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( *yawns* ) |
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Ah man |
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Suckers bite my stuff, man |
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Can't get no sleep, man |
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Yo, what's up, DJ Pooh? |
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Nice to see you back, man |
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For 1990, right? |
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Finna do it up |
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But I want you to do somethin for me, Pooh |
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You could do me a favor right quick? |
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W-won't you pump up the beat a little bit right here, come on, right here |
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Suckers |
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Suckers |
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1990, y'all |
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King Tee back on the map |
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And we gon' tear it up like this |
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I wanna dedicate this song to all the L.A. rappers out there |
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Check it out |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) -- > MC Lyte |
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Well I'm the one for my treble, two for my bass |
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3, 4, 5 just to stay on pace |
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Now that I got your attention you'll be happy to know |
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That they call me Tee the King but King Tee's how it goes |
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So suckers, get your shit and get packed |
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Catch the next boat out, supreme Tela's back |
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And I'm funky once agaian, so run and tell a friend |
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They said I wouldn't last but I'll be here until it ends |
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Yo, I'm the king at being cool but get a load of this |
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They wanna label me best L.A. soloist |
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I couldn't be like that, but then again I could |
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Cause half of you MC's ain't no good |
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Anyway, hey, I got somethin to say |
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Directed to every MC in L.A. |
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You run up on the King - huh, how dumb |
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You knew from the beginning you shoulda brung a gun, son |
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Cause I be shootin the gift like it's a gift |
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Take the punk, slide em up just like a spliff ( *inhales* ) |
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Then everything's cool and copastetic |
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I wrote the book on being cool - oh, you read it? |
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How'd you like the part where I tell you how to walk |
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The kinda clothes to wear, the use of slang in your talk? |
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No need to look around cause there ain't no clone |
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King Tee came to take you home |
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Come on |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen close) |
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I came to take you home |
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(You can make it) |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) |
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Now this tune right here allows you to get funky |
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Literally you can do what you want, see? |
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I'm more like the pilot or the driver of the scene |
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Or somethin that you usually dream |
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Yeah, I'm manufacturin the sickest metaphor |
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Lyrics you're not ready for |
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Hear it, I keep a steady score |
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Of suckers and muthafuckas who like to suffer |
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I wear big ropes in clusters |
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And I execute, never wore a sexy suit |
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I wear khakis with a t-shirt and hiking boots |
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A rare fashion with the gangster touch |
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Because Ballys don't mix and turtlenecks suck |
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But hey, I be crashin, throw in a accent |
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Maxin while I'm waxin the boots with passion |
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Happens to be one of my favorite attractions |
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The name's King Tee, but the T's for taxin |
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Phoney MC's, them sucker punks wanna riff |
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Just because I wanna give the party a lift |
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You know, build your spirits expand your horizon |
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This particular production is mine's |
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And E-Swift's, the DJ E-Swift to be exact |
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Holds a hypnotizin scratch, make the others look wack |
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So look all you want cause there ain't no clone |
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King Tee came to take you home |
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Come on |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen close) |
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(You can make it) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen) |
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( *E-Swift cuts up* ) |
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(I think you should listen) |
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(I think you should listen) |
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(I think you should listen close) |
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(Don't turn away, I think you should listen close) |
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(Don't turn away) |
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(Don't) |
