How far must you go to gain respect? Um... Well, it's kind of simple: just remain your own. Or you'll be crazy sad and alone.
I want a girl with extensions in her hair, Bamboo earrings, at least two pair, A Fendi bag and a bad attitude, That's all I need to get me in a good mood. She can walk with a switch and talk with street slang, I love it when a woman ain't scared to do her thing.
Do some good to the ghetto, Mr. Kris Kringle. Come and stay awhile, kick it with God's Angels. Take and acknowledge my wisdom and understand That Santa Claus is a black man.
Your reign on the top was short like leprechauns, As I crush so-called Willies, thugs, and rapper-dons.
Why's my name the Large Professor? Cause I milked your cow, in other words I hit your heifer.
Scared of a bunch of water? Then get out the rain. Order a rapper for lunch, and spit out the chain.
Shoot eagles on the Jack Nicklaus course, Porsche with the triple exhaust, Seats soft like a midget's cough.
And when I smiled, 'Bing!' I almost blinded her. She said, 'Great Scot, are you a thief? Seems like you have a mouth full of gold teeth!' Hahahaha, had to find that funny, So I said, 'No child, I work hard for the money. And calling me a thief? Please...don't even try it, Sit down, eat your slice of pizza, and be quiet.'
Music just ain't what it used to; We used to have songs that you could shoplift or boost to.
You've got to realize that the world's a test, You can only do your best and let Him do the rest. You've got your life, and got your health, So quit procrastinating and push it yourself.
I got a ill gift, I'm real swift They be like, 'Damn, he's still rich.' When I send my Men in Black, Listen, none of them niggas named Will Smith.
See, you're out your mind tryin' to face tha God. Your rhyme is like an empty prison...a waste of bars.
If rhyme is a crime, my mic is my co-defendant.
I had a cigarette for breakfast, just for beginners, Cried for my lunch, and sleep for dinner.
It's a thin line between paper and hate, Friends and snakes, nine millis and thirty-eights, Hell or the pearly gates...I was destined to come, Predicted, blame God, He blew breath in my lungs.
EPMD in effect, I'm clockin' mad green Like Kermit the Frog, sloppy like Boss Hog, Girl was runnin' wild...ate her like a corn dog.
For underground metaphors, you can scrape an inch below the turf. For what it's worth, my style's been developed in the core of the Earth. The exhale's volcanic, the inhale is seismic.
It's ninety-six degrees in the shade... Before I catch blood on my blade.
On the square...I'm not riffin' like Andy Griffith, Just fed up, goin' head up, with competition.
Keep my planets in orbit, Never forfeit or quit, Move forward... I talk with the awkward slang, I walk with the Wu-Tang.
Let's be honest, the cards' on the table: Jealousy's a sin, Cain killed Abel. Backstabber...Caesar had Brutus. It's hard to weed 'em out, even Jesus had Judas.
Bass! How low can you go? Death row...what a brother know. Once again, back is the incredible, The rhyme animal, the uncannable "D!" Public Enemy Number One. Five-O said, "Freeze!" and I got numb. Can I tell 'em that I really never had a gun? But it's the wax that the Terminator X spun.
Set me up, wet me up, niggas stuck me up... Heard the guns bust, but you tricks never shut me up.
You know the wisdom is reflected in the knowledge when it's manifested; If not fed in due time, the mind is anorexic.
Nowadays rap artists coming half-hearted, Commercial like pop, or underground like black markets. Where were you the day hip-hop died? Is it too early to mourn? Is it too late to ride?
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