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4:58 | 
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| from Dj Greg Street, Dj Kay Slay - The Champions : North Meets South (2006) | |||||
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3:18 | 
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from Dave Chappelle's Block Party (2006)
Hold your flix, I'm not for the photo op's
It's Black, code name Yaphet Kotto ock My twist like a ratchet in an auto shop Since granddaddy old Desoto stopped and he got the Caddie I been gladly servin, any y'all cats wanna act determined Spit pesticides for rats and vermin Seem like none of y'all chumps is learning Y'all hopeless, and I'm a little better than dope is Far from a brand new kid to show biz Tryna hold on, maintain my focus Coming out a room with a could of smoke Smokers rolling with the punches I survive and rock Cause I keep the crowd alive And the texture of my voice Is course and kind of hoarse and cut Like I'm throwing a thousand knives (Hook:) Party people gather round what we have here is a brand new sound Reach for my waist you hit the ground You better duck when that awful sound goes Boom Thats what's happenin in the parking lot Thats whats happenin on stage (Repeat Hook) The man at hand that rule the school And reach and teach the blind and find a way from A to Z And be the most to boast I'm load and proud The game and reign that remain The heat is on so feel the fire come off the empire or the More higher level of depth one step beyond dope To suckers all scope and hope to cop a note Cause I could never let em on top of me I play em out like a game of Monopoly Let it speed around the board like an astro And send them to jail for tryna pass go Shaking them up Breaking them up Taking no stuff But it still ain't loud enough So quest love let the fire roast So I can flow and we can kill the whole show cause (Repeat hook) I'm live Design a finer rhyme that's right on time One step beynd and not behind the line That seperates thought from divine You can take it as a caution or a warning sign Look for antonyms Words I'm sending em Homonyms, synonyms good like M&M's You know the time when it's Riq Gees slicing I turn a Mic's last name into Tyson My brain like a factory constantly creating Materials stitch by stitch for decoration My lyrics one fabric the beat is a lining My passion of rhyming is fashion designing Now it get sorted cause people wanna sport it ya bought it If you didn't then you couldn't afford it Poetry full of surprises it's like a game show And my brain go I do my thing yo (Repeat Hook) |
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5:00 |
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from Ghost Dog (고스트 독) by RZA [ost] (2000)
Yeah
Shake your funky ass, bitch Yaknowmean... Yo Yo we divide cakes to rise the stakes Me and my apes die for papes Bust heat and hide from jake Up in the skyscrape, on top of the world Back yourself against the wall, gun brawl Kid, I end it for all ya'll (Shake that cake bitch) Son'll stop the dough from flowin Spotless rock glowin, shots are blowin Pop the c-lock, rollin waistline and glock is showin We keep it thugged out, who not knowin get your knot blown in Yo yo Bob Digital and Kool G Rap, we set the booby trap African wiz wit the gat inside her dooby wrap Derelict rhyme crabs, you rappin for a Scooby Snack Foul-tongued bitch, you bound to lick my doody crack Verbal pellets spray, tec sound makes my amex Every slap on my snare drum son could break necks You get yanked up and spanked up, your face shanked up Who the FUCK raise your rank up? I blow your tank up, pop the lock on a cop handcuff Puff a dutch of dust, bust the jump' up and snuff out the judge Fuck a cell block, black top capsule, the mailbox It's heavy-bone birds stash glock in the nailshop One the strip, took a sip, twist the L top The God jewels son sound like a third rail shock The gold crossbone, doorag, universal flag Blast at the turbo charge and purple herbal drag Known for the W, carry a double-two in the shoe Iron snub rubber noose in the bubble goose Bullets soaked in oil, hot heat will flame broil Wu-Tang slang I bang makes your brain coil Shaolin gods we known to stack cakes Desert Queen projects son, they bake cakes Uptown Pilan dogs, you make cakes Cold Medina sons, they known to take cakes Yo, we have the Wu-Tang, we let two's bang That's how we do thangs, that's how we move thangs Shoes paid wit two in the brain Keep the ice blue in the Range Me and The RZ' quick wit two of them dames Got my dick blew in the Range My nigga keep it true to the game It ain't no tellin what I do to you lames If my mood change, choose to aim Do you and your dudes the same Go against grain and lose a fame Who claim life in the thug lane but life is real Lead come out of pipes of steel Rob, kill, or heist for mills Spill as I let out and slice your grill Nigga don't think twice to peel Just open shop and dice to grill Send the six out, bust crib route To the brickhouse, steppin on new terrain, bring the click out The streets don't wanna see you read, let a clip out These niggas slip out, make they blood drip out Yo we divide the cakes to rise the stakes Me and my apes die for papes Bust heat and hide from jake Up in the skyscrape, on top of the world Back is up against the wall, gun brawl Kid, I end it for all ya'll The flood'll stop the dough from flowin Spotless rock glowin, shots I'm blowin Pop the c-lock, rollin waistline, the glock is showin e keep it thugged out, who not knowin get your knot blown in We said Uptown Pilan dogs, you make cakes Cold Medina sons, you known to take cakes Desert Queen project wizes, they bake cakes Shaolin gods, we known to stack cakes Uptown Pilan dogs, you make cakes Cold Medina sons is known to take cakes Desert Queen project cats, they bake cakes Shaolin gods, we known to stack cakes Desert Queen project cats, they bake cakes Shaolin gods is known to stack cakes Uptown Pilan dogs, you make cakes Cold Medina son is bound to take cakes |
