| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 6:30 | 
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A child was born in the East one day
Moved to the West coast after his parents passed away Never understood his fascination with rhymes or beats In poetry he was considered elite Became a young gangster in the streets of L.A. Lost connections with his true roots far away But no matter the job or crime He never lost his hardcore obsession to rhyme New York's hip hop movement broke loose DJ's cut records, raps had the juice Since busting rhymes was his natural thing He was crowned the west coast MC king But after his inauguration there was a rush Of wack rappers with one intention to crush This master rapper and take his throne A simple job,he had no crew, he stood all alone Assassins came in groups of one through five With raps no mortal MC could survive But he showed no mercy, he rapped blood thirsty Battling from Friday on through to Thursday Never losin a bout, never ending in doubt Every confrontation K.O. knock out On his never ending journey to the T.O.P. The L.A. player M.C. ICE-T [Verse One] Magnificent rhymer, I'm the ill beat designer If they ask you if I'm def, don't front and say kinda Merciless, meticulous, so fresh it's ridiculous I'm raised in the heart of Los A-N-G-E-L-E-S King word connector, the vocal projector Your girl tried to jock me, I had to reject her Always adventurous voice some say is sensuous Now, I'm on the mic so I think I better mention this I don't like Gucci, Fila, Louie or Fendi Those are fads and I ain't trendy But whether your name's Lucy, Terry, Laura or Cindy Ice got beef and this ain't Wendy's Bust a move while I'm talkin' Sucker rappers I be stalkin' When they see me on the street with my homeboy walkin' They slow down, turn around and ask was that Ice? Then they see me cold countin' my cash Rhyme pays!! [Verse Two] Moves must be busted, girls can't be trusted I looked at your lady and I was disgusted Came into the party just to rock the place And your big zombie lookin' freak still won't get out of my face I don't mean to diss her, but do you kiss her? Look at her lips, she got them crazy blisters Body that smells like the New York mets Arm pits all nappy packed full of sweat I hope this something that you never forget Tie that freak outside next time you come in the set Because my jams be crazy, packed with all fly ladies I'm talkin' def girlies and I don't mean maybe The way I rhyme no one will ever slay me And I ain't lyin' rhyme do pay me ! Rhyme pays!! [Verse Three] I'm notorious, I'm infamous, like a snake I'm venomous For those who may diss I think you should consider this I can make a rhyme complicated as a puzzle Dangerous and as violent as a pit bull in a muzzle But this record is for radio S-T-E-R-E-O It not to be banned or for some underground mix show My hearts in my pen every time I begin Sometimes my lyrics go crazy and I just can't control em my friend I try to edit what I'm rappin' about But I can't write polite my anger just jumps out!! Perpetrators in the business claim their hard as hell Talkin' that gangster shit, know'n they're soft as jell- Oh! I better chill out before I ill out And my negative potential just might spill out And then this record won't be gettin played I'll save that rap for another day -Rhyme pays- [Verse Four] The front stage area goes into hysteria As I start to rhyme and unleash my criteria Of what is to come during the beat of the drum And Evil agitates the records with the use of his thumb Using his intricate moves, the record stays in the groove My boy cuts like Jason, it's easy to prove That Evil E is the great, his cuts are real not fake Not emulated effects or a play back tape So suckers witness your fate while Evil demonstrates I'm bout to get off this mic, E., dog the break - Kick it! [Verse Five] Like me if ya want'a, diss me if you're gonna But my jam will still be kickin' on your neighborhood corner As my bass is max'n out the V.U.S. on your box There'll be no doubt within your mind whether this MC do rock Like granite, I planned it, So you could understand it If someone's talkin' when I'm rhymin' Then just say, "Damn shut up!" While Ice is breakin' the boy don't be fakin' Maybe they're just jealous of the dollars I'm makin' But you're down with me. You know god gifted me Black kids say I'm trech, white kids say I'm nifty Spell out my name ya go I-C-E T But right now it's time for Evil E to hit me! [Verse Six] Rhyme pays, buys my food every night and day It pays my rent my bills I guess I'm doin' ok But when I say rhyme pays, I mean in different ways Cause rappin' gets a lot of kids out of the streets each day It makes me feel real nice when someone likes the Ice Or some young MC asks me for advice But there will always be rappers who hate Ice-T Maybe I dogged 'em in a battle or just jealousy Inevitable situation, sucker rapper frustration I rhyme too tough to bite, too intricate for notation Syllables jumble, competitors crumble as they witness mic attack And the microphone rumbles like hurricane I maim, sometimes I go insane Step toward my rap and I inflict the pain! No shame Ice capital T's my name!! Damn there I go illin' out again!!!! -Rhyme Pays- |
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| 2. |
| 4:42 |
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It was a Saturday night on the streets of Cali
