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| from Sabotage - Sabotage (Explicit Ver.) (2016) | |||||
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| from Wu-Tang Clan - Wu Tang Vs. Shaolin Masters (2011) | |||||
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| from God Of War, Vol. 2 (2011) | |||||
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| from J Glaze - Hazy Mornings (2010) | |||||
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| from Wu-Tang Clan - Wu-Chronicles: Chapter 2 (2008) | |||||
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| from Wu-Tang Clan - Wu-Chronicles (2008) | |||||
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from Shyheim - 21st Century Crisis B/W There She Goes [single] (2004)
[Intro: Shyheim]
Flick up your lighters (yeah, uh) Flick up your lighters (yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, Bottom Up! yeah) Flick up your lighters (Ay, 2Pac already told y'all moron) Who got beef, I'm just here to reinform my shit You know, you done did Big, you done did Craig Mack Man, you did Shyheim (New York, New York) You did the kid That's how we gon' do it, we gon' this real clever From the Staten Island connection, oh [Chorus: Shyheim] I'm the 21st Century Crisis, run with two five-to-lifers That buck at bikers, get booked on Riker's I'm the 21st Century Crisis, I'm a fighter Flick up your lighters, for your nigga With bigger website, despite us I'm the 21st Century Crisis, run with two five-to-lifers That buck at bikers, get booked on Riker's 21st Century Crisis, I'm a fighter Flick up your lighters, my nigga [Shyheim] I'm street intelligent Puffin' that drink with Lazanet, that get an elephant Get out of line, like them little kid, colorin' I body your ass, then bury your ass, then dig you Back the fuck up, and shoot up your skeletons For talkin' all that jazz, like you Duke Ellington I melt your shit, like when Sundew, people with no melennin Shy, the 21st Century Crisis, spittin' shit And piss on rappers, like they C.O.'s on Riker's Death arrive, the last face you'll ever see is Shy's And my hand's wrapped around more necks than Armani ties Came through in the M-5, tinted and kitted The color of spinach, with Monica and Mya in it I inspired, The Boy Is Mine Remix And the begets on my wrists be the size of Cheez-It's I've been gettin' it, ever since I could remember That's why I post a million dollar bail like Baretta I crush your mic, I crush your mic twice I move like Saddam, I got twenty look-a-likes Wear twenty different color Nike's I'm like Ghost, I keep a bird on my arm flooded with ice [Chorus] [Interlude: Shyheim] Yeah, flick up your lighters It's Bottom Up, nigga [Shyheim] I bust your head open, with an 40 ounce of Old English Then be thinkin' to myself, I could of, should of drinked it As a man think of inner thoughts So he in, deep inside your pudding, you don't want it with kid Who got it on with the dogs, and every jail of my bid Had a scalpal put up my ass, not on no faggot shit Twenty one guns a year, that's what my average is And I ain't gon' quit, until you get my enemies The what? Out the whip, I'm the dude that they love to hate Hate that they love, with too much street drama To be in somebody's club, so I'm cautious Cuz I know shit that get funky, just like horse shit Like I could be dead or in jail, by the morning All everybody else'll be doing is talking About the unfortunate, let a couple years fly by Everybody forget, it's like you gone in the wind You going to the pen, but y'all don't hear me though Let me say the shit again, like you gone in the wind You going to the pen, twenty years will make a friend One day to lose a friend, that's why I speak less and listen more [Chorus] [Outro: Shyheim] Flick up your lighters, flick up your lighters I'm the 21st Century Crisis, and that means Man, I'm bringing it back to New York Staten Island, New York (put ten years on this beat) Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, Manhattan, Uptown (cock that shit) You know takin' my early days, let's take this shit back New York, New York, that's where I'm from |
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| from Shyheim - 21st Century Crisis B/W There She Goes [single] (2004) | |||||
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from Shyheim - 21st Century Crisis B/W There She Goes [single] (2004)
[Intro: Shyheim]
Flick up your lighters (yeah, uh) Flick up your lighters (yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, Bottom Up! yeah) Flick up your lighters (Ay, 2Pac already told y'all moron) Who got beef, I'm just here to reinform my shit You know, you done did Big, you done did Craig Mack Man, you did Shyheim (New York, New York) You did the kid That's how we gon' do it, we gon' this real clever From the Staten Island connection, oh [Chorus: Shyheim] I'm the 21st Century Crisis, run with two five-to-lifers That buck at bikers, get booked on Riker's I'm the 21st Century Crisis, I'm a fighter Flick up your lighters, for your nigga With bigger website, despite us I'm the 21st Century Crisis, run with two five-to-lifers That buck at bikers, get booked on Riker's 21st Century Crisis, I'm a fighter Flick up your lighters, my nigga [Shyheim] I'm street intelligent Puffin' that drink with Lazanet, that get an elephant Get out of line, like them little kid, colorin' I body your ass, then bury your ass, then dig you Back the fuck up, and shoot up your skeletons For talkin' all that jazz, like you Duke Ellington I melt your shit, like when Sundew, people with no melennin Shy, the 21st Century Crisis, spittin' shit And piss on rappers, like they C.O.'s on Riker's Death arrive, the last face you'll ever see is Shy's And my hand's wrapped around more necks than Armani ties Came through in the M-5, tinted and kitted The color of spinach, with Monica and Mya in it I inspired, The Boy Is Mine Remix And the begets on my wrists be the size of Cheez-It's I've been gettin' it, ever since I could remember That's why I post a million dollar bail like Baretta I crush your mic, I crush your mic twice I move like Saddam, I got twenty look-a-likes Wear twenty different color Nike's I'm like Ghost, I keep a bird on my arm flooded with ice [Chorus] [Interlude: Shyheim] Yeah, flick up your lighters It's Bottom Up, nigga [Shyheim] I bust your head open, with an 40 ounce of Old English Then be thinkin' to myself, I could of, should of drinked it As a man think of inner thoughts So he in, deep inside your pudding, you don't want it with kid Who got it on with the dogs, and every jail of my bid Had a scalpal put up my ass, not on no faggot shit Twenty one guns a year, that's what my average is And I ain't gon' quit, until you get my enemies The what? Out the whip, I'm the dude that they love to hate Hate that they love, with too much street drama To be in somebody's club, so I'm cautious Cuz I know shit that get funky, just like horse shit Like I could be dead or in jail, by the morning All everybody else'll be doing is talking About the unfortunate, let a couple years fly by Everybody forget, it's like you gone in the wind You going to the pen, but y'all don't hear me though Let me say the shit again, like you gone in the wind You going to the pen, twenty years will make a friend One day to lose a friend, that's why I speak less and listen more [Chorus] [Outro: Shyheim] Flick up your lighters, flick up your lighters I'm the 21st Century Crisis, and that means Man, I'm bringing it back to New York Staten Island, New York (put ten years on this beat) Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, Manhattan, Uptown (cock that shit) You know takin' my early days, let's take this shit back New York, New York, that's where I'm from |
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from Shyheim - 21st Century Crisis B/W There She Goes [single] (2004)
(feat. Bee-Gee)
[Intro: Shyheim] Damn, you ever see somebody you never thought You was gonna see again, word That shit is real, yo Nigga should do real sucka shit, right Paige? Ahaha, but you know, we stay g'd up, you know? [Shyheim] I dream of nickels, she's two nickles With that, equals, is a dime She's a cool girl, a school girl It's true girl, I live the life of crime If I change my hustle, can we be a couple You be Kimora Lee, I'll be Russell I'll sell all my Def Jam's, off the muscle I'm nothin' like a cop, but, I'll handcuff you Take you to my precent, I'll treat you decent You still don't believe it, well here's the reason You like poetry? Can we read under a tree Walk by the lake, while you tell bout your day Would that be O.J., I mean, okay You can come around my, and chilll on my block All day, everyday, til the gun shots stop Stop, stop, stop, stop [Chorus x2: Bee-Gee] I've never seen you, on any streets In the hood, in the stores, in the schools But right now, baby, oh, there you go [Shyheim] Imagine life with me, and what it could bring Possibly, endless bliss to be Let's create history, make our mark Take my heart, please don't rip it apart You have potential, that's why I'm so into you Miss Celebrity, can I have an interview I know you got things to do, so I'mma be quick Can I feed you chicken noodle soup, if you get sick Rub you down with Vick's, do you like them Knicks Well, I can get tickets, would you like to kick it? Do you want a Snapple, how about a Mystic? I help reassure you, if you optomistic Share my visions, peep my pictures Aren't they vivid? You keep them livin' In the fist of Wu, plus in the spirit Flowin' like the rhythm, similar to my lyrics [Chorus x2] [Outro: Shyheim] It was like, I was never seein' her Bee, no matter where I go What hood, I was in, I wasn't seein' her But then I seen her, and felt real good So it don't matter if I never see her again Not to say it don't matter, but If I don't see her again, you know I'm grateful for that time, that I seen her Well actually, that I seen you Aight, yeah, Bottom Up, Brock Bros Yeah, DeJaun what up? Bee-Gee on the hook Yeah... signin' off... |
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| from Shyheim - 21st Century Crisis B/W There She Goes [single] (2004) | |||||
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from Shyheim - 21st Century Crisis B/W There She Goes [single] (2004)
(feat. Bee-Gee)
