistin up some brown paper that we struggle just to get With the deaf dumb and blind become mentally equipped As I extend my pen to wreak havoc on paper I execute and burn MC's like Absolut with no chaser Strong as chemical the general with rhymes Past wreckin mics, I make the earth shatter like the 7th sign My drama bringer bring about a new order I'm sending a plague through your town like God to Sodom and Gomorrah Your deacon, my vocals actions got you speechless Make gangsta niggaz wanna go home and talk the cheapest No man alive could bend on we, beatin on rappers literally X3D beez up on the streets dimensional trilogy Got no love for foes, no respect for grimy hoes Nuff said, X-3-D blowin up, case closed more free lyrics |
10. _ Iz He 4 Real
yah word up Hooooaa, haha haaaaaa ("Iz he for real he can't be" -- Rock, Leflah Leflour Eshkoshkah) yah word up Haha, hooooaa haaaaaa ("Iz he for real he can't be") yah word up Hoooooaa, iz he 4 real haaaaaa ("Iz he for real he can't be") Haha, unbeknown, unbelieved Hoooooaa, haha haaaaaa ("Iz he for real he can't be") Somebody light the fuse so I can bring bad news To all these crews who can't NBA Jam with the shoes That double shot Hennesee got my mind trippin Drunk enough to start a campaign on ass kickin With my nigga Keith who give assists like Scott Pippen For MC derelict whippin, cap or cock twistin Drop your money in the slot if your block don't got a real representer cocked for action like my block got Rhyme skills three and a quarter for them drop tops Your caliber, straight up pussy who pop glocks While I kick facts react on funky tracks Give me room like the Hyatt while I run this jungle habitat And if I snap get that monkey off my back Me and mikes together roll tighter than Slick and Vance Wright Toast to the real MC's that can feel me And if your bitch ain't jumpin now then later on she will be All these weak punk MC's kill me They don't feel me, come to Jersey get jacked like Jill G Hooooo, haaaaa ("Iz he for real he can't be") -- 4X more free lyrics |
11. _ Smoke Buddha
Verse One: Aiyyo, I got a slight problem I smoke weed too much Knees buckle the -uck up when I'm splittin my dutch Back up back up! Ain't nobody hittin for free It's just E Doubl-E, Keith Murray, and me It cost twenty if you're down with it Aiyyo son I ride around with my hooptie tinted to ride around blitted Cause I be feenin for that pookie I smoke the good shhh, save the backyard boogie for all groupies And I be, smokin up the hotel lobby Between mo' sheets than the Isleys, I'm high G I'm holdin it down for the B-Rrrah-I-C K, blaze, tell you to get bluhh politely (Hit the funky if you're riding around gettin blitz) Ask me if I love the rap game -- I, I'm loving it Cause I can do what the OWW/-uck I feel is real Blaze the poot with D. Don and tell UHH to get the dillz Chorus: repeat 2X I smoke on and on on, ya don't stop I'm gettin mad -ucked up and ya don't stop To all my real dogs, all my real pals who ain't smokin, get the -uck owwwwt Verse Two: I just love tokin, blackin out like Tame in the open Of course I got the raw dog no need to stick your nose in Gave you a straight up shotgun when we was smokin Froze you so fast -- you looked it like Madonna Vogue-in AwwwwuhhhhH! I got the shhh to get your whole click high We can get high, but act funny and I'ma whip out And they gon' whip out, and blow notes like Michel'le Cause you tried to jump the cipher and it goes THISSAWAY Chorus [singing] Smoke buddha, smoke buddha... *clang* The song you're about to hear, is sponsored by NASssWIPP Niggaz against smokin weed in public places A subdivision of *clang* IKSRFO I'm knockin somebody right the fuck out! more free lyrics |
12. _ Yesh Yesh Y'all