Threw on my dope silk suit, brushed off my suede Bally's Threw on enough gold for any girl's pleasure Left a pound and a half of that shit still in the dresser I slapped a clip in my nine, threw a clip in my sock Hit three grand up off the dresser, it was ten on the dot Now my beeper started beepin, I threw that shit in the sink I didn't need it no more, I had more money than Prince See, I was quittin the game and tonight was my fling You see, on the streets they're players but only one king Now that's the title I held but the game is real fast You gotta get in and get out if you expectin to last Now my homeboy Evil was downstairs chillin in his brand new Benz I had many adversaries but very few close friends We broke to the set, E parked the car on the grass High-signin was his trademark and he did it with class Hit the door like two titans, the whole jam stopped to stare And as we walked through the crowd they threw bills in the air I spied my man Jazz maxin out with two stone cold freaks "Yo, what's up Ice, you rich now, man, you too good to speak?" Now Jazz was a player from the east coast, the Bronx He was known to be hard on the women and a brother he'd stomp Smack a bitch in a minute, some say just for fun And he was known for his chrome-plated pearl-handled gun "Yo Ice, you my brother and I love you and all But what's up with that six g's you owe me, man 'member when your boys took that fall? And I posted the bail cause yo ass was locked up" Evil gave Jazz ten g's and Jazz shut the fuck up Just then I saw Donald-D hit the front door More gold than a Aztec, black leather he wore Hoes grabbed for they niggaz when D hit the set Cause what Donald |
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| 3. |
| 5:35 | 
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| 4. |
| 2:36 |
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We interrupt this program with a special bulletin:
America is now under marshall law. All constitutional rights have been suspended. Stay in your homes. Do not attempt to contact love ones, insurance agent or attorney. Shut up. Do not attempt to think or depression may accure. Stay in your homes. Curfew is at 7 PM sharp after work. Anyone gaught outside of gates of their suveillance sectors after curfew will be shot. Remain calm, do not panic. Your neighborhood watchofficer will be by to collect urine examples in the morning. Anyone gaught intefering with the collection of urine examples will be shot. Stay in your homes, remain calm. The number one enemy of progress is question. National security is more important than individual will. All port broadcasts will proceed as normal. No more than two people may gather anywhere without promission. Use only the drugs described by your boss or supervisor. Shut up, be happy. Obey all orders without question. The comformental mandor is now mandatory. Be happy. At last everything is done for you. |
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| 5. |
| 4:43 |
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Ten years ago
I used to listen to rappers flow Talkin' bout the way They rocked the mic at the disco I liked how that shit was goin' down With my own sound So I tried to write rhymes Somethin' like them, my boys said, "That ain't you Ice, That shit sounds like them." So I sat back, thought up a new track Didn'T fantasize, kicked the pure Facts. Motherfuckers got scared Cause they weas unprepaired who would tell it how it relly was? Who dared? A motherfucker from the West Coast L.A. South Central fool Where the Crips and the Bloods play When I wrote about parties It didn't fit Six in the Mornin' That was the real shit [CHORUS] O.G. Original Gangster When I wrote about parties Someone always died When I tried to write happy Yo I knew I lied, I lived a life of crime Why play ya blind? A simple look and anyone with two cents would know I'm A hardcore player fromhe streets Rappin' bout hardcore topics Over hardcore drum beats a little different Than the average though Jet you thru the fast lane Drop ya on death row Cause anybody who's been there Knows that life ain't sho lovely On the blood-soaked fast track That invincible shit don't work Throw ya in a joint You'll be comin' out feet first So I blst the mic with my style Sometimes I'm ill The other times buck wild But the science is always there I'd be a true sucker If I acted like I didn'T care I rap for brothers just like myself Dazed by the game In a quest for extreme wealth But I kick it to you hard and real One wrong move, and you caps peeled I ain't no super hero I ain't no Marvel Comic But when it comes to game I'm atomic At droppin' it straight Point blank and untwisted No imagination needed, cause I lived it This ain't no fuckin' joke This shit is real to me I'm Ice-T O.G. Two weeks ago I was out at the disco Two brothers stepped up to me And said "Hey yo, Ice We don't think you're down What set ya claimin'?" E drew the Glock, yo my set's aimin'! Dumb motherfucker Try to roll on me, please! I'm protected by a thousand emcees and hoodlums and hustlers And bangers with Jeri curls we won't even count the girls Cause they got my back And I got theirs too Fight for the streets When I'm on Oprah or Donahue They try to sweat a nigga But they just didn'T figure What my wit's as quick as a hair trigger "He's not your everyday-type Prankster." I'm Ice-T, the original gangster So step to me If you think that you're ready to Got on your bullet proof? Well mine's goin' right thru This ain't no game to me It's hollow fame to me Without respect frome streets So I don't claim be The hardest motherfucker on earth Catch me slippin, I can even get worked But I don'T slip that often there's a coffin Waitin' for the brother Who comes off soft when The real fuckin' shit goes down Take a look around all them pussies can be found they talk a mean fight But fight like hoes I'm from South Central, fool Where everything goes Snatch you out your car so fast You'll get whiplash Numbers on your roof top For when the copters pass Gang bangers Don't carry no switch blades Every kid's got a Tec 9 or a Hand grenade Thirty-seven killed Last week in a crack war Hostges tied up And shot in a liquor store Nobody gives a fuck "The children have to go to school." Well, moms, good luck Cause the shit's fucked up bad I use my pad and pen And my lyrics break out mad I try to write about fun andthe goodtimes But the pen yanks away and explodes And destroys the rhyme Maybe it's just cause of where I'm from L.A. that was a shot gun! |
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