[Intro: Shyheim] Damn, you ever see somebody you never thought You was gonna see again, word That shit is real, yo Nigga should do real sucka shit, right Paige? Ahaha, but you know, we stay g'd up, you know? [Shyheim] I dream of nickels, she's two nickles With that, equals, is a dime She's a cool girl, a school girl It's true girl, I live the life of crime If I change my hustle, can we be a couple You be Kimora Lee, I'll be Russell I'll sell all my Def Jam's, off the muscle I'm nothin' like a cop, but, I'll handcuff you Take you to my precent, I'll treat you decent You still don't believe it, well here's the reason You like poetry? Can we read under a tree Walk by the lake, while you tell bout your day Would that be O.J., I mean, okay You can come around my, and chilll on my block All day, everyday, til the gun shots stop Stop, stop, stop, stop [Chorus x2: Bee-Gee] I've never seen you, on any streets In the hood, in the stores, in the schools But right now, baby, oh, there you go [Shyheim] Imagine life with me, and what it could bring Possibly, endless bliss to be Let's create history, make our mark Take my heart, please don't rip it apart You have potential, that's why I'm so into you Miss Celebrity, can I have an interview I know you got things to do, so I'mma be quick Can I feed you chicken noodle soup, if you get sick Rub you down with Vick's, do you like them Knicks Well, I can get tickets, would you like to kick it? Do you want a Snapple, how about a Mystic? I help reassure you, if you optomistic Share my visions, peep my pictures Aren't they vivid? You keep them livin' In the fist of Wu, plus in the spirit Flowin' like the rhythm, similar to my lyrics [Chorus x2] [Outro: Shyheim] It was like, I was never seein' her Bee, no matter where I go What hood, I was in, I wasn't seein' her But then I seen her, and felt real good So it don't matter if I never see her again Not to say it don't matter, but If I don't see her again, you know I'm grateful for that time, that I seen her Well actually, that I seen you Aight, yeah, Bottom Up, Brock Bros Yeah, DeJaun what up? Bee-Gee on the hook Yeah... signin' off... |
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from Chapter 2 (2001)
[Intro: Shyheim]
"In Trouble" Yeah, yeah, word, what? "In Trouble" That's my word, Allah "In Trouble" Get me out of this one, please! "In Trouble" I'll never do it again, for real "In Trouble" Word, somebody help me, it's real "In Trouble" Please make everything be ok "In Trouble" I'm in a well, I can't get out "In Trouble" I'm trapped, for real "When you're down.. in trouble" I'm tellin' you "In Trouble" Nobody gon' be there for you "And you need some love and care" Come on, I need you son I'm tellin' you, you better listen to me I'm your son and I love you That's my word Listen son, listen Yo yo yo yo For real, yo, yo, yo For real, yo, yo, yo I'ma keep it real, yo, yo, yo I'ma keep it real [Shyheim] Three-to-six facin', new indictment Plus violation of probation, I had to do the boogie oogie Absent from court like class, I had to play hookey The pressure was on, tippy tippy, I'm on my toes Fuck risin' to the occasion, the temperature been rose Set it off like intros, blast you and your kin folks A trouble maker, bitcher taker, a scorpio Naughty by Nature, my Unit brings the Flavor We cake up like make up, and in New York Fuck the daily news, Shyheim, I made the paper Want a anchor and a lock, drop-top, three-and-a-quarter My mother in Hell said, "People in Hell want ice water" It'll be a manslaughter, private-eye, that's an order I know where them cowards be standin', on the corner Is it 'caine or money order? One love cousin I thought it was when it wasn't, the dust had me Buggin' [Break: Shyheim] Pssh.. word up son "When you're down, In Trouble" When you down, they scatter like roaches "And you need some love and care" They be scared to death to pull them burners out them Holsters Yo, word to my mother, I think they eat holsters For real, son But y'all I'ma bring it like, yo.. [Shyheim] Yo, yo, yo How the fuck y'all was thinkin'? Shyheim/Abe Lincoln So what you ain't hear me on the Clan album, featurin' At best I'm kept secretive like Mase and trees Wanna hold me in captive in Babylon like Julias Maccabees That's blasphemy, Shaolin'll blast for me I eat niggas like plates, from Applebee's Wu-Tang Killa Bees, we cause casualties Collect annual fees, from y'all pussy-ass niggas Who album should've come with a piece of gum and a tattoo sticker A lot of my niggas, they've returned to the Earth And in front of their hurse, I kick the same verse Cuz everythin' the pastor said was fake and it hurt [Break: Shyheim] "In Trouble" That's my word Niggas don't be there for real "And you need some love and care" Word bond, all you get is a five-- five minute Conversation Word, they like, "Yo, remember him?" "In Trouble" For real, "Remember them?" Word up, son, man "And you need some love and care" God won't even give no flowers on your tombstone I'm tellin' you, knowin' who is your homies Niggas'll be stingy that you hang with Uh, uh, uh.. [Shyheim] When I was ten years old, I realized that with an O I could flip that and bring back a brick in coke Never took a short, never took a snort Caught a warrant in New York for not appearin' in court But I'll stilll survive, some of my closest homies died Murdered in homicides, I just couldn't let it slide Fuck money, jury and bein' a rap star I hoped out shootin', soon as my bitch stopped the car Plus Shyheim with the scar did it That's what everyone said on my trial menace They thought I was finished, but then I got acquitted And pied niggas in their eye for the fuckin' spinach Not for Olive Oyl [Outro: Shyheim] Yea, word, for real This goes out to all my (spoiled) real peoples "In Trouble" Graduated, on the real, from the School of Hard Knocks One thug to the last slug "In Trouble" To all my niggas, bein' out for the law People that come and diss you, official Outlawz Forms of snakes and all that "In Trouble" And all my niggas, man, suck a dick 'til you hiccup Dugly, keepin' it bloody "And you need some love and care" Keepin' it real, Shyheim To my whole family, Shy feel yo "In Trouble" We down, but we hold up, son I'm tellin' y'all "And you need some love and care" For real, it's on, nigga Yea, twenty-seven, we roll up the punches "In Trouble" Wu-Tang, we punch, mothafucka Shaolin, Staten Island "And you need some love and care" "When you're down, In Trouble" "And you need some love and care" "When you're down, In Trouble" "And you need some love and care" |
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from Cappadonna - The Yin and The Yang (Clean Ver.) (2001)
I'm goin' all out, I love trout
Black is what I be about 95-south all the way up, I tear mics up peep the conduct, wherever lightning struck tear the jail up, truck with the mind food truck with jewels, forget babylon rules I'm crusin' with the angels goin' through Parkhill, let the Gods build and all of that graduation hats, bigger stacks ya'll hardly ever seen besides cream I got the vaccine for ya'll uncle Tom rappers I told ya'll before to be easy, Devils attackin' is practice provocative songs, yeah It's Donna, don't even panic hold ya'll like the Atlantic Pillage at your service clubs start to get nervous loose lips, it's like emptyin' clips packed with the info, join the revolution slang prostitution, even if you boostin' play it like you still chill, homicide hill from the other side my Mother sighed, strugglin, poor and tired a Baby that never cried, a family that never died I see everything from the outside. Chorus - O.T.F. and The Pillage, we all comin' through watch your back nigga, and your girl watch it too 'cause we conduct big business, raw is how we give this live this, thats how we conduct big business O.T.F. and The Pillage, hide your shine nigga when we come through, might have to jump on you 'cause we conduct big business, raw is how we live this give this, thats how we conduct big business. Verse 2: (Shyhiem) I ride shotgun in Cappa's Black ML Four-Twenty Benz Jeep with big boy heat, a Thirty-Thirty shotgun, pull it out and s |
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from Cappadonna - The Yin And The Yang [Explicit Version] (2001)
I'm goin' all out, I love trout Black is what I be about 95-south all the way up, I tear mics up peep the conduct, wherever lightning struck tear the jail up, truck with the mind food truck with jewels, forget babylon rules I'm crusin' with the angels goin' through Parkhill, let the Gods build and all of that graduation hats, bigger stacks ya'll hardly ever seen besides cream I got the vaccine for ya'll uncle Tom rappers I told ya'll before to be easy, Devils attackin' is practice provocative songs, yeah It's Donna, don't even panic hold ya'll like the Atlantic Pillage at your service clubs start to get nervous loose lips, it's like emptyin' clips packed with the info, join the revolution slang prostitution, even if you boostin' play it like you still chill, homicide hill from the other side my Mother sighed, strugglin, poor and tired a Baby that never cried, a family that never died I see everything from the outside. Chorus - O.T.F. and The Pillage, we all comin' through watch your back nigga, and your girl watch it too 'cause we conduct big business, raw is how we give this live this, thats how we conduct big business O.T.F. and The Pillage, hide your shine nigga when we come through, might have to jump on you 'cause we conduct big business, raw is how we live this give this, thats how we conduct big business. Verse 2: (Shyhiem) I ride shotgun in Cappa's Black ML Four-Twenty Benz Jeep with big boy heat, a Thirty-Thirty shotgun, pull it out and s |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Motherf**kin gp in the motherf**kin house