Yo, hard beats like this keep my mentality raw I G off C 4 lyrics to blow off them Lex door My tex-ture be the kind that explore MC's then blow em out, metaphor after metaphor I'm more wetter than your boy bigger So how you figure you can fuck with this rap unemploy nigga I should own a fly bitch house and a Benz But I got chickenheads criminals and broke friends that love to get in, keep the seventeen spinnin Pull out from my jaw linin, commence to split end Brains and body parts that motion couldn't picture Cause when I'm shittin niggaz hit mo decks than a skipper Mr and Mrs Howe, MaryAnne and Ginger Gilligan, you need the Professor to take the rigger waters out I got orders to kill em softly I wouldn't leave a trace if I died and police chalked me Who's the Boss G you better radio the walkie talkie For the Fatal Attract MC's that stalk me Got a big dick and your bitch click When I flip this I got more work than a olympic gymnast Bust it, I cut the mustard, on any track Milkier than Similak when I'm next up to bat ("Redman is on the mic and I'ma..." "Dope motherfucker, yeah, you best ax somebody" -- Snoop) (Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Sermon 8X) Fuck the talk I walk whatever I claim to do Knock a mule on her ass and turn her pussy black and blue You couldn't run up if your Fighter was Virtua I'm a round-the-clock lyricist, I sleep in my work boots It's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate It's a thin line between the trigger and the finger of a thirty-eight Deaths by far, my rap repatoire be the art of murderin makin it hard for you to spar We can chill and puff the ganja, but don't be mad when the Funk Doctor Spock smoke it with your baby mama Get off my dick and tell your bitch to come here Male groupies gettin shaky when I come from the rear Hah, that get on your nerve neighbor that play the music loud as fuck three in the mornin off a paper With mad Zul in the L-S-C In the downtown area, scannin the perimeter All my boos with the open toed shoes If you ain't gettin that pussy eaten right, let me show you Then let you taste these, this Brown Fox said Ain't No Nigga like the -- Funk Doctor Spock G (Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Sermon 4X) As I dive into the crowd I wanna see who the fuck gettin loud Who da fuck runnin off at dey mouf? I let my nigga Fifty Cent knock that ass out Word bond, bitches talkin bout pourin out Cristal and Dom P they better stick to Sade Blackin out whylin, smackin out weaves Break niggaz cheap ass chains and medallions You're just a part time sucker in the game Shit is real motherfucker start namin names And if you name my name I whoop ass like Steven Seagal Give you Under Siege 2 without the fuckin train Let your brains hang from the 808 bang And if I wrecked your cipher then my Squad is to blame (Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Erick Sermon 12X then fades) We'll be right back with some more funk shit for all you stankin asses after we pay these bills more free lyrics |
13. _ Whateva Man
*woman moans* [E Dub] Microphone check one two Aiyyo, you ready to get down man? [Red] Yo, whateva man [E Dub] You ready to get drunk as fuck? [Red] Whateva man [E Dub] You, you sayin somethin? [Red] Whateva man [E Dub] Aiyyo [Red] Whateva man [E Dub] Check it, Kool V (I keeps it bangin, keep it swangin Mike type of sangin) Ohh-la-la-la! (So what cha sayin) Verse One: Redman, Sermon Yo, I'm smokin herbals till it hurts you I keep your daughter way out past her curfew Hard far from commercial (So what cha mean nigga) We don't give a fuck when we smoked out In the land that's doped out [it's like that?] no doubt From this bomb weed, I cock from the streets Get you open like buttcheeks, from girls who be freaks Aiyyo, can I be SWV? You the One nigga Rap Shogun, yes E the one Yo, I'm rollin with a forty pack of niggaz Get my weed from Branson cause his sack's bigger Yo give me dap nigga What I clap lyrically tap call back Ferocious causin comatoses to collapse So chinky eyed I see people wavin on a map I make it hotter than your thermostats (beep beep beep beep) Bomb MC's with rough megahertz so call me Funk Doctor verbal starburst, lyrical expert Your boombox better form a union Cause I leave your circus overworked, word bond Niggaz front like they want it But I be in the five hundred with E steadily gettin blunted Damn nigga you cool at what you spittin So why you holdin the blunt so long politickin