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2:49 |
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from Big L - The Big Picture [Explicit Version] (2000)
(L) Yeah, check this shit out
(K) Kool G. Rap and my dog Big L (K) Holdin it di-down, ya heard? (Big L) Aiyyo; I heard your single, you better make a whole new song If they said that shit is hot then they told you wrong Clown niggaz, you ain't got a chance at all Big L Corleone too advanced for y'all I make moves and boss all across the world so don't be upset if I toss your girl I got cheddar to blow, pockets never get low Bitches sweat me wherever I go I cruise in a GS Lex', Cartier specs Nautica sweats with the fresh Gortex Jewels with baguettes, swingin like the Mets Throwin the dice and takin all size bets Never bummy; sip rummy, get money When I hit honies you felt the dick in her tummy On the le-low I see dough from here to Rio Flamboyant Records, C to the E-O - what? Chorus: Kool G. Rap Yo - all of y'all weak people fall back G. Rap and Big L, we all that Goin back to back where they brawl at Swing and walk with tall bats Leavin big holes with small gats Have 'em all fallin where the wall at All of y'all weak people fall back G. Rap and Big L, we all that Goin back to back where they brawl at Swing and walk with tall bats Leavin big holes with small gats Have 'em all fallin where the wall at (Kool G. Rap) Yo, from the spot to the cellblocks Hot as hell blocks where shells pop Where they sell rock to cop the SL drop Hood bitches in nail shops; no good snitches that tell cops People find bodies in lobbies, you can smell shots Niggaz turn stale on the Rock until they bail drop New York livin, got a nigga four-fifth limpin Send you as a gift to the mortician if you forfeit livin - my fortune is forbidden I say it one time before spittin then I leave your forehead drippin I laid low then came back for more bread grippin More thread flippin More head from chickens, it's time to turn the ape loose Bust out the cage and let the gauge loose Blow the feathers out of your Nordface goose It's G. Rap comin back with a click of brave troops Have y'all niggaz runnin for homebase like Babe Ruth Have you holdin holes in your body like you play flute Lay you down til you get found up in the sprayed Coupe Prepare for the takeover - give you the face makeover the seedier row and sheet draped over Be found on the block with the street taped over or comin out of deep coma, your speech made slower Corona Queens shakedown; I'm comin with the nickel-plate pound to trade rounds with all you fake clowns get down in the unsafe town Lacin it down, black guerilla fams kid we takin the crown ya heard? Chorus 2X (Kool G. Rap) Yo Kool G. Rap, holdin it down with the hazardous Big L Knahmean? {*echoes*} |
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5:04 |
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from U.N.K.L.E. - Psyence Fiction (1999)
Styles like Al Pacino
Reno until the carcelino The mad dino with the cambino, the gambino Digger than Jim COlisemo More reservoir dogs than Tarantino Scales for Venezuela, Brown as Ni O Making the block hotter than Jalepe OS G. Luciano Be wettin' shit like piesce in "Casino" Fifty dollar cigar seer The cosnia, the mafia Don P. like Garcia Drug Czar and the baby-Pah beater The M-8 behind the bar-freer The poughkenoughs, the panama skier Down with the parmesan Ready to comb like Vietnam with arms 'Cause the hollow-points and phenomenon The cheddar-spreader The killer with the gold Carretta N-Leader The sweater-letter with the hollow letter Drama-setter The patmeretta gettin' redder kids and mamma Shredder Infra-red clow off the armour better The godfather, the problem solver Coming through with the 6 shell revolver Hot as lava Guns skills that reel and in the 'ville I be the barber Gangster saga, the motha-fuckin' face carver Drums of death hold your breath Give you a dose of shit that's dope as soda The underworld family cosa-nostra Pearl-handle inside the shoulder-holster G. Luciano with a click but nothin' but N-S & Chicanos You get hit up like Castrelano italiano like crime familia N- don't get familiar Me and my goons might have to kill you Up in New York We play bloodsports at home court And hold down forts Soon as ya caught, get your dome torched G Rap and Dj Shadow leave your bone squashed Squeeze the chrome short, take no shorts We judge and jury in the home court Give you the clown corpse dead on the sidewalk Surrounded by mad pedefors Your whole frame laid in the white chalk You got the smoking section First-class tickets to resurrection Forever destined to a place where N-S never rest in Headed in hell's direction Lost at the crossroads and intersection Should've wore a vest for chest protection Slug fill you to capacity, someone at the dance Someone with the hand velocity of Butch Cassidy Bitch N- with the audacity to blaspheme me Got yourself caught in a motha-fuckin' tragedy Drums of death |
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3:20 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's
