it's got all the early-to-mid-90's rap cliches packed into three short verses!
bizarre collective consciousness link to the spice girls (really really really want to zigga-zig-ah!)
catchy beat, and entertaining enough, yet at the same time... kind of bammer
what say you
― ron (ron), Saturday, 7 December 2002 06:10 (twenty-two years ago)
come around my way
from the fiery pits of hell it's the rap rebel
ten years underground sub-level with the devil
brothers want to know can al get busy?
honeys want to know can ill get busy?
i'll tell you now with the bang boom pow
don't sleep on the deep type creep wit me style
get with this as you chill with that
i do the zigga-zig with my nig big ill the mack
in fact i won't stop as i blow up the spot
(nobody move nobody get shot)
anyway, niggas who diss _____ i spray
i'm (doing it?) up to carlito's way
hold up a sec, as i check for my papers
honeys catch the vapors leavin major flavors on my pager
ill the mack got my back, i got his
real niggas know what time it is
where my homiez?
(creepin thru the hood)
(up to no good)
come with big ill, the grapplin bum don't try to come
and creep thru my hood i don't really think you should
cuz i could, and i would bust a cap
to put my niggas on the map, TO PUT MY NIGGAS ON THE MAP
(slapped?) as i stagger pack a dagger ready to drag or bag
a punk in the alley, like an O.G. but not from Cali
brooklyn res-i-den-cy
hesitant g? that's what you better be!
step to me, catch a buckshot, why the fuck not?
it's big ill with the uptown connection
flexin in my section'll get you fucked up on the reg
your body i'll deliver to the river, you can beg
(for your homiez) for your homiez but they won't be around,
buck buck buck is the sound, then you drown!
chorus
so bust the remix that we fix, you know it's mad lethal
creep in the jeep, pump funk for the people
people keeps lurkin when i'm workin my style
whoever smoke weed need to stay for a while
now we standin on the corner, we about to get hyper
ay yo pass the 40 dog in a circle like a cipher
time to roll the dice, 4,5,6 head-crack
head-crack don't front on the dough, you get smacked!
ay yo ill that's my man, ay yo al that's my nigga
the only thing i exercise is the finger for the trigger
so fuck a vest, we don't aim for your chest
a little somethin for my niggas on the east and the west!
where my homiez?
(where they at? where they at?)
(we over here, g!!)
(ay yo creepin thru the hood)
(ay yo up to no good!)
come around my way
― ron (ron), Saturday, 7 December 2002 06:10 (twenty-two years ago)
one month passes...