歌曲 | Give Me My Freedom |
歌手 | MC Shan |
专辑 | Born to Be Wild |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Marley Marl, MC Shan | |
M.C. Shan's what I'm called, I stand tall and brave | |
And me and Marley Marl is as close as a shave | |
My rhymes lock jaw like a pitbull bite | |
Suckers always try to sleep on me cause I look light | |
See, a lotta wack rappers try to rack their brains | |
To feel a style of MC, come on, break these chains | |
Speak now or hold your peace when I decide to pass this | |
But every rhyme you ever had could never surpass this | |
If rhymes were food, the main source for livin | |
You would swear that every line of my rhyme was Thanksgiving | |
I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I don't need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy - give me my freedom | |
[VERSE 2] | |
I wanna break away clean, I mean virtually spotless | |
And all year long I been schemin and plottin this | |
If beats were cakes, then my rhymes'd get frosted | |
This is '88 and I still ain't lost it | |
For all of those who still got a doubt in their mind | |
There ain't a rapper livin bad enough to take mine | |
There ain't no studio-illusion and no scratch-syncin | |
Stop - if that's what you're thinkin | |
Write rhymes simultaneously, say em in pairs | |
And I would hate to have a rapper proclaim they're theirs | |
Instead in comin in a limo, bring a casket and hearse | |
Before we speak we'll hear the preacher from the deacon first | |
We won't be gathered that day to unite no couple up | |
Marley, are we gettin this on tape? (Yup) | |
All you dirty low-down better slow down faster | |
Your technique isn't good enough to hang with the master | |
I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I dont need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my | |
Give me my | |
Give me my freedom | |
[VERSE 3] | |
I'm the opposite of what you say a slob is | |
Dumpin suckers off is exactly what my job is | |
I'm feared like Napoleon and blessed like Buddah | |
You couldn't face me solo, you'd have to bring your crew to | |
Dump me off, I don't recollect the mumble | |
I ain't soft, homeboy, and picture me crumble | |
And forget all of those that don't like my rap | |
I don't be kickin that old shooby-dooby-doo-wop crap | |
Rappers often brag about their bitin deejay | |
But they can't do Marley nothin, no how, so hey | |
It's clear to the ear what I'm sayin, son | |
That's why we feel like slaves on the freedom run | |
And each and every time a wack rapper walks by me | |
His head starts singin: Come on and fly me... | |
I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I don't need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my freedom | |
[VERSE 4] | |
We can do this like Brutus, I'm not mad, I'm pissed | |
This parade of mine I doubt that you can rain on this | |
You couldn't place my rhymes amongst mortal men | |
When I be rhymin on beats that set the hip-hop trend | |
I will always exist because I'm bein preserved | |
Don't agree to set me free, then you gotta be served | |
I earned a name amongst society as lyrically ill | |
But yet I'm loyal, see, cause Marley hooks the beat up still | |
There's no way that you could say there's a day I'd fess | |
Hamana-hamana-nothin, you can kill that mess | |
My rhymes are ruthless, no heart, and totally wretched | |
And if they was to fall down, then the beats would catch it | |
I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I don't need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my | |
Give me my | |
Give me my freedom | |
Give me my freedom or not | |
I DON'T GIVE A F- | |
You don't wanna play this? | |
Suck my - | |
Fuck off, muthafuckas | |
You don't like this? | |
I don't give a fuck | |
Just gimme my muthafuckin freedom | |
Goddamn! |
zuo ci : Marley Marl, MC Shan | |
M. C. Shan' s what I' m called, I stand tall and brave | |
And me and Marley Marl is as close as a shave | |
My rhymes lock jaw like a pitbull bite | |
Suckers always try to sleep on me cause I look light | |
See, a lotta wack rappers try to rack their brains | |
To feel a style of MC, come on, break these chains | |
Speak now or hold your peace when I decide to pass this | |
But every rhyme you ever had could never surpass this | |
If rhymes were food, the main source for livin | |
You would swear that every line of my rhyme was Thanksgiving | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy give me my freedom | |
VERSE 2 | |
I wanna break away clean, I mean virtually spotless | |
And all year long I been schemin and plottin this | |
If beats were cakes, then my rhymes' d get frosted | |
This is ' 88 and I still ain' t lost it | |
For all of those who still got a doubt in their mind | |
There ain' t a rapper livin bad enough to take mine | |
There ain' t no studioillusion and no scratchsyncin | |
Stop if that' s what you' re thinkin | |
Write rhymes simultaneously, say em in pairs | |
And I would hate to have a rapper proclaim they' re theirs | |
Instead in comin in a limo, bring a casket and hearse | |
Before we speak we' ll hear the preacher from the deacon first | |
We won' t be gathered that day to unite no couple up | |
Marley, are we gettin this on tape? Yup | |
All you dirty lowdown better slow down faster | |
Your technique isn' t good enough to hang with the master | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I dont need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my | |