Headcrack, time to get the bread black! 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's Headcrack, time to get the bread! I rolled on every cee-lo corner that I know inside the city Kiddies, I got a fat mitt in my pocket lookin pretty So who wanna get paid on the block? A thousand's in the pock' Now go and grab your knots from the stash spot I shake them up and shake them up roll and I break em up Two ? and a pound-cake ("Yeah nigga, wake em up!") Keepin my fingers wrapped around the joint in case niggaz Start brawlin, because I see em FALLIN to the strong point One by one they losin down the line A fifty buck roll, a duck blows, old nigga pay me mine! ("Damn nigga!") I grab the dice, place your price, all you men are mice Riffin as I'm sippin on a Heineken and gettin nice I shake em up they papes are gettin dead, nigga sittin on a Beretta Said he wanna bet that I don't throw a better Now the game is surrounded by some money hungry bitches I put the kisses on my fists and rolled the triple sixes And once again it be the point, that I shoot That be puttin crazy loot, in the pocket of my army suit Now who wanna come throw another round I rolled a fo', a six, hold up, NOW I seen a fuckin pound Yeah you nigga know what the name of the game is I'm in yo' anus, cee-lo you know that shit that made a nigga famous Because I'm on the ding-dong, I can't go wrong Rollin for two hours long and STILL rollin strong 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's Headcrack, time to get the bread black! 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's [Nas] "Bettin Grants with the cee-lo champs" I make em sweat from beginners to the vets, I'm a threat Some niggaz double up on they fifty bets I gotta be nice to the dice, so I'm talkin to em I step back, gave a snap on the sidewalk and threw em Nigga went and put his foot in the way see, and tried to ace me Now I've got niggaz rollin to that bitch Tracy Yeah, but Tracy ain't so gentle, niggaz thought she was simple And loses with two deuces and a fuckin pimple ("A loser!") I crack another brew, sit back and watch what niggaz do Who threw that 2-U? I'm rollin the whole fuckin crew One by one niggaz come payin, that fell to the trey and Furlough inside the bait, that's what a nigga sayin Your luck is tough, I'm makin enough to buy a kilo Uh-oh, look out below, I think I rolled another cee-lo Pick up my crap, niggaz don't get back a DIME of that And keep my hand right by my waist where my nine is at One more test, and niggaz quittin, that's zero Broke, cryin broke, I'm doin backstrokes in cee-notes Crazy pockets are empty, what a god damn shame Niggaz you know the name of the game - word the fuck up! 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's Headcrack, time to get the bread black! 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's [Nas] "Bettin Grants with the cee-lo champs" 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's Headcrack, time to get the bread black! 4, 5, 6 is in the mix - I'm hittin them with trip's [Nas] "Bettin Grants with the cee-lo champs" |
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4:24 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
Back in the days was kinda crazy, kid. I started out with nothin'.
Wasn't livin' like Thanksgiving; I was turkey without the stuffin'. Sometimes I sweared to God that I was headed for the poorhouse. Say mama caught the drama; she would bleed tryin' to feed four mouths. Wasn't rockin' Girbauds; I barely had clothes, and when it snowed, And temperatures droppin' below zero, you know I froze. No CD's, a black and white TV, a seat is a rubber tire. With a hanger for the antenna, turned channels with some pliers. Had nothin' in my cabinet, but cans of Raid. I'm knockin' on my neighbor's door, To borrow a cup of sugar for my Kool-Aid. I wasn't freshly dipped, my gear was straight ripped; I'm trippin', 'Cause my winter coat got lost buttons, And zippers that wouldn't stay zipped. I never remembered Jack, the brother was straight fat cat. Not even a Big Mac black, I had Kid Castle topped with crackerjacks. Walkin' the streets, with the weak sneaks on my feet, And the freaks wouldn't speak, I never had lipstick on my cheek. So much for gettin' humped from the stunts, I always struck out. The one y'all likes is takin' hikes, if you can't pull a buck out. So now I gots to dedicate my next plate to all the homeboys and girls, Straight up baby, I'm blowin' up in the world. Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! I'm blowin' up the world, I gotta get mines, I gotta get mines. I gotsta get mines, you know what I'm sayin'? I'm blowin' up in the world. Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! I'm blowin' up the world, I gotta get mines, I gotta get mines. I gotsta get mines, yeah... It seems like only yesterday, my moms was on my back: "Get your butt up out the sack, and find a job, or hit the road, Jack." Black, I don't disown her, I'm just a kid from Corona. With a G.E.D. diploma, with more ribs showin' than Tony Rhoma's. In order to get straight, I gotsta to make a muscle; Learned to hustle and bustle, and I gave the streets a tussle. Standin' down on the corner, slangin' fat rocks to bottles. With the black tops, for cops got my shorty watchin' my back, Hobbes. Makin' mad lucci, bought up Louis Vuitton, Gucci. Hoochies callin' me boochi, while they smooch me, givin' up the coochie. Now I'm a felon, started sellin', and splittin' melons. I started gellin', to tellin' police, just 'cause I was swellin' Hangin' out on the corner, playin' cee-lo, rollin' for half a kilo. Yo, you'll never see G-low a-goin' below. Yeah, straight gettin' fortunate, as long as fees was torchin' it. It started gettin' hot around the block, the cops was scorchin' it. But luckily I made out before the coppers could frisk me, and diss me, 'Cause business in drugs is gettin' too risky. So now I just lamp, collect stamps, snatch up tramps' diamonds and pearls. Straight up, baby, I'm blowin' up in the world. Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! I'm blowin' up the world, I gotta get mines, I gotta get mines. I gotsta get mines, you know what I'm sayin'? I'm blowin' up in the world. Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! I'm blowin' up the world, I gotta get mines, I gotta get mines. I gotsta get mines, yeah... I got put on by DJ Polo, cut the record, "It's a Demo," And started chillin' in limos with champagne and tinted windows. Hoppin', no time for pages, sportin' gold chains and rings. Clockin' money and fame, nothin' changed, I'm still the same. Just spendin' twenties and tens at women pullin' on my linen, And grinnin' 'cause I was winnin' in this game, from the beginning. The lyrical skills was kinda ill, gave you a slight chill. So I just let the hype build, known for rappers run and go write wills. I turned from a hobo to a solo, bozin' for dolos. Stole my dough, you still below, now I perfer cigars and blow Mo'. So catch a flashback, of a G. Rap track, attacked, like a headcrack. That's smack, through your cap, with the lead black, And here's a new cut, for pooh-butt, rappers hangin' from off my Two nuts, like they was put there by members of the Ku Klux. So peep Kool G. Rap, don't sleep, money unless it's witcha girl. Straight up kid, I'm blowin' up in the world. Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! I'm blowin' up the world, I gotta get mines, I gotta get mines. I gotsta get mines, you know what I'm sayin? I'm blowin' up in the world. Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! Blowin' up, blowin' up in the world! I'm blowin' up the world, I gotta get mines, I gotta get mines. I gotsta get mines, yeah. |
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4:05 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
Comin straight off the sidewalks of New York
A nigga livin foul (repeat 2X) As I steps inside the playground I lays down my laws at the door and any nigga that's lookin for trouble gotsta face these silver double four's that I be packin on my hip hollow tips inside the clip Ready to rip a niggaz shit and make his wig slip to the side as a homocide's commited I gets rid of niggaz quick cause ain't no bullshit permitted I'm a outlaw, the motherfuckin villain doin killings, I won't stop until the morgue got bodies stacked up to the fuckin ceiling And ain't no drivebys, a mag and a bag lady, disguised and surprise you got a hole between your fuckin eyes Niggaz is grazed, catchin strays from the blaze Amazed by the ways I lays em down when my shit sprays Crazy brains hangin, and niggaz veins are swingin Bangin and gunslingin, even my own fuckin ears are ringin cause what I carry's much bigger than Dirty Harry's Do a Hail Mary, I make Bloody Mary's out of your capillaries Pieces of flesh, hangin off a niggaz chest, cause the vest that he dress, couldn't FUCK with the Smith and Wess' Motherfuckers runnin for miles, bodies stacked up in piles I'm killin executioner style Comin straight off the sidewalks of New York A nigga livin foul -- "I kill em executioner style" -> G. Rap (repeat 2X) I keeps my forty-five loaded with dum-dums, in rear I hold this right at my waist for just in case somebody gots to get exploded Cause G. Rap ain't that nigga that try to play so nigga lay low or get yourself a pair of wings, a harp, and a halo Clown, keep fuckin around, and you'll be dead G I'm spttin out the lead see, to split your fuckin head like the Red Sea Charged up with anger, six slugs in every chamber Dangerous stranger, with itchy trigger fingers like Lone Ranger I'm comin to split your cabbage like a savage and put two in yo' ass bitch and one inside the wifey and the baby carriage So head for the hills, I kills niggaz for thrills Causin crazy blood spill, when I let one drill in your grill I will pull out the glock to clear the blocky when I cock it Get laid and played out of pocket with a rocket in your eye socket So raise up queers, and say your fuckin prayers I've been killin for years, huntin motherfuckers like reindeers If one nigga's left standin, I'll squeeze the cannon (BOOM) Opened his motherfuckin ass like the Grand Canyon Layin faggot niggaz like towel when I gets wild and fouol I'm killin executioner style Comin straight off the sidewalks of New York A nigga livin foul -- "I kill em executioner style" -> G. Rap (repeat 2X) .. I take ten paces, draw my shit, and aim at niggaz faces Leavin no traces so a nigga's BEATIN body cases I'm wettin shit up, you get hit up, by the super soaker Brain after brain, I'm a motherfuckin chain smoker Cause it's the rootin tootin with the six-shooter Put a hole in your trooper so big niggaz can hula hoop ya Liftin them Smith and Wessuns like the westerns I blow out a niggaz intestines, and send him back to the fuckin essence Bullet rows, blows out the nose of my fo'-fo' Gunnin down all you bozos who run and call for po-po Send in paramedics and bring a lot of antisthetics Motherfuckin bodies are beheaded, niggaz are shredded So nigga get ready to meet your fuckin fate, when I send six trey-eight straight into your motherfuckin chest plate G. Rap been murderin niggaz since a child, you can go and check my files I'm killin executioner style Comin straight off the sidewalks of New York A nigga livin foul -- "I kill em executioner style" -> G. Rap (repeat 2X more Kool G Rap Lyrics |
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4:53 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
The time has come, we gotta expand, the whole operation