With shorty shy (rubbabandz) Yo.. yo.. I raise all hell when i, start to stain Crab niggaz, I recon, you recognize the grain I bring drama to your earpiece, when I bust Raps niggaz collapse, in fact turn to slush It only takes a second to die It only takes a minute to get high The hoods that I run with really don't care Bustin at God with our pistols in the air (pop da brown hornet) No more loses, I'm bringin in da bosses You wanna get rich, bet on me, motherf**k them horses I'm black, too good, deadly like a luger I live day by day, but my mind set on the future Drunk with vexism, handin out bad desicions Got shit locked like state prisons Mc destroyer, bring it, I got somethin for ya When I'm red niggaz die from paranoia Sureshot, play yourself, get got, forget me not Or I'll be runnin shit in ya' spot Die hard, crackin shit, like ty cobb Keep it real, plus stay black, roll with a tight mob Forever high, I'm the type of guy to puff chocolate thai Then blow the smoke all in your eye You're blinded, the rap style I posess, you can't find it That's why you wanna constantly rewind it (down low reka) Yo, d. allah represent at sparkin mics like flint With style that you can inhale and get the nigga bent Cash rules, no choice but bein top biller Have ya blinded by the fire like that bitch in the killer You know I'm iller, than the caviar, with these rhythms That's acquired to break down immune systems In any battle i'm-a come in first With raw techniques that shock ya ear like a f**kin curse I like sex after ballentine triple x Understandin, I run through hoes like barry sanders Niggaz get lost in the land Reachin, it'll cost your hand, now ya sink in the sand (shyheim) I'm-a live shorty, word up, the shit ain't hard to tell I kill verses, just like, napsilnac to sperm cells My lifestyle, it didn't change, I'm still the same Nike sneakers, guess jeans and gold chains The rugged child be bringin drama to your system like drugs Live and direct, from new york like lugz Is it the ruckus you want, come and get that ass lynched You complain to throw, I play your jake with a twelve inch Kid, I be just f**kin in the cut, on some shaolin what Jiggy-june bust a nut (junelover) Who dares to test me, bring it to the cypher Niggaz you don't really wanna see the God hyper Active, make teachers run back for practice And tell they proteges, they can't f**k with the tactics So give me room, when I speaks with verbal knowledge You put your best man, even if he went to college With this mutation, I serve like a chef What do you know, I be that nigga squeezin air from your last breath Got you gaspin from suffocation Then I leave without a clue nor an explanation It's the mister hip hop, b-boy, rap addict Static, you don't want, cause when I brings it, it get tragic Faggot, now put an h on your chest and handle Whatever comes at ya, best beleive i'ma gat ya Now move back from this jack, you can't touch it Cause if you do, you catch a buck 50 muggin I'm thuggish, with enough stamina to damage ya Crew, plus jerk em like a crooked ass manager Corrupt indeed, my mind is the backbone of evil Causin me to to hurt innocent people Niggaz playin hard rocks on the wrong block Thinkin it be you until I let the nine glock Pa-pop, my man shitted all in his pants It's the same old song and dance And I'm out motherf**kers! |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Haaaaaa, and it don't stop and it don't stop
Rugged child got the world prop nigga Can you feel it Can you feel it (do I gotta cock my pistol? ) (shyheim) I be notorious like that nigga big smalls Plus I keep it raw live illegal like jamal If ya act up you get shot up What the blood? I represent thugs (you know it) Y'all know my style, bring it to man, woman and child Buckwild juvenile (rugged child break it down) Jiggers they stick close like crews You never see me spendin cash rules on you fools Cause I don't love you hoes (why not) A lot of y'all cross be laws like got A nigga like me keep it real, word to jesus Respect to the real woman, f**k you skeezers Chorus: (2x) Can you feel it Can you feel it (or do I gotta cock my pistol? ) I'm a juvenile deliquent, I keeps a cocked biscuit Moet and alize be gettin a nigga lifted And when I'm high my mouth is dry I'm not from the sky But a nigga for the eye he better do or die Clack-clack, that's all you hear up in the dark Blaka-blaka, and then two bright sparks The boy fall down while screamin police Wooo jiggy comin, but them no worry me see A criminal for bein crimi-nal No matter who, what, how, when or where it goes down A dramalord plus a punany don In '95 i'ma max like nissan I'ma max, get it, max, i'ma, max-ima, well come along I take you through another chamber, let me pick 36 wu-tang? yeah that be that shit Chorus So I creep ooohhhhhh I roll deep like f.o.i.'s Recognize or get paralyzed I drop jewels like a nervous appraiser A hell raiser, engrave my logo in your back player I bring the pain in many different methods Similar to the lethal injection and your style is seconds What punk, boy I'll box ya up Plus my rhymes is sicker than them kids in somalia Chorus |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Dear god, I wonder can you save me?
I'm workin out in this world that you made g Homicide rapes and robberies When it happens in my neighborhood police they look for me I'm the prime suspect in the projects I got this f**ked up rep that keeps me behind a step Always broke so I got this attitude In my lab never fool my man, this is crazy rude Gyros and pizza, be my lunch and dinner I know that I'm a sinner, but God help me out nigga I got problems that only death could solve A high school drop out, and my ged won't get me no job My family be callin me a loser Moms she's a boozer, got me livin life with no future The only thing that keeps me strivin is rhymin and uhh Bump n grindin besides that I feel like dying Word to my peoples in the essence I send my blessings I know you gone, but it might be for the best 'cause life is full of stress And the projects you won't progress God, f**k the world, it's a mess Chorus: pop da brown hornet Dear, god, as I look into the sky I pray to you, and i, wonder why I wonder why things be the way they are So until then I pray for that it ends tomorr Verse two: shyheim I'm in another world lookin from the outside in A corrupt planet, operating strictly off sin You ask me will I miss this joint when I pass The world can kiss my ass, I'm staring at the hour glass Every day lived, is a step towards death It's not til you're dead that your bodies at rest A funeral should be a celebration, everyone embracin This song'll be my dedication, unto The two cent s, my cousin duana, and case Rest in peace no-one can ever take your place The pain is eternal No-one to turn to when I sit and think about you No longer in the physical, dealing with your spiritual essence You're gone but we still feel your presence Nothing can bring you back, black Still and all it's just a fact that you gone Dive I intox on the bar, a dagger in the heart For every lifeforce that gets a brand new start It's the harsh reality you're forced to deal with Another family hit crawling in a endless pit Of sorrow, no-one's promised tomorrow Chorus 2x Verse three: shyheim (it seems like the good times vs the bad times) Yo I barely go to school 'cause crime be on my mind F**k local hits to leakers that's all in the past And I'm livin for the future gotta make the great cash (slow down shorty, goodness come to those that wait If you move too fast I might be going to your wake) True indeed, but I got mouths to feed Members of my family upstate in need for commisary And if you stressin me, gettin the, best of me So it seems like life is my worst enemy (don't let it get to you, shy Life is what you make it, you can't escape it Play you like a bitch and just take it) Hell no, 'cause when I'm goin, I'm goin out with style With two macs going to war with the other side of town Ain't nuttin sweet about me, pop let them niggaz know I'm countin blood money, 'cause I'm a thug honey I use the world as my zoo, I ain't no f**kin dummy I'm street smart, I tear a college grad apart (I gets amped when I think about the slave camps I feel the pain, use a tec-9 to brake away the chain) Yo calm down big fella everything gonna be aight Go lookin for them blues you got a nigga wanna do right (don't sweat it,just play the game of life at your best Life is full of stress and in the projects you won't progress Shy f**k the world it's a mess) Yeah aight Chorus 2x |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Phone rings twice*
Hello? (arabic voice) you have a collect call phone call In a new york state correctional facility Press five five to accept, or hang up to decline Verse one: Whattup gangstas, how tha f**k y'all feel We keepin it real, and hold on tight to your steel Let them caps peel, one by one And laugh while the nig run He shoulda been packin his gun, now he gone 'cause he got slippin like an old bitch In the wet staircase shaft, now watch his man snitch To tha police, but them no worry me son I ain't trying to get back it'd be my third felony Pataki he want to see us, criminals fry In the electric chair, but my spirit will never die A true project nigga, I won't hesitate To pull the blaow, peace to all busy niggaz One love y'all stay safe And f**k you, officer brown, peace to that nigga case Chorus: repeat 4x Whoo whoo Jiggy comin, f**k tha police y'all, 'cause I ain't runnin Verse two: All y'all police can suck my diiiiiiick And mayor gulliani, that cracker boy full of shit I represent, for all my niggaz doing time And those who got beat up and killed by the swine Beo-tches, them porks, beotch Them think them bad, 'cause they carry, glocks and badges And when I'm pimpin in my green acura They pull me over, like I stole it from some nigga But all my paperwork is legit Registered insured in my name, so y'all pigs can shit Police be cockin me like I'm some dime piece A g from the street so I can never turn beast Chorus Verse three: There's crooked cops, that's why they get shot by tha minute If you were criminal and you ready to represent, kid Blaow, that's how I like it, word is bond My hair ain't blonde my eyes ain't blue so now I'm dead boo It's on like this is war, all my brothers in the hood I gots fam that's constant understand I wish they would But it's all good, peace to my niggaz locked in jail Bushy kam, killa kane, fogey foo, and ale Down low wrecka and junior be on storm Keep your headz up, and keep it real 'cause you know I'm gonna And for my niggaz doin six months I see yo ass next summer, word up Chorus |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
(4 x Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough)