Give me my | |
Give me my freedom | |
VERSE 3 | |
I' m the opposite of what you say a slob is | |
Dumpin suckers off is exactly what my job is | |
I' m feared like Napoleon and blessed like Buddah | |
You couldn' t face me solo, you' d have to bring your crew to | |
Dump me off, I don' t recollect the mumble | |
I ain' t soft, homeboy, and picture me crumble | |
And forget all of those that don' t like my rap | |
I don' t be kickin that old shoobydoobydoowop crap | |
Rappers often brag about their bitin deejay | |
But they can' t do Marley nothin, no how, so hey | |
It' s clear to the ear what I' m sayin, son | |
That' s why we feel like slaves on the freedom run | |
And each and every time a wack rapper walks by me | |
His head starts singin: Come on and fly me... | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my freedom | |
VERSE 4 | |
We can do this like Brutus, I' m not mad, I' m pissed | |
This parade of mine I doubt that you can rain on this | |
You couldn' t place my rhymes amongst mortal men | |
When I be rhymin on beats that set the hiphop trend | |
I will always exist because I' m bein preserved | |
Don' t agree to set me free, then you gotta be served | |
I earned a name amongst society as lyrically ill | |
But yet I' m loyal, see, cause Marley hooks the beat up still | |
There' s no way that you could say there' s a day I' d fess | |
Hamanahamananothin, you can kill that mess | |
My rhymes are ruthless, no heart, and totally wretched | |
And if they was to fall down, then the beats would catch it | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my | |
Give me my | |
Give me my freedom | |
Give me my freedom or not | |
I DON' T GIVE A F | |
You don' t wanna play this? | |
Suck my | |
Fuck off, muthafuckas | |
You don' t like this? | |
I don' t give a fuck | |
Just gimme my muthafuckin freedom | |
Goddamn! |
zuò cí : Marley Marl, MC Shan | |
M. C. Shan' s what I' m called, I stand tall and brave | |
And me and Marley Marl is as close as a shave | |
My rhymes lock jaw like a pitbull bite | |
Suckers always try to sleep on me cause I look light | |
See, a lotta wack rappers try to rack their brains | |
To feel a style of MC, come on, break these chains | |
Speak now or hold your peace when I decide to pass this | |
But every rhyme you ever had could never surpass this | |
If rhymes were food, the main source for livin | |
You would swear that every line of my rhyme was Thanksgiving | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy give me my freedom | |
VERSE 2 | |
I wanna break away clean, I mean virtually spotless | |
And all year long I been schemin and plottin this | |
If beats were cakes, then my rhymes' d get frosted | |
This is ' 88 and I still ain' t lost it | |
For all of those who still got a doubt in their mind | |
There ain' t a rapper livin bad enough to take mine | |
There ain' t no studioillusion and no scratchsyncin | |
Stop if that' s what you' re thinkin | |
Write rhymes simultaneously, say em in pairs | |
And I would hate to have a rapper proclaim they' re theirs | |
Instead in comin in a limo, bring a casket and hearse | |
Before we speak we' ll hear the preacher from the deacon first | |
We won' t be gathered that day to unite no couple up | |
Marley, are we gettin this on tape? Yup | |
All you dirty lowdown better slow down faster | |
Your technique isn' t good enough to hang with the master | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I dont need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my | |
Give me my | |
Give me my freedom | |
VERSE 3 | |
I' m the opposite of what you say a slob is | |
Dumpin suckers off is exactly what my job is | |
I' m feared like Napoleon and blessed like Buddah | |
You couldn' t face me solo, you' d have to bring your crew to | |
Dump me off, I don' t recollect the mumble | |
I ain' t soft, homeboy, and picture me crumble | |
And forget all of those that don' t like my rap | |
I don' t be kickin that old shoobydoobydoowop crap | |
Rappers often brag about their bitin deejay | |
But they can' t do Marley nothin, no how, so hey | |
It' s clear to the ear what I' m sayin, son | |
That' s why we feel like slaves on the freedom run | |
And each and every time a wack rapper walks by me | |
His head starts singin: Come on and fly me... | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my freedom | |
VERSE 4 | |
We can do this like Brutus, I' m not mad, I' m pissed | |
This parade of mine I doubt that you can rain on this | |
You couldn' t place my rhymes amongst mortal men | |
When I be rhymin on beats that set the hiphop trend | |
I will always exist because I' m bein preserved | |
Don' t agree to set me free, then you gotta be served | |
I earned a name amongst society as lyrically ill | |
But yet I' m loyal, see, cause Marley hooks the beat up still | |
There' s no way that you could say there' s a day I' d fess | |
Hamanahamananothin, you can kill that mess | |
My rhymes are ruthless, no heart, and totally wretched | |
And if they was to fall down, then the beats would catch it | |
I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
Stop jockin me, boy | |
Jockin me, son | |
Jockin me, punk | |
Jockin me, kid | |
Give me my | |
Give me my | |
Give me my freedom | |
Give me my freedom or not | |
I DON' T GIVE A F | |
You don' t wanna play this? | |
Suck my | |
Fuck off, muthafuckas | |
You don' t like this? | |
I don' t give a fuck | |
Just gimme my muthafuckin freedom | |
Goddamn! |