Distribution, New York, to Chicago, L.A. We gotta set our own market, and enforce it [Verse One: Kool G Rap] Champagne wishes of caviar dreams ?a penis didn't cream? With sales of fish scales from triple beams I gleam Livin the live of rowdy packin fifty cali's Rockin lizard Bally's while we do our drug deal in a dark alley Up in casinos just me and my dino primo Pushin beam-o's then parlay in Reno with two fly latinos Nas, he runs the whole staff, we count mad for seen bad We've seen a half a milli dashin out there on the Queens half Three major players gettin papers by the layers And those that portray us on the block get rocked like Domateus Fakers get used to shootin targets, soon as the dark hits Front on the drug market, bodies get rolled up in a carpet Those that cheat us try to beat us we got hookers with heaters That'll stray pop and put more shells in your top than Adidas Da leaders, lookin straight crimy in our Giorgio Armani's You wanna harm me and Nas you gots ta come get through a whole army The celo rollers money folders sippin bola holdin mad payola Slangin a Coke without the Cola Me and black don't fake jacks but we might sling one It ain't no shame in our game we do our thing son [Chorus] Livin the fast life, in fast cars Everywhere we go, people know who we are A team from out of Queens with the american dream So we're plottin up a scheme to get the seven figure cream (repeat 2X) [Verse Two: Nas Escobar] Yo I got, guns from Italy, smoke trees, considerably Mid-state and Green it seems, is where all my niggaz be The ghetto misery, shootouts and liquor stores A perpendicular, angle of the clout war Police searchin up my Lex over who's petrol My tech blows straight off the roof and tests yo' respect though But dough don't respect me, it got me handcuffed The rough life, I just be up nights, breathin with scuffed Nike's Pour my beers for my peoples under the stairs These years I got they names in my swears Poppin Cristal like it's my first child, lickin shots, holiday style Rockin Steele sweaters, Wallaby down Twenty-four carats, countin cabbage, like the Arabs The marriage of me and the mic is just like magic Elegant performance, bubble Lex full insurance Guzzlin Guinness shootin catchin cases concurrent It's Nas, seven hundred wives, King Solomon size We on the rise, me and G, ghetto wise guys The Luciano Frankie Aiel, Bugsy Seagal Green papers with eagles from a tray that's illegal *singer* Brother you've got to make it happen Yeahhhahhyeahhh, get this money, yeahhh Brother you've got to make it happen When you're living in the fast life, heyy yeah yeah [Verse Three: G Rap, Nas] [Rap] Aiyyo my lifestyle's exquisite, yayo like a blizzard [Nas] It's choir attire standin on ground with one pivot [Rap] Two players rockin silk blazers and diamonds like glaciers [Nas] Lands with namebrand seats reclinin like in spaceships [Rap] Bodies on ice [Nas] Livin trife, rollin fixed up dice [Rap] Gamblin Grants [Nas] Handlin stamps [duo] Moves are sheist [Nas] My bankrolls, got the cops comin in plain clothes [Rap] Tryin to arraign again cause of our fame that's how the game goes [Nas] True [Rap] Right out the slammer with the fame and glamour Cookin up grams with Arm & Hammer supplyin scramblers in Alabama [Nas] Rub out faces and leave no traces My aces got mad body cases, preserve spaces at the horse races Servin us Dom P my cliquo Dimes with magnifico, puttin in cut inside ?perico? Heat for foes, shoppin sprees with my fleet for clothes In Caribbean suites, deep, rippin beats with flows [Rap] Aiyyo, we went from standin on blocks, without some socks Sellin rocks, to pickin up stock and boat docks with glocks And got poppy seed fields with million dollar bills Packin all the blue steel we keeps it real inside the battlefield [Nas] Yeah so here's a toast to the funds and things Gun smokes in rings, graveyards is buried with kings [Chorus] |
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3:45 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
I knew a youngster met him at 14 a very short scene
Fiendin' to make his dreams come true but see money was caught mean Started runnin' wild and livin' life type of foul that was my shorty's style But deep down in heart he was still only a child He was typin' nice at ball if he had height y'all Might of been 'NBA Today' instead I watched his life fall Blowin' up the spots and poppin' them tec glocks Collectin' street props, splittin' tops, didn't stop, so many men dropped Started committin' murder after murder Blasted the last nigga that tried to riff so fast he flipped him like a burger Slipped and became the victim of his own murder hunger He got put six feet under by a small shorty that was younger And this type of street violence today happens too often It hit me hard as hell to see my dog up in the coffin People droppin' a rose when the casket is closed Hey yo, that's the name of the game out on the street, that's how it goes They say: "Live by the trigger, die by the trigger" It ain't about whose gun is more bigger, nigga It's bout whose draw is quicker So to my shorty dog puzzled I'm pledgin' Died at the age of 17, Brooklyn East New York legend (Tap the bottom of the bottle for the brothers) Keep it real on the street, money, and look out for one another Thinkin' back when I was chillin' with K-Von, but now he's long gone So I carried on and wrote this song to keep the strong on Me and black-o way back in childhood when we was wild hoods Runnin around the neighborhood and up to no good Started hangin' hard out there on the boulevard in stolen cars Then put behind bars sellin' drugs and pullin' yards Then my crimey got locked up for cookin' the rock up Started bouncin' uptown to stuck up, my nigga straight blew the block up Yeah, the blue and whites was on sight runnin' with flashlights On the double a fast life, that's when he seen his last nights Out on the street runnin' from the heat Then got locked up from (Happy New Year!) All the way down to (New Year's Eve!) The two of those in a wardrobe of clothes Got back on crackin', I let him whip the macks and go lookin' for hoes And then another sad story is headed for me When i found out another soldier died in the territory So in memory of my dog I write a lyric Straight hopin' melodies travel from my mind to your spirit Hear it when I get biz for K-Von, I'm pledgin' Died on 104 Northern Boulevard, Corona, Queens legend (Tap the bottom of the bottle for the brothers) Keep it real on the street, money, and look out for one another 3X (Tap the bottom of the bottle for the brothers) Keep it real on the street |
