LL Cool J

LL Cool J - Rasta Imposter songtekst

Je score:

What you got to do with it? What the fuck you talkin about?
 What the fuck you got to do with it? You stupid nigga? You stupid?
 Did you see that video  nigga? Fuck wrong with you? Like you don't
 you don't know what you go to do with it. Like your fuckin insane or
 something. (You fuckin wack ass nigga)
 (laughing in background)
 [Verse One]
 Y'all faggots is weak  y'all starstruck niggas think shit is sweet
 That busy signal bullshit is dead up in the street
 Heard that garbage dough jam, made me reminisce
 On when heard your man's wack shit and went to take up his
 Jealous faggot man cause I'm richer than y'all
 When I load my desertees, I'm picturin y'all
 On the streets of Queens where I was raised and born, hardcore
 And stood on every corner like a liquor store
 Clips full of hollowtips, follow loose lips
 Aimin at your clique and make em cough up my chips
 Bitch, ya niggas wanna see if I'm ill?
 Wanna see how many rappers can be killed, how much blood can spill?
 When I inject this lyrical drill, if I can't do it, the dumb-dumbs
 will
 Tell that nigga to tell his man to tell that nigga
 I send the wolves to kill that nigga
 If you wanna know why, its cause I'm still that nigga
 Michael Jordan of all this rap shit, pullin the trigger
 What the fuck? You on a mission to self-destruct
 And have the nerve to let the chickenhead model cluck
 Your swervin nigga, better follow the white lines
 Your up on the sidewalk, off course, read the sign
 I'm so ill, y'all niggas is so wack
 Your whole crew is such, y'all lack the hard impact
 Far as your man go, I got young niggas that wanna get him
 Treat him like a Philly, wet'im and split'im
 Chorus
 L.L. don't lose niggas, we can do it however you choose nigga
 One on one or round up the crews nigga
 But Can-I-Blast you out your shoes nigga
 You know the rules nigga!
 *repeat*
 [Verse Two]
 Queens shit, give me cream so I can grab my dick
 Sew that shit, what the fuck y'all niggas workin with?
 Backwards, ass-jerk, jumpin up out the woodwork
 Ridin my meat, tryin to critique my physique
 A real nigga wouldn't even mention my lips
 Can't believe you went there, no I know you a bitch
 Sugar-coated nigga, deep-throated nigga
 Young guns take a pull before they quote a nigga
 Yeah, I wrote it nigga for all my real live devoted niggas
 I'm a true and livin lyrically ill poet nigga
 So what you talkin bout? That shits supposed to be hot?
 Y'all niggas on the warpath, y'all takin over my block?
 I think not, matter of fact your not aloud to rap no more
 And if you hear this in the club sneak out the backdoor
 And if you bumpin in your ride make sure your windows is up
 and your tint's passed the limit
 So they don't know a faggot's in it!
 I'm L.L. and I did this to you
 Teflon waitin for every nigga runnin with you
 Rhymes hit you, lace you up again and split you
 Niggas ain't official thats why Mom Dukes miss you
 Tell your man bring it on, I'm only gettin warm
 Never die, never quit, and my money's long
 Punk ass crab nigga, talkin bout his lips
 Constantly involvin my name with that bullshit!
 Why I diss you? You stepped up in the ring
 Ice jinglin in the video like you the next Don King
 And tell your man I know he got some lyrics in the stash
 But I'm the best that ever did it, now get this motheruckin ass
 Mic's too hot to hold, leave it in the sand
 So I can describe the picture with both hands
 You must not understand who's in command
 I got all the flavor, but y'all niggas is mad bland
 Chorus
 [Verse Three]
 I'll cut your fuckin head off and leave it on your mom's dresser
 Then pay the pope a hundred thou to go and bless her
 You wanna test a lyrical teacher and professor?
 I bet y'all niggas fall off now that your under pressure
 I don't stress ya, yet still I must check ya
 Extort niggas for gettin fucked up, stop and inspect ya
 Fuck wrong with you nigga? You can't do nothin to me
 If I put a slug in you on the low, you'd probably try to sue me
 Your girl blew me, I said "Now!" She said "Do me"
 Bust a nut in her face on tape to let the crew see
 Can't put dirt roll, nigga poppin shit
 Underestimantin what Queens niggas'll do for chips
 I originated all this shit
 The ice, the champagne, the bitches on the dick
 That really don't apply to you crabs in a barrel
 Mic's my staff sendin you a message like Pharaoh
 Leave it alone or get swallowed in the sea
 The King of Hiphop is something you could never be
 My crown you'll never see, I'll rule forever, G
 I'll be goin platinum when you just a memory
 I'm the double L, capital C, double O
 With the seven upside down jakes slayin the clown
 What the fuck wrong wit y'all niggas? You out your mind nigga?
 You better try to go beg Lauryn to come back or something
 Fuck wrong with you?
 Chorus
Vind dit lied op:
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Taal: Engels

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