Huh, I ace them blunts with the technician of electrician, I don't got a pot to piss in But still spend my last on hyrdroglycerin I keep it live no jive rollin Dutches that's Masters like the Furious Five I, keep your crew chinky eyed, for bitches actin dog (Can you hit it from the back?) Why not, while we toke on this *woman moaning* (ohhh daddy... aiyeee) [Sermon and Red harmonizing] [Red] Yo, you ready to roll this weed up? [E Dub] Whateva man [Red] You ready to knock this nigga out? [E Dub] Whateva man [Red] Yo, you ready to get this chedda? [E Dub] Whateva man [Red] You ready to start this shit off? [E Dub] Whateva man Verse Two: Redman I smoked with a lot of college, students Most of em, wasn't graduatin and they knew it You know the weed slang? Yeah boy I speak it fluent I light your college dorm with my entourage from Newark Bigger they come, harder they fall That goes for, knuckleheads, MC's, pussy walls and all I lit my first L before I started to crawl I got my ass whupped when I had my first brawl But things changed since I was twelve years old I specialize in wreckin mics and area codes Now, PPP the kinda niggaz that'll bug witcha Smoke bud witcha, later on stick a sluginya Everything that's like green ain't the bomb bitch I got different forms to make you lose your calm bitch Read my lips, you ain't hittin unless you got Ten on it, get on it, or get the fuck out my cypher [Red] You ready to roll this weed up? [E Dub] Whateva man [Red] You ready to rob this niga? [E Dub] Whateva man [Red] You ready to fuck bitch? [E Dub] Whateva man [Red] You ready to guzzle this liquor? [E Dub] Whateva man (E Dub harmonizing again) more free lyrics |
14. _ Rock Da Spot
(W.. F.. D.. S..) Aiyyo, aiyyo check this out man Hah, aiyyo hah-hah Aiyyo aiyyo, hah-hah Nahnah, aiyyo, aiyyo Damn I'm the bomb, ringin off all types alarms My palms, be swift with the pen like Lynn Swann's Aggravated assault, against an MC Beat him down with the mic and all types of pedigrees It's mad real in Da Bricks, plus I roll thick You can quote this, I'm the Moby Dick of dopeness Bitch, walk the walk if you talk the talk I DK New Jerz, and DK-New York I don't push a lot of vehicles, but I push a used one With a tape deck, if it's feasible Tell the truth, I don't own a Lex Coupe But I get you souped when I rock respect due I'sa nice nigga that wanna get diced Slice the mic device like the body of Christ twice E Double if you feel me hit me once (A breaker one, a breaker two) Cause trouble to you family and friends Let me cut the bullshit, just hand me yo ends Got caught out there cause you a Mack without 10 Punch you in your chin The rucker, bringer, live from Hell, but stay cooler than a double L Turn a felony to a misdemeanor Now the court subpeonaed me to get my act cleaner Fuck that, still walk out holdin my strap Blunt, grabbin my weiner Now first of all I go for broke Check the third quarter note, I make you feel like your water broke Can't tell whether male or female I fucked up your frame well, the monogram can't tell All aboard my balls, cause my dick don't got a lot of room for the rest of y'all Grab on my pubics, let my music take flight Rock indo and out-do, dick run in and out yo' bitch, about nine inch up the clit Can you feel me comin, yeah I usually make em shit I shines MC's up for auction So I can sell em on Saturday, Keith put the bat away Let's lay in the cut, so we can break his whole anatomy down and turn into an ass-kicking holiday Word, I rolls with the Funklord With more flavors than them motherfuckers on them Benetton billboards He's bleeding get the gauze He shoulda knew Def Squad crew is who I kill for Push the clip in, slide the top back Make sure it's off safety, in case he wanna counteract Shit like that get me vexed So I crack your ass like corn while your bitch crack my Beck's Hah-hah One deuce! One deuce Aiyyo, catch this picture, of me in the mixture So you won't forget the, black Jack the Ripper Sorceror offin y'all with techniques A universal lingo, with the odd speaks Control more blacks than Harlem week, freak Smokin that leak at full peak Peace to Greg Street, and underground radio technique College radio, no I mack shit like Maceo Yeah, the East coast West coast dick giver I oughta be an alkie, the way I hit liver Deliver, the milk to your door, real raw Shit you never seen before So when you come inside, and do the front Watch the double-pump shotgun and please don't run Relax your minds, let your concious be free And get money, and G's and roll these trees ... This is DJ SAYWHAT?? on this motherfucker. Comin to you live from WFDS radio from da Brick City. (continued on Welcome) more free lyrics |