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4:28 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
[Chorus: x2]
Yo you gotta go you gotta go you gotta go (G: And aiyyo what you don't know believe the ghetto knows) [Kool G. Rap] New York New York the city that never sleeps Bodies covered in white sheets are layin' in the streets Shit gets deep as we creep up the block by the kids slangin' rocks And holdin' glocks stolen from the cops to get props You gotta split a top on the regular Or get plugged in your mug, from a slug, by your competitor Gunshots echo throughout the city like thunder, no wonder Another brother six feet under You know it ain't no jokin' when the streetlights are broken So keep your eyes open, or get ready for a, smokin' 'loc Step out of line, I hope you got your nine gun son The Smith and Wess', you better press 9-1-1 (word up) Or make a run for it there's too many to tackle The Big Apple will put your ass on ice like a Snapple So even though I rap I gots to stay strapped Niggas act up I back up (PI-YAH) I bust a cap inside your fuckin' hat Don't even pose with them hoes, the swinger that you chose Just might be down with the foes, only the shadow knows And ain't no lollipop, lollipop over here only the shottie pops (BOOM) Now just sit back and watch the bodies drop The younger gunmen got the bigger niggaz runnin' The shorties (what) the shorties (what) the shorties are comin' To push a nigga wig back, and leave his ass flat on his back The motherfuckin' ghetto knows, and it's like that [Chorus] [Kool G. Rap] Today's headlines, another nigga dead Six to the body and fo' to the head Followed the red bitch in the bed full of lead A drug-related case and now the place is filled with Feds Ramshacked the shack, disclose 'bout two kilos of dope Two ounces of coke's caught in the pocket of his coat So, another brother caught the ultimate surprise With blown out brains, to drop stains on his eyes Dazed as I sit back and watch the channel two news Watchin' his family goin' through all the boo-hoos You lose, like an Ill Street, the Blues are gettin' deeper Nothin' left in the room except for him, the Grim Reaper Police are takin' [unknown] snapshots, scoop up some blood drops Pull out a file on a juvenile child of mugshots The cops knew he fell victim to laws on the street So they just, pull out the white sheets, to cover up the dead meat Seal off the area with yellow tape, draw the white chalk around the body now the party has to motivate One more outlaw, was murdered on the scene for the green Died at the age of seventeen [Chorus] [Kool G. Rap] Strollin' the concrete, packin' my heat, walkin' the backstreets I seen niggaz pull up, peepin' me out the side a black Jeep Six feet deep, that's where I'm goin' if I'm slippin' Steady cockin' my shit cause I already got the clip in Now who's the first nigga to run up, here they come up The block hardrocks with glocks rollin' holdin' they guns up I buck, I buck, and then I struck one in the chest Nigga should of wore a vest but now his ass is put to rest But now I got three mo' niggaz, pullin triggers Strays are ricochetin' off the bricks, zigga zigga But who got the biggest strap? Who's bustin' bigger caps? My BOOM BOOM BOOMS against they PAP PAP PAPS No haps, G. Rap ain't goin' out like a sucker I reloaded the shot and dropped another motherfucker Quick, I duck and shit to dodge the bullets comin' at me 'Cause I won't be too happy with a slug inside my nappy Two more niggaz left, they scared to death, but I'm leary Shit gets kinda scary when I got bulletholes near me I went between two cars, lettin' off the quarter pound I see another body fallin' down to the ground Quick I run up on him cause I don't think that he's dead Standin' over his ass I put two more inside his head That's three niggaz down, only got one nigga to go I gots to send his ass to the gravedigger so I lay low in the cut and wait for moneygrip to slip up Nearly shot my whole clip up, I got one more slug to rip up Look over by the GS, see his ass stickin his head out Boom, let the lead out, blew a piece of his brain dead out The back of his head, now he's dead, because he fell face down Right on the motherfuckin' streets that he dwelled [Repeat Chorus] |
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| from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995) | |||||
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4:02 |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
And once again it's big G, runnin the number rackets
Wearin Pele jackets Fast loot tactics, I'm well up in the millionaire bracket The boss of all bosses, I own racehorses and a fortress Corridors with olympic torches and Mona Lisa portraits Jacuzzis and saunas and eatin steak at Benny Harner's Bentley's limousine the front yard stream is full of pirahnas I'm set, a private jet, I drink a lot of Beck's Get a lot of sess condo and duplex, diamond infested Rolex Deliver a crown at the world units with silver china Sippin on finer wine-are you see more shines than diamond miners The Highness, kingpin of heroin I'm thorough when I have to bring the terror in Handle business in each and every borough in Town or city, I'm rollin like Frank Nitty, I'm rich and pretty Back up kiddies, I got crimies that's grimy and gritty A nigga that's spunky and likes to keep his pockets chunky Makin most of my money, from all the dopefiends and junkies I learned from the best the ones that's livin And the ones that's put to rest So I bless my chest with a vest and pack a Smith-N-Wes And then I'm off to get the snaps, not the scraps The game is be a real mack, the name is cool G Rap Now it's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes you want to holler It's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes you want to holler I got a fly hoe up under the wing, a swinger that does her thing And if you step inside my ring, she'll bang it out and make your brains hang She sits at restaurant tables with mink foxes and sables Drinkin Cherenade brand label she'll rock a sucker's cradle And yeah, honey is more bounce to the ounce She walks around with lucci in large amounts Millions inside Swiss bank accounts Her name is Tammy, got a beach house in Miami Rides around with a small jammy in her silk and satin panties A down hoe, a Foxy Brown hoe, standin her ground hoe And if you clown yo she'll turn into a bust a round hoe Fly as a Heaven's Angel got sapphires in her bangles Diamond earrings hangin dingle gettin money from all angles She's pretty under the New York city bright lights And real light, way after midnight, I hit it cause the slit's tight Wake up early and make my rounds, break up break down Packin a silver four pound, some clowns be trying to get down Light up a smoke and grab a stack of see-notes Them slick stick up kids don't get no free dough bro 'Cause I ain't tryin to be broke I goes all out for G Rap and this honey nothin funny It's a damn shame, what I gotta do to get the money Now it's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes me want to holler It's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes me want to holler No it ain't no sleeping over [Repeat until fade] |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
And once again it's big G, runnin the number rackets
Wearin Pele jackets Fast loot tactics, I'm well up in the millionaire bracket The boss of all bosses, I own racehorses and a fortress Corridors with olympic torches and Mona Lisa portraits Jacuzzis and saunas and eatin steak at Benny Harner's Bentley's limousine the front yard stream is full of pirahnas I'm set, a private jet, I drink a lot of Beck's Get a lot of sess condo and duplex, diamond infested Rolex Deliver a crown at the world units with silver china Sippin on finer wine-are you see more shines than diamond miners The Highness, kingpin of heroin I'm thorough when I have to bring the terror in Handle business in each and every borough in Town or city, I'm rollin like Frank Nitty, I'm rich and pretty Back up kiddies, I got crimies that's grimy and gritty A nigga that's spunky and likes to keep his pockets chunky Makin most of my money, from all the dopefiends and junkies I learned from the best the ones that's livin And the ones that's put to rest So I bless my chest with a vest and pack a Smith-N-Wes And then I'm off to get the snaps, not the scraps The game is be a real mack, the name is cool G Rap Now it's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes you want to holler It's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes you want to holler I got a fly hoe up under the wing, a swinger that does her thing And if you step inside my ring, she'll bang it out and make your brains hang She sits at restaurant tables with mink foxes and sables Drinkin Cherenade brand label she'll rock a sucker's cradle And yeah, honey is more bounce to the ounce She walks around with lucci in large amounts Millions inside Swiss bank accounts Her name is Tammy, got a beach house in Miami Rides around with a small jammy in her silk and satin panties A down hoe, a Foxy Brown hoe, standin her ground hoe And if you clown yo she'll turn into a bust a round hoe Fly as a Heaven's Angel got sapphires in her bangles Diamond earrings hangin dingle gettin money from all angles She's pretty under the New York city bright lights And real light, way after midnight, I hit it cause the slit's tight Wake up early and make my rounds, break up break down Packin a silver four pound, some clowns be trying to get down Light up a smoke and grab a stack of see-notes Them slick stick up kids don't get no free dough bro 'Cause I ain't tryin to be broke I goes all out for G Rap and this honey nothin funny It's a damn shame, what I gotta do to get the money Now it's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes me want to holler It's a damn shame, what I gotta do just to make a dollar Living in this game, sometimes it makes me want to holler No it ain't no sleeping over [Repeat until fade] |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
Ninety-five, keep it live
Yeah to make papers, knahmsayin? Motherfuckin Kool G. Rap and B1 and my motherfuckin man Grimm Just comin with somethin to keep the brainstem .. [B1] It's Big 1 son, Jamaica Queens is the turf And I'ma exploit, heaven and earth, for what it's worth It's the MC extrordinaire, the jewels glare The God is rare, I'm takin bitches back to my lair I want mines and yours, strippin niggaz to they drawers No probable cause, with the chrome double 4's It's the Queens New Yorker with a bulletproof parka In eighty-four, it was Calvins and British Walkers Now I'm sippin Harvey's Bristal Cream with the glock 17 as the sirens race to the scene Tryin to get dough, like Pablo, today, fuck tomorrow Seats for carro, as I recline in Monte Carlo I got the game down to a science, it's the clients that turn small time hustlers into giants Three course meal, waitin for my appetizer Blowin like a geyser, time only makes me wiser Paraphenalia, and material, makes the crew imperial I put the fear in you, sippin beer with two Handlin business properly, form a monopoly Storefront property, if not, another robbery I'm puttin forth the effort, murder's the method The steak is peppered Son when I let off you meet your Lord and shepherd Bloody money gets niggaz deaded and wetted Don't forget it, money's the metal and my hand is magnetic Chorus: Grimm, B1 I gotta flip these bricks cause bein broke drive me insane Money's on my motherfuckin brain From O-Z's to