Redman

Redman - Da Ill Out songtekst

Je score:

[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
Vind dit lied op:
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amazon.com

Copyrights:

Auteur: Erick Sermon, Jamal Phillips, Keith Murray, Reggie Noble

Componist: ?

Publisher: Rush Associated Labels Recordings

Details:

Uitgegeven in: 1996

Taal: Engels

Komt voor op: Muddy Waters (1996)

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