Thug niggaz bounce to this, only thug niggaz bounce to this, word up, I wan't no fruitcake ass ? niggaz bouncing to this shit right here, word up, strictly hardcore only, check it (Shyheim) Gunshots, they travel throughout my projects quickly, I stay thuggin', for pray the god that none hits me, me and my peoples we swarm in packs, some rap others sell crack, to get stacks of the green paper, we move makers, lex and landcruisers takers, block vacators, thugs that run 5 acres of land flooded with dealers who kill for grams, it's the street life, baby you wouldn't understand nothing, getting my hustle on, just 8 to 10, but here I go again, cause recreation programs, they makin' me no grands, so much stress on my mind I can just kill a man (2 x Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough) (Shyheim) I never knew my own dad when I was young he broke out, that's when my mom got smoked out, and I took the street route, I hung around with real gangstas playas and hustlas, I guess they liked my style a lot, so they took a little nigga under the wing, eventually I started slingin' white shit, no time for school 'cause the hours didn't mix, so sleep late at night most nights I didn't even sleep, that's how I got caught up, and sold a dime to the beast. They offered me a 1 to 3, hahaa , I do a bullet, traded in my gats for greens that's how the state do it, I'm movin' ain't no joking get your muthafuckin' dosage, so when you and the penal don't be acting like no biaaatch (4 x Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough) (Shyheim) I'm seventeen now, and I'm off to parole, I see the ? a month, hopefully I be home, I'm kinda anxious, I haven't seen my friends in a year, my moms OD and when I think about it every seals, but I'm a young man that gotta change his lifestyle, get a job at compound, it ain't easy as it sounds, I gotta have some fast money, flippin' burgers everyday, I been to ? house, I get a slinky day, anybody in my way I'm blasting, fuck the peace 'cause there's a war upon the streets, no south west or east, all my niggaz in the struggle hold your head and get the CREAM, big gunz money and pussy be the US ghetto dream. (Life as a shorty shouldn't be so rough ...) |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Verse One:
I wake up to another day of life and wish I didnt Cuz my records predicted a future of Bill Clinton But I continue to do my thang to make a livin Fuck the police and Judge Brennan cuz I aint givin in I'm cops so say the notorious killa Last seen in the hilla in a black vigga Smokin' lye with an unidentified man The feds believe it was a member of the clan A wild nigga so jiggy better be cautious Fuck wit Delores Im bringin 50 crime bosses From BK to Jersey niggaz wanna murder me Aint nuttin sweet kid they bettah bring their whole army Fake ass gangstaz pretend to be killaz End the drama with a slug from the 4-5th for real uh 1 - Makin green for the next man Money ?strugglin plans for the dividends Look in my eyes and tell me what you see (repeat) Verse Two: Same shit different day I scheme to make the paper God dreams of livin large makin niggaz steal and rob Fuck the pleadin Ill leave ya bleedin If ya take to long deliverin Dividends, see nigga, Im menances like 8 sharp Cracks on my moms china plate Bag 'em up and wait till it gets late and hit the gate Keep my eyes open cuz po po they be keepin They tryin to get locked on Friday and spend the weekend Then on ruckus island adolescents be watchin So when Im in the four buildin Im hollerin Staten Island With my ? in my hand like a 4-5th The first nigga to fake a move is gettin phillied with the quickness I'm hip to this wild ass game called street life It's a cut throat BI with mens who live trife You Squig you my nigga (no doubt to the death) I got the isle in my right hand so son part in the left And let's go to war I got a tech and nine and 3 3-80's Straight from Haiti, Ill turn a nigga into gravy And fuck the media ? ? put this on the news Cause its so safe to know the notorious rulz Repeat 1 (fade) |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Yeah yeah!!
Where my shaolin peoples at? Stapleton, the craziest, y'all know what time it is Wild wild west Now born, killa hill, poor to the rich man Jungle nilz, let's get money y'all Verse one: It be the scotch and henessee that make me act like this I'm wild hit em up project style never plead the fifth Regardless, to the charges, chickenheads will be at court Fightin and slicin each other to see who lies at my fort Who woulda thought, little shy big willie Ninety-six we rollin dutches, nine-tray it was phillies First of the month be like christmas to dealers Hundred dollar seals come through the school zone area Children at play keep the heat on the low Little kids gettin hit, projects flooded with po' Now shorty's rockin, versace and donna karan Playin the miss mob queen role knowin hon the cousin sharon I live the glamarous life, girl And go from limos to dom perignon, rich hotels Chorus: repeat 4x "wild, the shaolin style is all in me Child, the whole damn isle is callin me" -- method man Verse two: squig Facing two-five to life incarcerated activated Stressed behind a cell with no way to escape it Holdin on, true to ock steel tryin to appeal Be landed without a bail so let the commisary reveal I feel it's time, for me to let this sparkle in wine Wet my throat rockin the trenchcoat, flashin to get mine Not hesitant, 'cause the henny keeps me bent Just tryin to make a cent, diggin pockets down to the lint Regardless of all the charges the d's want me for Warrant after warrant, so I avoid the law Stapleton on the rise, twenty-seven wearin lives From day one until they none don't take it as no suprise Chorus Verse three: shyheim I'm havin suicidal thoughts cause I'm screwed up in the game But today's thang, is to hold it down and maintain I got thirty days until I get remanded for this gun charge Still I'm livin large, joint hard up in the mode and Long sexin, fishin for pre-model I'm young black rich and dangerous, livin like I won the lotto So nuff of wine sex and dutches Them kids know who us is Gp rule, hundred-twenty-seven hustlers Runnin from d's when they try to bust us Fly crims and gats, mainly black cops, them faggots love us And my district attorneys wanna send me to jail I told em, "people wanna kill me", that's why I had the nine milli I'm bustin dead and not to injure Remember what I quote Before you, enter my center Chorus |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Hah, oh word up, this is one of them
yo let me tell ya son this one of them gettin dick sucked type tracks im tellin you, in the closests or where check it out Verse One: What up boo, how life treatin ya girl Hopefully you're takin care of yourself out in the world As for me, I'm mainting in this packed hell hole Hopefully in the year 2000 Big Kane'll be home My old school crew frontin on me cept for a few It's a shame that jail had to make me feel the way I do But it's all good, enough for me what's up wit you You don't write or come and visit me like you used to What's the problem huh Why all of a sudden you dissapearin Now that I need you the most you actin like you don't care and It hurts my feelins but life must continue I heard that Big Mark died please don't say this shit is true If so that's fucked up oh tell my niggaz what's up And don't get caught up in no bullshit and get sicked up How is my seeds doin I know they're crazy big by now Tell 'em daddy loves 'em no matter what the fuck goes down And Love Dark ha, he's a dead man walkin for talkin To Jiggy Jake I'm puttin him in a coffin Ay yo I'm vexed so Ima end this little letta So take care of yourself for worst or for fuckin betta Are you still there for me baby I need to know You're one of the only things I got in this whole wide world You're my whole wide world (repeat) Verse Two: All I do is party and bullshit Fuck big chicks that's mad thick Roll through the big city In BM's and Cruiser Land's But damn, it aint the same without my fam You niggaz understand On New Years I drink beers and bust off heat I'm in this little street doin by any means to eat You gotta get up get out and rob suntin Ha don't let dem niggaz with that cream walk by that's right I be shootin and stabbin, robbin niggaz whateva For gold chains, rings, watches, diamond studs and leathaz My peoples one love ya'll stay bugged Don't crimp your style none cause we thugs..foreva Are you still there for me homiez I need to know You're really the only thing I got in this whole wide world You're my whole wide world (repeat) (My cousin Tawana, rest in peace girl, you're my whole wide world) I need somebody there when it's hard kid oh yeah yeah When they bring the ruckus to me You're my whole wide world |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
(Shyheim)
"Sup, how was your ride." "It was long, but I'm aiiight." "True, true." "So you takin care of yourself in here?" "No question, I gets down for mines." "Yeah I know, I heard a lot about you." "Word? I'm sayin tho-" "Anyway, if you don't mind me askin, how'd you get into alla this?" "Yo, it's a long story..." I started off light, knockin off y'all packs for this kid Pat He told me to take 30 and bring him the rest back It didn't take long for my clientele to swell Snitches started to tell, broke niggas was jail Cause they couldn't outhustle me so they tried to muscle me But I ain't pussy y'all I leave em dead like a Kennedy Took a half a year to get a half a brick My own shit, now I make profit on every flip No more hand-to-hands, I'm the big man now Push a black Land Cruiser, pack a chrome trey-pound now I'm smellin all the animos in the air Pat spreadin rumors that he gonna take me outta here What the fuck the bloodclot thinkin My plan's to roll up in an old black Lincoln and leave him dead and stinkin And I'm a man of my word, word I seen him on the curb smokin herb I made the Continental swerve And hopped out and started lettin off shots And didn't stop until I seen his body drop Then a nigga like me just skated I know he was packin steel, that made it drug-related YouknowI'msayin Chorus: (2x) Things happen so keep your eyes open Sheisty ones be scopin That's why guns we be totin Things happen so keep your eyes open Sheisty ones be scopin I'm on the run from po-po Some crab niggas pulled the bitch move My blood pressure's high but I play it calm and smooth Everybody's my enemy, can't trust no one The last time I trust a trust I almost got done So keep your eyes open and beware of the ruckus Cause life ain't nothin but thirsty, grity muthafuckers I ran with niggas that will kill ya warm dead Keep it real is who I pumped into them niggas little heads My granddad, he used to call me Killer now I am Everybody where I used to chill, fuck them My mind was playin tricks on me shorty Once I was like "Turn yourself in and do the time" (yo fuck that) The pigs wanted five, tell my moms I love her And stay strong and don't fall I'm in the hands of the Lord Chorus (2x) |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
(trigger tha gambler)
