House Of Pain

House Of Pain - Fed Up Remix songtekst

Je score:

I say brothers are amused by other brothers reps
 But theyre all playin' roles just like Omar Epps
 I see so many players I wonder where the coach is
 My names Everlast Im hard to kill like roaches
 The dough that youre making has got you fronting and faking
 Your hearts been shook your brains cooked like bacon
 Cant believe youre not butter you thought you was on it
 Out trying to flaunt it but its just Blue Bonnet
 And now its my turn kid watch me churn
 Theres only so many spots theyre had to earn

 Pack it up pack it in
 So let me begin
 Dont make me have to smack your dumb ass into a head spin
 Youre left in suspense
 From the aura of my presence
 Trying to get props under false pretense
 You wanna say something but youre not sure
 If Im a dis ya 'cause youre not pure
 Like the cheap version that gets cut with baking soda
 If you had game you still couldnt get over
 I know your crews gotta be crazy weak
 'Cause I can judge them by the company they keep
 Way deep is how I get into this rap thing
 While youre napping I got your chicks titties flappin'
 Shes asking for me to hit her off lovely
 Im a slay all you punks like as if I was the man
 When you sell out to appeal to the masses
 You have to go back and enroll in some classes
 All you curve pieces start shaking your asses
 All you blunt holders take two pulls and pass it
 Back in 89 I dropped too much acid
 Back from Lake Habasoo out to Lake Placid
 While you busy ragging on the people you blasted
 Im asking how many days have you fasted

 [CHORUS]
 Get up Ill break ya down a little somethin'
 Im fed up its time to go head huntin'
 Dead up too many crews be frontin'
 Im fed up its time to go head huntin'
 Get up Ill break ya down a little somethin'
 Im fed up its time to go head huntin'
 Dead up too many crews be frontin'
 Im fed up its time to go head huntin'

 Hey whats that sound dont turn around
 To your back I got the grey ground
 Hard for you chumps that act odd
 The ones faking jacks packing guns acting hard
 But lets suppose you really had a burner
 You would still need some lessons on how to hold it firmer
 Fuck a murder Im a just kill your ego
 'Cause we know that you aint really got no people
 Murdering a prop my man this my homey that
 You need to get the fuck out my face cause you dont know me Jack
 Eeny, meeny, miney, moe...
 I put seeds in your mental and I watch 'em grow
 Turn on the instrument and then clock my flow
 Put the dough in my pocket and I rock the show
 'Cause I know you and this is how we go
 Somalaku to the Muslim
 Shalom to the Hebrew
 Greed lust envy sloth gluttony pride and wrath do the math
 These seven deadly sins represent my jinn
 You scheeming on testing me kid where you been
 I been told all my life Im my only friend
 Theres a killer on the road money its the end
 And you might think that Im a dummy
 But while youre out at the spot Im home chilling with your honey
 I kicks flavor
 Like Steven King I write the horror
 If you wanna see tomorrow when I lead youre best to follow
 Or youll be left along the road in the dust
 And me and you wont have too much to discuss
 Trust me I be the gifted unlimited
 Too many of these rappers blowing up because of Guinness kid
 You aint did the bid you aint never pulled the trigger
 You battle me I make you stagger more than liquor
 I get raw Im quickdraw the outlaw I dealt yall
 Ready to fuck with me so boy you better stop
 'Cause Im a beat your ass like your pops
 ...Get the real estate money and then the props

 [CHORUS
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Copyrights:

Auteur: Bob Crewe, Charlie Calello, Erik Schrody, Leor Dimant

Componist: ?

Publisher: Tommy Boy Music

Details:

Uitgegeven in: 1996

Taal: Engels

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