ki's the triple beam brings fame to my name Money's on my motherfuckin brain Niggaz be scheamin and teamin but still I maintain Money's on my motherfuckin brain Cause money and murder go hand in hand It ain't nothin but a game Money's on my motherfuckin brain son [Grimm] Cryin hopin God forgive me for the ones I killed But until still, I dry my eyes with hundred dollar bills Like McDonald's, makin mills servin Fuck a Landcruiser now, pulls a ? to Suburban Stressed out, sittin thinkin past bed time Scared can't sleep, nightmares about fed time Diamonds, linens, ostrich and all that Fat shit I'm talkin code cause my phone's tapped Crackheads worship me like I'm Jesus Uncle Sam can't stand me cause I'm fuckin all his nieces Cuties every colour, who I wanna fuck next? Buy a new car, maybe Lamborghini trunk next Look at the jealousy in the eyes of the roughnecks Bulletproof glass just in case they wanna buck Tecs A large ratio in this game dies But I'm flippin pies, til the Senate legalize Chorus: Grimm, G. Rap (same lines) [Kool G. Rap] I'm sportin flavors and Timbs, a ninety-five Bezn with the chrome rims Presedential Rolex, two carat diamonds with the stone gems Pockets filled with lucci leather wallets designed by Gucci Parlay in resteraunts, eatin shrimp, scampi and sushi Fly minks, with icicles that blink inside cuban links Lookin ?, brothers stink, got loot like I'm doin banks Hundred dollar bottles of chammy, condos in Miami Front row seats up at the Grammy's, the broke niggaz can't stand me Hold the flame low, hotel suites inside the Flamingo Just home by the dingos, I step up in em rockin Kangols Straight up fakin no jacks, cause all my crackshacks are jam packed My mad stacks, show that I'm on the right track, like Amtrak So stand back, cause I'ma make whatever it takes to shake Jakes, and shoot snakes, and bake more snowflake cakes than Drake's Cut up your grill like I'm the Barber of Seville Still like Gotti bodies are found inside the harbor cause I'm ill It's war, but no more kids are bein kidnapped, matter of fact ain't with the shit black, I was young when I did that There's dope in the Copa Cabanas, cock back the hammers So niggaz in pajamas get they wigs split like bananas Stable of hotties, niggaz with shotties catchin bodies Neighborhood John Gotti with more notes than Pavarotti Yeah, paid as a motherfuckin bank teller The Goodfella, I stay a motherfuckin drug seller Chorus: Grimm, G. Rap, B1 (G and B alternate) [ad-lib to outro] |
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from Kool G Rap - 4,5,6 (1995)
[Chorus]
Shit ain't never gonna change... Fuck it! Time to load the clips, then we take 'em to war. Niggaz want to flip, then we take 'em to war. Break a nigga proper, then we break him some more. I represent the murderers and felony offenders, Who either bought time out, to get these legal tenders. (Surrender!) Nah, I'm goin' out with a bang, nigga. Fuck Pataki, I gotta do my thang, nigga. Forty-four mag, bustin' into action. Brains left in particles, fragments and fractions. Grimm, the money stacker, heat packer. I'm lurkin', I'm waitin', attackin' like a linebacker. Fuck what you heard, crime pays. And always, unorthodox, I hold my pistol sideways. We kill crews, hearts go numb, And if retaliation comes then yo, fuck it, it just comes. (Yo, who you?) I'm Dr. Death, motherfucker, ever heard of me? Close your eyes, cross your fingers, time for surgery. I'm already dead, so nah, you can't murder me, 'Cause quantities of entities enter me evilly. [Chorus x 2] Since I murder for hire, rapid fire's what I require. Makin' niggaz perspire, so send a message through the wire. 'Cause violence is contagious, it got me bustin' gauges. The '95 Larry Davis, and I'm wettin' niggaz for wages. Queens is the home of one, the known felon, And ain't no tellin', when I'm a crack your fuckin' melon. For the right amount of chips, I spit clips and hit whips. Leavin' niggaz bloody, the leather seats is where the shit drips. With the pound-seven, I be creepin', rockin' niggaz, while they sleepin'. Shots repeatin', leavin' faggot niggaz leakin'. When I cock back the iron, niggaz is dyin', marchin' to Zion. 'Cause the pound-cake, roars like a lion. Word, son, niggaz be collapsin', cause my weapons is Ready for action, makin' your heart catch contractions. In the underworld, shootin' gallery niggaz lose calories, 'Cause my salary's based on fatalities. [Chorus x 2] Here I come to get some motherfuckin' wreck, but first I gotta, Um, vest check, uncheck, clip one check, clip two check, I'm set. So let a motherfucker move a muscle. When I tussle, they'll be piecin' niggaz back like fuckin' puzzles. 'Cause Kool G. Rap is known for bringin' mad noise, a bad boy. When I was younger, always carried guns, I never had toys. Grimm, gimme the infrared, they see me, and I'm puttin' red dots On niggaz foreheads, to makin' motherfuckers indian. You got beef? Go get yourself a wreath, because it's murder. 'Cause I put holes in my beef, like fuckin' White Castle burgers. So now I gots to run up on a clown with the fo' pound. Cock back, rock black, gun a nigga down. I see 'em, he's comin' out the fuckin' Coliseum, And hopped into a B-M, shit! Put in my clip, and then I dipped into the ride that my man had, Parked on the sidewalk, then we start to glide. I'm rainin' on him, (faster nigga.) oh yeah, we're gainin' on him. (Oh shit, he's with somebody else.) Fuck it, put his brain on him. Boom, boom, no survivors, lifted the nigga out his seat. When they find him, he'll be a backseat driver. But I ain't finished with the trigger yet, I'm lightin' up a cigarette. Bang, bang, I left the other nigga wet. It's G. Rap, baby, you know me. You try to hurt this, I split your fuckin top and leave a fingerprint on purpose. |
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