There a toker, under the numb, scumb looker Get the gatherin, big willy, me, thug rich and booker The gun to gun, face off, street smart nigga That I'm ready to tear your numbers right off the burners To throw the d-8 trace off, ruckus click cause the mystery Sellin, which, cap killin, go down in history You dissin me, bell to releact the combat I sit back, when niggaz throw raps I be like, "where your are at" (rubbabandz) It's a leaky-leak world and I don't give a f**k All I wanna do is puff that purple stuff The sun ain't never shine on my block It's like a permanent eclipse The only light is gun spark Fightin on the premissis, that you want to be yours Catch your on the stairs, your floor's eight But, you won't make it past four I'm sick and tired of niggaz actin high fashional Flashin, wackin and not reactin (smoothe da hustler) Yall niggaz, know what time it is Leavin niggaz withour no watches When I drop this shit about hustlin Yall niggaz know, who rhyme it is You gettin the head from bathroom To book-book to rap-rap to tracks-tracks to wax-wax When starts toss the headphone The dead zone, mc's get done since The grittiest square root Equals a dead mother f**ker in my circumference The shell maxed, well matched, dressed in black leather To come through buildin for buildin Jack dead for crime cheddar (shyheim) All day, I dream about guns, money, cars and bitches Thirsty niggaz, who want my riches I got somethin for em, in '96, you gotta be trife or die That's how it is in the streets of s.i., in God we trust the lye Niggaz I run with, their mentality is f**k it And heated with a vest, gun cocked ready to buck shit Altough they do, to makin crack and dope sales And jiggy-jigg won't stop us from gettin the dough, for real (trigger) money, clips and fat stacks make the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round (rubba) alcohol and marijuana makes the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round (smoothe) cocaine, lactose and boilin water makes the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round (shyheim) big guns, money and pussy makes the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round, round (rubbabandz) Shaolin, stapleton born and raised The battlegrounds is where we spend most of our days I lick a shot for niggaz slingin cooked up rocks To make the prophet, so all y'all crap niggaz need to stop it I see my peeps transform like autobots Shootin at missed, prime ass niggaz, who stop us from makin figgaz We can't be eliminated, the world wil be contaminated G.p. players activated (d.v. alias khrist) Shot twenty shells, twenty heads fell Twenty bodies rapped, twenty churches rung death bells The bitch f**ker, the thug cop chucker The glock under my belt, tucker, the wild mother f**ker My lifestyles, maxin, taxin, a pistol wipin Girl come here, bitch slapped and carjackin Cap carrier, contract arrangin, twenty-thousand dollar hit Body, the scenic (shyheim) Bet your life nigga on two red and one green dice For fifty cents, nickels or get nice and pay the price A hot rolex with ice, fit around my wrist A gorilla in the mist, with a four fifth, kill you and your bitch Get you open like bullet wounds, deadly like toxic fumes Get my peoples ? ? ? through all the ballons Wack rappers and listeners, this for all yall Can't follow, put my records out on virgin Cause my styles be sellin (smoothe da hustler) Brooklyn and shaolin puttin the hurtin in front of the curtain Hookin and crookin, I'm takin back uptown, back downtown like fulton I house the best, when I be rappin, I be packin So niggaz in clubs, fire marshalls got me on house arrest Front, I caution it, I bless so many mics After I die, niggaz'll cut my hand off and auction it Nineteen seventy-seven, february eighth This little nigga be packin big, but I ain't got faith to hustle it (rubba) thugs, slugs and drugs make the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round (trigger) hand in pistol, pull out the gristle makes the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round (shyheim) murderers and carjackers make the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round (smoothe) state to state, pushin weight make the world go round (d.v.) what makes the world go round, tound, round, round, round (d.v. alias khrist) Brooklyn, brownsville makes the world go round Shaolin, stapleton makes the world go round G.p. wu makes the world go round D.r. period makes the world go round D.v. alias khrist makes the world go round I said the ruckus makes the world go round Mr. trigger makes the world go round Smoothe da hustler, definitely makes the world go round Shyheim makes the world go round Rubbabandz makes the world go round The nexx level click makes the world go round It be the crew that makes the world go round It be the crew, it be the crew that makes the world go round It be the crew, it be the crew makes the world go round |
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from Shyheim - The Lost Generation (1996)
Intro: RZA, Raekwon
Yo *echoes* Older cats *echoes* Yo *echoes* Whassup Rae? What's going on Son? Whattup dude? Yeah, I ain't see y'all cats in a long time Check it, yo Y'all better be on that shit too Older cats max with young godz who got the guns KnowhatI'msayin son? Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Y'all the little y'all the youth coming up Or get stung by the killer bee stinga from the slums KnowhatI'msayin son? Yo son Of the young Shaolin Monks, chickenheads will get done You the first man, you go first son Verse One: Shyheim I'm mobb deep, in cherry Cherokees I forever be on some thug shit, runnin wild through New York City Bustin guns rockin jew-els that shine like sun Stapleton is where I'm from And been down for years stayed on point like stairs (yeah, word up) 'cause the jealous motherf**kers want to end my career I never feared, the ghetto is hell, but I learned ta Keep my mouth shut and pack a nickel-plated burner And squeeze, if I get front on my nine millimi will have my enemies, behind trees Niggaz that think they live 'cause they puff a little lye Pack a bullshit, twenty-five, nah don't think they'll kill us Chorus: RZA, with Rae Older cats mack, roll with young godz that got the guns You right about that kid Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Now yo y'all just keep everything moving you know Or get stung by the killer bee stinga from the slums The beat is sounding like Star Trek Of the young Shaolin Monks, taking heads, with the tongue So yo, youknowhatI'msayin Son? Verse Two: Madman Yo, deep in the ocean of the Atlantic, here comes the killa falcon I meditate then swing with the force of mountains Brain cells is able to be bi-debatable When I think it's hazardous to your ozone layer A pre-meditated killer plan so kill the Mayor, my silencer causes niggaz to hush, then I rush, like Manchus who guard jewels and collect, Cash Rules with heavy jewels I live by name and cut veins Burning bodies into flames Between my anger, I lock down every chamber Hillside strangeler, a nigga with a mask like Lone Ranger Rap poetic is injected into the brain athletic Build off of rhymin calisthetics I'm determined, I raise a army like Hitler done Germans and become the Allied commander, my enemies is catching on camera They seek death, I begin to torture them (calm down kid take your time) By giving butterfly stitches, bear witness as I hang with Jehovah's Witnesses Chorus: RZA Older cats max with young godz that got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Or get stung, by the killa bee stinga from the slums From the young Shaolin Monks, taking heads with the tongue Verse Three: Rubbabandz Yo, yo, this is manslaughter, so what you wanna do Last year, you ran for the border with your crew I flip, stacks, all the, time when I rhyme Libra is my sign, and can't stand swine When I dine, the automatic weapon Got niggaz steppin, in the opposite direction My jurisdiction, is off grounds to you clowns My proposition, meaning you go round for round Straight up and down, I broke the sound barrier Scarier, than a tight skirt wrapped around a transvestite The grammar, hype, nigga check your stacks Or you'll be rhyming with a broke back Niggaz talk about they rollin deep up in here The only way you roll is if you in a wheelchair Chorus: Raekwon, RZA Older... Yo, y'all calm down man calm down calm down Yeah, and yo Now yo, youknowhatI'msayin? I wanna tell y'all Y'all up under the restrictions of the Wu camp Aiyyo Rae, you got Killa Sin YouknowhatI'msayin? Madman, Shyheim the Rugged Child So just take your time and handle life as it comes Motherf**kin Rubbabandz, the young godz comin through Cause the real nigga gonna know what they gotta do Showin and provin youknowhatI'msayin? Shaolin forever Verse Four: Killa Sin Yo, may all the bullshit cease, increase the war f**k the peace Make shit hot like rockin tube socks at Jones Beach in the summer, number one gunner run for cover Keep em steppin with more Lethal Weapons than Danny Gloves I cock back, action packed raps and gats niggaz trade mats for prats people react, to RZA sharp tracks Another day nother body dropped you better keep your shottie cocked for actin snotty Hobbes catch karate chops 'cause Wu-Tang live, forever and a day you better pray for better ways to get away when my Beretta spray We never play with commercialism The hardcore rhythm give em more hell than an exorcism My terrordome be a clever poem let it be known I'm packin chrome and rollin phatter than eleven bones My crew's sicker than that AIDS shit While others get played quick, cause we be making hits through the grave sift My right hand man, myself and the Clan Gun and mic stands reverses help me see my first a hundred grand And to my Physical one love power crazy real for all them carbon copy niggaz lurkin in the rap deal Chorus: RZA Older cats max, the young godz yo they got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Or get stung by the killa bee stinga from the slum Come the young Shaolin Monks, taking heads with the tongue Older cats max, young godz got the guns Out of town niggaz best to run Yo, older cats mack, the young godz, check it out Yo, older cats mack, the young godz, they got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Or get stung by the killa bee stinga from the slum From the young Shaolin Monks, takin heads with the tongue From the slum comes the young Shaolin Monks, takin heads with the tongue Older cats mack, but young godz got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Or get stung Killa bee stinga from the slum, come the young Shaolin Monks taking heads with the tongue Older cats max, but young godz they got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Aiyyo stop it Older cats max but young godz they got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Or get stung by the killa bee stinga from the slum From the young Shaolin Monks taking heads with the tongue Young Shaolin Monks taking heads with the tongue Older cats max but young godz got the guns Out of town Big Willie niggaz best to run Or get stung... |