15. _ Pick It Up
Pick it up, pick it up (4X) If you find a bag of weed on the floor motherfucker What the fuck you gon do Pick it up, pick it up (3X) [Redman] While I crack a cold Beck's and keep the hoes in check The double-S vest nigga wreck the discotheque Sit back relax and while my Squad kick tacks Then tap your man back and be like "Did you see that??" Ahh yes, comin from the North South East West Hold your nose and take a deep breath, recess we bless, mics, three times a day Three times a night, it all equals subliminal sequels Strictly laughing at MC's Lyrics for years that run more than ten deep Niggaz be like "Ahh he changed his style up" Shut the fuck up, ya still a dick-ridah It's nine-six so get with it Peep that back-in-the-day shit when that other Squad was Hit-tin Listen, must we forget, I originated all that wild shit, that rrraahh rrraaoowww shit That jump up and ready to fuck shit up now shit Brick City!! Is where I get down kid Peace to all my buddah smokers on Prince Fuck what ya heard, Brick City runs shit PPP got the glocks and tecs And Def Squad always got some fly shit on deck Say what? Got some fly shit on deck Say WHAT? Got some fly shit on deck PPP got the glocks and tecs And Def Squad always got some fly shit on deck [Redman] First of all, MC's be on my balls, straight up Pubic hairs and everything, lick the whole plate up Bay Area, roll up your Las Vegas To all MC's, I love it that you hate us Drop skills that might send wind chill factors Back through Patterson, J.C. and Hacken-sack Step uncorrect and get blackened The assassin, find da MC's by the jazz men I don't tote guns I tote funds While you still puzzled how my antidote runs Your whole vocabulary's played out, admit it Still wack if it came out my mouth and I spit it You remind me of school on a Sunday No class, beatin all King's down doin over seventy, in a Hyundai, blast Give em a good reason to open Alcatraz Back, nobody got the Red shook Been a weirdo everysince the doctor said PUSH Def Squad skills make it hard to overlook me That's why them hardcore promoters still book me You shook G... word up... hah hah... If you see a bag of weed on the floor motherfucker What the fuck you gon do Pick it up, pick it up If you see a bitch passed on out the fuckin ground What the fuck you gon do Pick her up, pick her up I keep it fly y'all Fly fly y'all (5X) [Redman] Aiyyo, don't ride the dick of these real MC's We pull Joints like Spike and blow crews to degrees Then we buy G's with a half a pound of dope MC's We bag for cheese just to get weed Smoke indoneez I'm milky like Magnese Oh-seven-one-oh-three, rest them car thieves Guzzlin quart for sports of all sorts Nonchalant spark buddah on the front porch at courts, F-U-N-K-D-O-C S-P-O-T, feel the Solo type remedy Then freeze.... hah, ha-hah Where was I? Oh yes Sippin on Cristal with fingers up your bitch dress Don't play close cause jealousy make folks act loc Another nigga smoked from impression Second guessin my verbal weapon, you're lettin Spit, sixteen bits, come equipped And I still walk around with the hooked up Motorola flip on my hip, fuck the government Drop shit, it's a microscopic topic How I stay mo' bent than McDonald arches And uptown got the la-la spots And bad ass hoes with 54-11 Reeboks But still, I walk around with the grill Cause niggaz be blinded by this hip-hop shit for real I ain't havin that, I'm clappin shit Fuck this rappin shit, I cause accidents To any, MC who wonder what got in me To get busy, it's simply