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from Kazaam (카잠) by Christopher Tyng [ost] (1996)
(feat. Squig)
[Shyheim] Yo, what the deal? Criminals, what up? We're not born we're created From the streets And this goes out to all my thugs, criminals, ballers, hustlers Big up to self, Big up to self Get y'all weight up No diggity, No doubt G.P. Wu, Yo drop my shit right now I gotta get my weight up Fuck eight balls I'm flippin kilos Did dirt so now I lay low from street foes Broke niggas and bitches wanna take what I got Tell the jakes about my spots They mad cuz I make a lot From Monday through Sunday I see about a million Run with thugs that's down for killin, civilians I'm thug related, pack nuff heat, they call me fire Niggas fear my verbal technique cuz I'm Kaiser So say I represent the ghetto worldwide Bust techs, puff lye From A to Z's Doe or Die Fuck around and get lifted off this Earth Take my word for what it's worth I put that on the turf [Chorus x2: Shyheim (Squig)] I'm all out on my own, I'm goin out son I'm all out on my own, I'm goin out (dun) I'm all out on my own, I'm goin out (Like Patty LaBelle said I'm out on my own) [Shyheim] I'm all out on my own like Al Capone Cuz niggas want my dome, so I pack a 4 lb. chrome Stash it near my nuts in the front But keep it in arm distance cuz I'm gonna have to bust The first victim that comes too close to me and shit My clips packed up thick legit and victed To go to war at any given time I gotta protect me and mine Before the damn flat line I'm still young but I'm growin up mad fast Treated like trash and dumped out on my ass No one understands me but me Nobody cares about how I feel but me So what I gotta do is do for me I wonder how that be goin all out for me I got mad problems but I try to deal wit em I wish that I could fight em And shoot the fear one wit em But the devil keeps on hawkin me My soul he wantin G But that shit I can't see [Chorus x2] [Shyheim] I had many dreams of being a star in the NBA But they got thrown away when I saw them slingin yay I put the ball down, picked the ounce up, then I read up Now I'm 200 G's up and on my uptown To meet up with these big druglords from Cuba I don't trust em like a chickenhead so I'm bring the luger And my 19-9-6 shot beamer Flying on the West Side highway, that's when I seen her Van full of jiggy Oh now they wanna get me At full pushin 80 max while I'm hittin the buck 50 Niggas know Dig me blazin the la-la The weed keep me zoned word to Taiwana K-basa baby, you know who loves you girl Young wild thugs we rule the world [Chorus x2] [Shyheim (Squig)] Yea, Uh, I'd like to give a mad big up (No doubt, represent) Respect to the 2 Cent click B-I, my man Ty motha fuckin D (What up Ski?) One time, Squig, word up, Vin-cent Redman, Rubba-Rubba-Rubbabandz Hah hah, and it, and it don't stop |
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| from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994) | |||||
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
[sample]
They're just out there doin it They're just out there doin it and they don't really give a damn what's Happenin [Guru: x2] (And lil shorty with the .38 could pop you and jet) [Shyheim] We was chillin on the ave buggin out lookin dap And these 4 cold boys rolled up in a cab They pulled out a tool said get against the wall Fuck that, rather brawl then go out at all My man pushed back, body pulled the trigger Nah G, not Amsin, that's my main nigga His body hit the floor, blood covered the ground How that sound? I didn't even give my last pound The red glare with these tears made me shed Now I'm fed My right hand man could be dead Hell no, I couldn't let him flee that ain't me Or have me and my crew lounge in peace So we dash, put the gladiatior on that ass in the grass His life is now come to pass The fear made him shrimp, aw shit the gun slipped My man picked up the burner and emptied the clip In his back, no slack jack it's time to retreat back Wipe the gat and pack it in the napsack Yo be out, cause 5.0 is soon to come And get arrested and bagged for murder one [Chorus:] (And lil shorty with the .38 could pop you and jet) (And lil shorty with the .38 could pop you and jet) I'm buckwild and I want wreck (And lil shorty with the .38 could pop you and jet) I'm buckwild and I want wreck (And lil shorty with the .38 could pop you and jet) [Shyheim] I know a kid named Dane, he had mad fame In the drug game, throwin his life down the drain He slang mad rocks on the block til it got hot Then he hit the jackpot, now he owns a crackspot He always got blunted, smoked up the Philly Now he use White Owl minks with his illy Props, had lots and girls around his finger The neighborhood banger and the hot rock slinger The cops is on his back, left, right, right and left He had a plan that was def so he stepped He stuck up Bill, the one from up the hill that was chill Now Bill wants to kill Dane dead For his name and his fame so he did He lit up the kid with lead in his head Now Dane's dead [Chorus] [Shyheim] There's a party goin on down the block Pack up, load the gats now my whole crew's strapped, what! Bring the drama, Shaolin against all ya My crew's in here deep ready to bomb ya I got the ill rhymes, nigga's lookin for a show But it's gettin kinda hectic on the mad down low Honies with the big butts whine to get stuck And they kill a bitch and it's time to get bucked Boom baow, niggas wanna drop cause it's real hot And some knucklehead wants to blow up the spot Pulls out a gat or burner he's the man Except he ain't down with the Clan check the plan Shorty's backed up cause we're true to the crew Doin what we gotta do with a 40 ounce of Wu Crashed to the head, 2 seconds from bein dead And it stopped, when these 2 kids busted shots The party's in a smash and the Wu got it locked up It's it, the man on the mic is a props [Chorus] |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
Hit after hit makin' MC's quit then they jump on my tip for that old raw hit
You thought I got stuck nah kid you're outta luck You can bet your best buck that I serve it up Boom bow, upside your head with the led, A down low ill type brotha nuff said You thought I couldn't flip ill style's like this word peep it Look out for the hit as I freak it, jump all around only if you're outta jam But yo keep your ground when brothaz get flam Danger Danger better start runnin search for cover kid the hits comin Check the technique raw rough and rugged came across mad con but never fronted Cause they'll be none of that I keeps on comin' back for more To add more points to the score sound the alarm for destruction iz near Explosion there aint no escape from the real It's hectic, tic, tic tic Boom I flips real quick Awww shit, here come the hits Here comes the hits ya'll Comin out of nowhere with the ill plan of attack Staten Island comin soon to your map Better get it ? tryin to front ? Hits up to here puttin out mad fear Then I appear after the smoke clears Then drop my game on your girl let her know that I'm thorough I grand slam in every burrow cause I'm on third base throwin ill styles Bad little bastard aka Rugged Child, next up to pop no one is on second The nasty one man gang you can't hang so step back cause u aint Qualified burn her Cause u know and I know there's only one son on first, now here comes The man to clean it up Here comes the hit now duck, the click we all got props to earn When its time do ya we all take turns, its my go now Put on your wool cant quit till im done shut up and sit Cause here come the hits Here come the hits ya'll In case that ya'll aint done I got a bitch that's illa First at bat upon Killa, a shorty that holds his own with no problems All just the cream is quickly I'll solve 'em With just a little slick slang from my tongue Or got done by the sword that I brung, the ruckus is with so move back And clear the way Peace to "Doe" who couldn't be here today But this one's bein' sent to you by a crew that's thick (You know the flav) here come the hits Here comes the hits ya'll [fade out] |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
[chorus x4]
Say yeah! Come on ya! Here I am, here I am Where you at? I be the ruff cat with a back and the napsack Takeing all the shorties out with my wicked flow Wu-tang on the go, never slow time to blow Up so wuzz up, you better duck or get buck Live cool shortie who don't give a flying fuck So whats up sonie? Now let me throw the the Kay The little rascal with a fade and rugged boxs braise So a born a born terror, a.k.a a rugged child Niggaz on my tip so hard I be the life style But I get silky, go for you like milk gee Brothers sun on wack on waxs like Milli Vanilli Uhh! you know I've got the style with the flavor When I stick you up you need more then life savers If I rob a bank can't forget to be swip and if he runs his lip, That as will be his [chorus x4] Say yeah! Come on ya! Im the jam, I slam, cause I am the man, hut damn! I swing more beats than tarzan Am a rascal bad little bastard Brothers try to gas it but yo Im not having it Chump try to play me by they trees a company Was a money grip, whats your problem, why your bumpin' me Whats you want beef? Yo she dearload the tec-nine Get the bag full of shells cause Ima get moms boy Ima joker and not just a little tree Cause I row deep with rascal and g.p's Kidnapped your girl, don't worry I wont hurt her But then you try to save her with the old black super sworda' You got srayed your girl got the pinnie-ray Then she got slaved in a old owl sex compays So who are you to try to play lice smooth you ain't cool Thats why we set it of in no' Now what you gonna do? It's a Wu thang You would'nt understand It's a Wu-tang thang My man! It's a Wu thang You would'nt understand It's a Wu-tang thang My man, plus it Im slick thats why you swat my deals nig Well heres a little trick when I flip the bit Ahh shit! I hip with the hop thats why I rock non-stop, you say five is lot But I roll the drip drop Like E. Solo I be the spell bown let a man down Here I am, here I am, here I am L double E you can F U C K with Emmy, So get thruw your fucking head gee Stat Island in the house! Plus my styles is back and fourth from New York back the town suff Let it rain in the park as I start the spark Tah kick the fly rhymes and have you blowin' in the dark ...yo punk as! [chorus x4] Say yeah! Come on ya! |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
[Intro:]
This Bob Billiard for the Entertainment News In the news today yoth rapper Shyheim AKA the Rugged Child Is rapidly climbing the charts and making a lot of noise Shyheim seems to be one of those little boy rappers Who are making a lot of money. Personally I don't think a little boy should get paid [Verse One:] Don't call me boy! (why?) Haven't you heard? Boy ain't nothin' but a white man's word As the old saying go- I could never forget. Boy plays a tarzan g-tuck quit So call me Shy with the Ooh la la la Kissin' young girls and i makes them hollar Fortan can never be an orphan. New Yorkin' Wu-slang talkin' So hump the mile as I walk the mile The little rascal's bucked un-juvenile. I be the captain of dappin' of Rappin' How you scatchin' the cuts and the scratchin' Not your average shorty 140 on the block I got more props than your 1,000 cops Stop! In the name of me. Like Denise Williams I gots to be free To do what I want to do. Oh Shaboo Here come the Little Rascals [Chorus:] One little two little three little rascals Four little five little six little rascals Seven little eight nine little rascals Ten rugged rascals in all [Verse Two:] Gotta make a record to gain recognition, or competition My posse is blitzin': I yell hooray! When they cross the barricade Fuck the arcade- No games are being played Sneaky little Shy from the streets of Staten Somethin' shot me and my cousin cry Jason Jason Jason- time for chasi' -girls I'm on every case like Perry Mason Step in they face and beg them for they number Get the seven digits and now they like the roadrunner Beep! Beep! Yo, things is gettin' deep. Takin' old does and coffee There's no time to sleep. A tazmanian walkin' maniac A young girl playing rap brainiac So pump up the volume. For 10 balls you could have the whole album Of the rugged- Child- Chi- Chi- Chi- Bow!! Little Rascal Style |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
(feat. Pop Da Brown Hornet)
[sample] That's a big bad motherfucka comin your way [Intro: Shyheim (Pop Da Brown Hornet)] One two one two one two one two (Hey yo Shyheim wassup baby There be a lot of shorties out here rockin the mic For like one or two singles but they don't keep comin at em baby You got to come non-stop like consecutive blows to the head dome Gotta keep em movin non-stop, gotta keep em movin, that's all I got to tell You Just keep em movin) [Shyheim] Hey yo what's goin on Nowadays brothers keep testin me Tryin to get me open and take out the best of me They pull up rough, get snuffed, and then bust When I kick that old underground funk stuff That's comin atcha, better run from the rapture Before I gat'cha I'm buckin shots atcha Buck-buck-buck means you punks better duck Kid you're outta luck, try to flip you get stuck By the Wu-Tang sword, oh lord you shoulda bucked south I'm spittin out on brothers straight from my mouth You just been ripped now watch your blood drip Right down your lip and then I'm ghost in my whip Take a sip I'm the candyman, I got sweets For all the sweet MCs that fake funk in the streets [Sample (Pop Da Brown Hornet)] Gotta move it over here (Yo keep em movin Shy) Gotta move it over here (Gots to keep em movin baby) Gotta move it over here (Non-stop, non-stop like this) Gotta move it over here (Yo I said I wasn't gonna say no more but I got a little bit more to say) Gotta move it over here (Shyheim you gotta keep em movin baby gotta keep em movin) Gotta move it over here (They can't fuck with you) [Shyheim] Up comes a shorty, sneaky one Armed with the loaded gun, shit's on lock til I'm done Bad little bastard I'm a rugged child classic How could you ask it when you know that I rips it Check how the Shy flips his tongue like a pro Fifteen years old with nuff skills to flow Props, damn right kid, you know I got lots If rockin hip-hop was a crime call the cops Become a wanted man who was forced to be a fugitive A shorty outta Shaolin Isle with somethin new to give You wanna hear it? It goes a little somethin like this The Wu-Tang click is comin thick If I must be the setter then I'ma have to set it Forget it, that's your last buck don't even bet it If it's rough then it's right and I'm never goin left I'm not a comedy but my jams pack mad def My napsack's full with mad goodies My click keeps a low profile with black hoodies You wanna see me flop, well how can you figure Cause bein rough and rugged's doin well for a nigga [Sample (Pop Da Brown Hornet)] Gotta move it over here (Yo over here Shy) Gotta move it over here (Yo move em over here Shy) Gotta move it over here (Yo I don't care where you move em just keep em movin) Gotta move it over here (That's all I want you to do baby, hah) [Shyheim] Back in the flesh it's the wanna get buckwild From Staten Isle it's the return of the rugged child I'm no pimp but I walk with a slick limp And I catch a dunk off the funk like Shawn Kemp I be the beat of the rugged rhyme freaker To blow out your speaker, got more soul than sneakers I swing the parties with the tunes that I hit, many bit But then I zipped up that lip quick I keep it smashed when they dash for my cash they get blast And slapped on that ass real fast I'm supposed to be the best when they flex Don't get vexed, just put that mess right to rest I'm an enemy cause my style is not public Don't dub it cause my flow is masteredly rugged [Sample (Pop Da Brown Hornet)] Gotta move it over here (Yo when I hear this jam right here I know Shy is tellin me keep em movin) Gotta move it over here (That means if I gotta pull a biscuit out your head and tell you) Gotta move it over here (To get off the wall that's what I'ma tell ya) Gotta move it over here (Cause he's comin hardcore for ya, unh unh) Gotta move it over here (Yo keep em movin Shy) Gotta move it over here (Yo like over here Shy) Gotta move it over here (Yo, yo keep em movin Shy) Gotta move it over here (Yo keep em movin yo, yo keep em movin) |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
[Chorus x2:]
Napsack on my back Napsack on my back Napsack on my back (I carry a full pack) [Shyheim] I rocks the blocks with the rugged hip-hop And I can't be stopped cause my jam pumps like Reebok Go get a grip as I flip the bic Don't slip cause I rip shit and I'll packs a biscuit So make em jump jump cause I gotta pump pump I'll stick it in your gut and see who jumps up So tell me now do you think you can hang With the Wu (Wu) Tang (Tang) boom (boom) bang bang Crunch that blast up the trunk of a punk With the funk that gots em doin the drunken monk On the Shaolin beatbox cause I rocks steady Don't sweat me cause I get crazy like Eddie Boom-bah, some say I am a superstar Tell em all I am what I am baby paw And my beats, fatter than fat, they're not funny Cause these drums remind me of One's 4 Da Money Now tell me that me and R can't drop hits Then you heard it but then you tried to rhyme and got dissed My style, my flow for real will have you chumped And I get like Ziggy and toss it up [Chorus x4] [Shyheim] My styles is dope so call the kid dynamite I writes the rhymes that's redder than bloodsight A trail of thunder with rugged hardcore When I rips the crowd the dancefloor gets sore I laid down my game with my shade and razor cane I laid down my game and parlayed with my gang A little rascal was a bad little bastard (So you're the rugged child) I see you're learnin fast kid Get the message I rapped several texts So don't even try to step to this with that old bullshit On how you better me and how you could do me Come on son, cause you know my style is groovy To the max as I watch and give a beatin And I got more bats in me than Michael Keaton [Chorus x4] [Shyheim] I'm kickin master Wu-Tang slang cause I'm a slinger I got a magic grip so you could call me Golden Fingers I'm rough and I'm tough but I keep it on profile Wanna peep my style take a ride to the Isle I'll meet you on the other side, we'll take ya dollar man To prove to my fans that I really am the man The hardcore shorty that will keep ya head boppin And while I keep rockin your ears will start poppin To that freaky flow and all that old good shit And not to be conceited but hey, the shoe fits Gimme room, I love to hear the next competition So I can prepare to give another ass whippin Short sneaky Shy-Shy the kid with the props I'll make your heart stop at the pop of a glock A Tech-9, an uzi, so what can you do me? But take his advice be the next one to sweat me [Chorus x4] |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
Nowadays you gotsta walk the street and watch your back
Cause brothers with the gats don't be knowin how to act They always pull the glock when somebody rocks they knot And if they get shot they often snitch to the cops Now tell me this aint livin foul She just had a baby child and shes back to sellin crack vials On the Ave cause shes addicted to the fast cash How long will that last before the cops be up in that ass But honey-dip dont wanna listen cause shes in no position Now nobody gives a pot to piss in Her life is stuck and filled with bad luck So she fucks and fucks to earn another buck She don't really care about pride And she jumps into another ride then comitted suicide Chorus: Hey Yo, this goes on it don't stop Everybody's doin' their own thing From hooker in the drug slang (repeat 2) Times is gettin' hard, word is bond, I swear to God I even got caught tryin' to steal from the junkyard A born terror, A rebel without a cause Ain't never had a good Christmas, so who is Santa Claus? I walk the streets at night with my head down In this lil town you see clowns that wanna be down So they get a glock a lick shots to get props And when shit rocks all you can hear is the shells drop An old man got shot in the parkin' lot In front of my buildin' I hang with his grandchildren And for the nigga that pulled the trigga and tried to slide And hide, but he got knocked by da homicide And this happens everyday around my way So I pray that I can live anotha day Chorus Hey Yo, get a load of this guy you know the Mr. Hard He the one who talk about gats but aint' bustin nobody He speaks the name game so he can just maintain I'll blow him out the frame n' his moms'll get gang banged But his rep was hi-tech in the projects Pulled his nuckle-jacks so he got mad respect The niggaz in hoodiez packed up their loaded gats Met up in the back so they could plan the attack Wasn't hard to tell that these kids was no joke They let the pistol smoke and at nine was dopin and coked I seen it happen everyday where I live I know a few brothers, drug dealers, most of them fugitives Chorus (repeat till fade) |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