Ginger and Remi It don't stop, Def Squad crew is hot Fillin up your brain with supreme octane, and it's on *static from radio surfing* [white reporter] Thanks Bill This week on NIN, Niggers In Newark We're gonna take you through some glorious weed spots that my camera crew and I had a chance to visit during our stay in Da Bricks Although we suffered minor setback this week when our TV satellite van was stolen We managed to get around best way possible We had chances to see spots like Hawthorne Ave, Hayes Homes, South Orange Ave Avon Ave, 19th Ave, Chancellor and Bergen 19th and One-Duke; hey if you look closely right now there's someone about to go for their drugs or as they would say, stash Hey, hey buddy, you about to sell some drugs? [Redman] Aiyyo man get the fuck out! *blam blam blam* This here, is the telephone line of one of the many top notch weed sellers out of Newark Ladies and gentlemen, what I will try to do is tap into the line, and hear an actual drug deal in progress Shhh... more free lyrics |
16. _ What U Lookin' 4
It goes one for the mind and two for the money Who dat wit skull tattooes and his nose runny It's me, that funky MC, the Rrr-ah E Indubitably, I'm Jersey down to Mitentry Officer, you're hawkin the, ninety-three Landcruise When it's real criminals, you should be watchin for Get off my dick for what you don't got Plus you probably never licked a shot on your block Walkin to my car witcha nine out the holster Put your hands on the steering wheel like ya sposed ta I cooperate don't give the redneck no hassle Because too many mistakes be happening to black folk <<chorus>> I said what the fuck are you lookin 4? Can't a young man make money anymore? Hah hah, leave ya butt naked... I said what the fuck are you lookin 4? Can't a young man make money anymore? Aiyyo stash that weed up while me and the cop is riffin Damn I knew I shoulda got that stash box built-in But it's alright cause me and my niggaz roll tight We all think alike, we jump out whoever packin pipe Don't they know who's the freak from the East? I get faded like Chong and Cheech without bleach And started spittin game 'fore these cops start to reach on these creeps, showin mentality from the streets Even though we had a half a pound by the seats My peeps never tweek, we handle shit when there's heat Since one cop was white the otha was a brotha I pulled out my tape and front page of the cover of The Source, told him me and Janet's on tour Broke it down to who's my boss and who I rap for Plus them niggaz, EPMD Put me D, now I'm runnin with the Green Eyed B A-N-D-I-T, and Def Squad camp Here's your Def Jam tickets and your autograph Now haul ass, I got a meetin bout seven Basically I'm saying bye bye like Guy <<chorus>> My license, been suspended, for about five years The system got my ass in the jam Can't even ride to see my fam in Alabam' I get petrified everytime I see the man throw the lights on (woop woop) The mic's on so I stress it Shit I'm haulin ass before I start undressin Niggaz on they knees with they hands on the top of the heads while the Feds crack jokes with the glock in ya Don't get me wrong I know a lot of cool cops That'd let me go if I had two glocks and oowops But, I don't, so, I keeps it, real The five hundred series with deep dish peels Quick, my bitch, stash, two clips, between two her tits before the cops fuck with the Rrr-ah I'm a nigga of today a nigga of tomorrow, beyotch! <<chorus>> To my people in Kentucky rock rock on word is bond Newark New Jersey rock rock on word is bond Atlanta Georgia rock rock on word is bond Connecticut rock rock on word is bond To my people up in Queens rock rock on word is bond Bri-donx in the house rock rock on word is bond Virginia's in this bitch rock rock on word is bond San Francisco rock rock on word is bond Yeah, bitch ass niggaz rock this! more free lyrics |
17. _ Soopaman Luva 3