(a.k.a, a.k.a, the rugged child)
Microphone check, one-two, one-two, yo Microphone check, one-two, one-two, yo Microphone check, one-two, one-two, yo Microphone check, one-two, [chorus x2] One's for the money Two's for the show Three's for ya hooker But we all say, HOE! My slang and my gang bows up the concrete Like everybeing rocking Don't sweat the technics So you got beef Narrow sony go get ya posse Cause I've got a mosse, when you wear haratchies Then you hear me kicking as I own you, it's mad ruggie The jump on my tip, but I taught nuff to naw it Cause I let the microphone spark right after dark And be dropping mad skillz like my name was Pad Mark The rebel to society Everyone's trying me Loking at me strange leave dim raid it'll mase me Had I did something wrong go and my dumb Brothers keep stressing, no shorties the one To make it real snappy, and little nasty-nasty Things get pawsie-pawsie And of to be hax me It'll little gone and still can hold you on, on Microphone so keep licking on that wish bone You had you're chans but you feld out on tune, So you're hanging out with deuce, now you say that rock rues You make me laugh as you're mom's get smoke You get ain't like a taffy, and red like the chokes Flow with the flow from the Wu-tang free-style You catch yo bow-bow, And they're two's this wild, child From the Staten the Island, the temple Just an exemple how pop goes the pistole [chorus x2] One's for the money Two's for the show Three's for ya hooker But we all say, HOE! Here comes the shortie with the tec twenty two But If you tell Im gonna blast you From the projects worst ghetto section So my back but gun from protection Shortie do-wa, more shoops and tupa' Come and do with the Wu-tang hip-hop Shortie wa-wa, shorts sniki sha-sha Go-go, ga-ga, now you want me popa Im not a mack daddy or my daddy mack Touch my napsack, boy you gettin' pitch smack I've got a style may not be formilliar It's like both way you're callin' round in a cosha Who will be the next to flex and face death Ashes to ashes, and only dust is left [chorus x2] One's for the money Two's for the show Three's for ya hooker But we all say, HOE! |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
[Chorus x7: sample]
Soon as the bass kick [Shyheim] There's a party goin on 5c-75 Everyone's gonna be there I bet it be live Ran home mad quick jumped in the tub real fast Condition my hair, put on cologne at last Iron my pants with my blue jean jacket Put on socks black tops with a hat and three packets Clipped my key to my pants, my dough in my right pocket Fly lookin dip can't get even smoke a brain spark it Take a bus now, I call up Newport cab Pay up front says the driver cause he almost got stabbed Pay my fee real quick, jumped out the cab real fast Cut through the alley, oh shit I almost bust my ass Ran up the stairs and just look what I see Crazy dope cuties just starin at me Put on my chump chain with my lucky go getter They're whisperin and laughin "Uh huh he's a winner" Feelin dope, like I never did before Umm, thought for a second and I stepped to the door Knocked three times before someone had opened They said "Yo look at shorty yo he must've been smokin" Shut the door on my face, the girls they say "Don't worry" I said "Damn, I'm still ranked as a shorty" [Chorus x8] [Shyheim] There's a party goin on are you with me Before you pay your loot make sure it's not empty Cause many people be schemin for a buck Watch out, pray for luck that you won't get stuck By a mob or a crew or a Clan but if it's one man Let the shit hit the fan Cause ain't no way in this world I'm playin pussy Niggaz better try to kill and ambush me Blow for blow, hit for hit money quit Before I have to do some old wild crazy shit So I take the live and put it with the raw And score and draw mad blood from a whore Then I burn an MC up like a burnt english muffin Brothers always puffin in but ain't sayin nuthin To a smooth brother Shy on the slippery script For me to flip up and kick like a kung-fu flick Polish MCs like Griff and offer up an alibi High like Tone-Loc keep you horny like Spanish Fly Clip up a whole new click with Mr. Clean If that don't do it I get on the reverend Visine And still come off on the top so you drop Now I rock the parties non-stop Hickory dickory tickle me - stop Shyheim came to rock this spot Hands in the air as you dance to this jam In command hot damn the kid who slams Up a party and steals like to star G Used to body but now I'm pumpin hotties [Outro: samples] There's a party over here Party over here There's a party over here (All that, all that youknowI'msayin) There's a party over here (All that, all that youknowI'msayin) Party over here There's a party over here (All that youknowI'msayin) |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
(feat. GP Wu, K-Tez)
[Intro:] Yeah!! [Chorus:] Pass it off I wanna flip (I got the loaded clip) Pass it off and move back (I'm reachin in my napsack) Pass it off I wanna flip (Let me show you how) Pass it off then buck for Staten Isle [Rubbabandz] My style is mad funky, gots to show the funk Don't need a girl who be traps like a ho Which means I'm baggin bitches, my rhymes is gettin fatter I dropped a lyrical bomb, y'all seem to scatter You talk and chit chatter, it really don't matter I'm too cold to hold and badder than the Mad Hatter I'm a basketcase like the man with the chainsaw Underground sounds that I rip from the core The superfly, funktastic, never took a loss Cause I chose to burn competition like a torch Got a short fuse, when I'm lit I'm outta touch I take off, blow up just like a heat-seeking scud Missile for bob-around suckas like a pistol You beat me in a battle? Ha ha, now that's a riddle I like to keep my style pumpin on the regular I'm the man, takin calls like I'm on a cellular I pack the rhymes like a tourist packs the luggage On one hand I'm rough and on the other hand I'm rugged [Chorus] [K-Tez] Pass it off to the right so I can flip kid Shorty wildstyle, not for that old ill shit Wu-Tang slang I'm puttin in your brain You don't want it, they don't want it, niggaz don't want it Don't flex boy because my shit is real I'm sendin chills through your body like my man Evander Holyfield (oooh) Everyday is get rough out in my town That's Staple-town Every other day a body's found, yo Got mad stacks, don't even move kid I'm strapped Tez got mad stacks inside his napsack Here's a warning, I gets my meth and my forty and gets lifted And fly in the sky like Mike Jordan [Down Low Recka] Now here we go, I'm back for mo' check the flow Up from the Down Low as I wreck the show Cause niggaz is borin, ohh you got me yawnin You come and go easy like a Sunday mornin Pass the method, I wanna get blunted That's how I knew Wu-Tang slang was what you wanted So I brung it, pass the mic, watch me tongue it Now you done it Tried to flip then you fronted [Chorus] [Shyheim] Well I'm a bad little bastard how can you ask it Many tried to flip and stick but got blasted And dropkicked by a nigga that's mad sick and wicked Got more skins than a click kid A rebel that switch his level just like a devil For those who rock heavy metal I bash you with a shovel Cause me and my boys make noise up and down the block I rocks and rocks get hot and blow up the spot Cause my styles is buckwild and it shakes the ground With a fat sound that funk like James Brown I hope you listen cause I wasn't babblin no mission A blank eye then run outta ammunition On your ass real fast, no second thoughts you get blasted So heed the words from the bad little bastard [Chorus x2] |
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from Shyheim - Aka The Rugged Child (1994)
(feat. Down Low Recka)
[Chorus: Shyheim (Down Low Recka)] (You the man Shy) I disagree baby paw You the man K (Who me? Uh-huh no way You the man Shy) Nah you the rah-rah star You the man K (Yeah but you can rip it the right way) [Shyheim (Down Low Recka)] Well okay if you say so I will be the man But all I wanna do is make my record just slam I wanna be the kid to make the real live single To make the party people in the crowd shake and mingle (Yeah well Shy you can do that with ease real simple) True cause I'm the shorty from the Wu-Tang temple But I can't sleep you get the girls and the cash (Yeah yeah but you're the one that got the shorties in the smash) Take one (take two) We comin through for your crew (Who are you?) Talkin about you man (you can't Wu) But you front, you all out punks on the hunt for some beats To make your next LP complete (Here we come) To make the crowd scream for the Clan One by one (Takin out your crew cause we can Get the gun) Better yet a knife what the heck The job gets done (When we chop the head from the neck) Since I'm short they have no other choice but to sleep underneath The blow that be knockin out teeth (I be the K, The Down Low Recka on the set I gets wreck I make the calm sweat wanna bet) [Chorus] [Down Low Recka] So wassup better duck from my ill megablast You move too fast and your ass is in the smash The Down Low Recka, shit I rock full clip In my glock gets hot so stay off my block I come down hard on cornballs who sleep talk Cause you won't survive in New York I flow a mad thick like the sap from a tree I'm of the live brothers represents G.P. I'm hot like the sun, find shade I got my rays on ya Come near to raid my sphere and I'ma lay for ya I see ya comin with attempts to Bougard Peek-a-boo you ain't hard I pulled your whole card I got flavor, you're damn right I gots style Nine yards, nah the K goes the whole mile Whoever said I wasn't ill with the skill One minute I parlay, the next I'm all in your grill [Shyheim (Down Low Recka)] Back up, gimme some room so I can flip this You touch this, come on, and get your style busted You lay around and watch me break the mic stand You should know by now that I am the man Comin through, takin my place yeah you all know That I can't be touched by a crew or any solo Who dares to step to this kid and his Clan (Aww damn) Another crew done by the hand Of the Shy (What you do kid) I did him prop (Where's the payphone) Hell yeah, somebody call the cops When me and K grease somebody do somethin Stop bluffin and frontin cause you ain't sayin nuthin You're lyin, claimin that you rip shop up You ain't heard it from me cause I ain't one to gossip [Chorus] [Outro: Down Low Recka (Shyheim)] (Yeah, the Down Low Recka, niggaz ain't really wanna battle) The Rugged Child is the man to all you crab ass niggaz (Mad flavor, no sweetness necessary, and we out) Peace |
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