Look, up in the sky (SOOP-soop...) It's a bird (SOOP-soop...) IT'S A PLANE!! (SOOP-soop...) Nah motherfuckers (SOOP-soop...) Hahaha Verse One: I was, flyin through the motherfuckin sky With my blunt full of lye, boom-ba-zee on five Code name beez the Soopa-Man cock my Luger Blast on state trooper, I'm on the run G I've got these hoes spreaded, from Japanese to diabetics Toes stay painted because of my foot fetish You damn right, they had to ban me from eatin pussy all night W-W-F and then just slammin in the rope like Sean Mike I can't be touched bitch, I disco in kryptonite Shit I'm broke as hell I had to buy all my girls fifty-fo'-eleven Reeboks at wholesale Almost got caught boostin out of Bodell's Bitches on my coattails like they coat rails Can't even go in a jam without a bitch grabbin my hand and squeezin my ass sayin "Youse the man!" That's who the fuck I be I got a, college degree, on bomb-zee and wreckin MC's Makin shit happen like Lil' Cease I come from a land of fontum leaf, bark from trees that stick in your hand, and lakes rollin sea-weed Criminals be up to no good So I tuck a heater Bulletproof suit still in the fuckin cleaners, but anyways I bumped into my neighbor Johnny Blaze Told me there's a bitch up the block who got more cock than AK's The bitch just moved in, in building 210 Right next door to the Fantastic Four, and the Penguin Good lookin Johnny, five-oh's right behind me Let me act like I know and get ghost Tuck in my Nina-Ross, get my cape and shades Now I'm off with the Soopaman Three antidote ("While the planets and the stars and the moons collapse") Cause I am so cool ("When I raise my trigger finger all y'all niggaz hit the deck") Cause I am so cool ("Cause ain't no need for that, hustlers and hardcore") Cause I am so cool ("Raw to the floor, raw like Resevoir Dogs") Cause I am so cool... Aiyyo word up *cough cough cough hack* *sniff* to make a long story short *cough cough cough* and shit, I went to the bitch house, and this what the fuck happened Verse Two: Aiyyo, knock knock, "Who is it?" "It's the Soopa, here to pay that ass a visit Heard you wasn't givin up your pussy So I got the right dick to get with Where yo' man at bitch?" "He's out of town flippin biscuits" "Well open up the do' den, before I start unloadin on your pussy from here and leave it swollen" "Aiyyo how I know it's you?" "Aiyyo check my credentials" "I eat yo' gun lead and shit out number two pencils I ate a ton of dog shit ain't never got sick Bitch I even know how many keys your man flip I'm low down and dirty, but not insane I know all these pussy ass cops by their first name Smoked a pound of Purple Rain and kept control Bitch I was the third nigga on the grassy knoll And you askin me, how you know it's the Soopa Open the door, I just blast on state trooper" She opened up the door, and I walked in She grabbed the hammer, and nailed it till I'm locked in I said, "Yo whassup bitch? You must be trippin You must wanna see how this thirty-eight be spittin" "Nah nah boo, it's my ex-boyfriend, he be buggin He can't take it no more than I don't wanna fuck him I was gonna get this nigga Faride to snuff him" "Well if he come back through, I'm not talkin I'm bustin Zip my zipper down bitch and start suckin Get your anus wet for long dick fuckin" "Oooh, I like the way you talk, just Put It In My Mouth" "Yeah, and I'ma keep that shit in when I'm comin" Fucked for thirty-six minutes and twelve seconds "Hit it from the back yo" oh yeah bitch no question Turn that ass around, she had tattoos of names on her back She said, "I keep track" I started readin her back I couldn't believe I read one name it said EPMD I turned her ass around I said no it couldn't be It was the J-to-tha-A-to-tha-N-to-tha-E Her pussy walls grabbed my dick so I'm stuck So I burnt that ass from that blunt hash that I lit up "Owwwww!!" She jumped up, puffed up, started yellin I smacked her, cracked her, put her in a full nelson "Okay, okay, okay, okay, I give up Besides Soopaman Luva, I think I hear my nigga" Aiyyo car pulls up, he steps up *skreech* and stick his keys in The door opened, I snatched him up for no reason Gave him a two piece with a biscuit, laid him out Oh shit, it was that nigga Parrish Smith! more free lyrics |
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