|
Artist: Royce da 5'9" |
|
Album: The Bar Exam |
|
Year: 2007 |
|
Featured artist(s): Royce Da 5'9" ft. Black Milk and Guilty Simpson |
|
Song: Sound the Alarm (Remix) |
|
Beat: Statik Selektah |
|
--Statik Selektah-- |
|
Out! (x4) |
|
--Woman-- |
|
"Statik Selektah" |
|
--Black Milk-- |
|
Yeah, uh, just when you thought it was safe |
|
We came back to brawl and feel like you fought with an ape |
|
But walked in his cage and can't get out |
|
No way out, lost, feel like you walked in a maze |
|
And yes, trying to walk a mile in my shoes is a waste |
|
You couldn't even walk 10 paces |
|
Yes, I already ran that race And |
|
Already came in first place And |
|
Black Milk, I'm like a horror film in the makin' |
|
Spit that Freddy verse Jason |
|
Believe when I say niggas move when I weigh like all comin' police car chases |
|
Move, it gets that ugly |
|
Yo bitch more money, but she can't get that from me |
|
No, sound the alrm on em' |
|
Still gunnin' |
|
Sound like the fire men coming. |
|
<Chorus> |
|
Hands to the sky |
|
Get em' high |
|
??? sound. |
|
Detroit, the world go round'. |
|
--Royce Da 5'9"-- |
|
Nothin' else left to do but be the best with it |
|
All I need is respect with it |
|
It ain't goin' stop |
|
I put yo flow in a bullet |
|
Put it in my gun |
|
And pull it like I'm playing roulette with it |
|
It ain't goin' pop |
|
I put yo brain in the blender for tryin' to figure out |
|
How to enter the train of my thoughts |
|
You ain't a contender |
|
Why you still starvin' |
|
I can put my hand on my dick like I'm still a star |
|
As long as I feel large |
|
I'm the real raw |
|
Niggas can't kill God |
|
Most incorrect politically next to Bill Maher |
|
Arrest me, try to correct me with bars |
|
Me, Black and Guilty next years' tsars |
|
I'm bout' to put you fools on a diet |
|
Put your food in a ring |
|
And then I'm crownin' the biggest loser the king |
|
Nigga try to try me then I'll prolly try to body these mobs |
|
Then after that you gotta sound the alarm. |
|
<Chorus> |
|
Hands to the sky |
|
Get em' high |
|
Mothafucka let's go |
|
--Guilty Simpson-- |
|
Steady the game and hit the ground runnin' |
|
So when I start |
|
Show you rap cats how to play that part |
|
But we ain't actin' |
|
They play him but he ain't crackin' |
|
The same ol' same |
|
With a verse so soft I sleep on it, the night off |
|
When a nigga tries to speak on it, come again |
|
Be in the streets, man |
|
Fuck a benz |
|
I got a 3 digit for the number man |
|
Cause when the scratch run out |
|
Tre-5-7 watch that come out |
|
I got a keen ear, boy, latch your mouth |
|
Or repeat what you said while I'm at your house |
|
But we don't knock |
|
Kick through both locks then inflict bodily harm |
|
Gun in my palm |
|
You cats ain't even lukewarm |
|
Man, sound the alarm. |
|
<Chorus> |
|
Hands to the sky |
|
Get em' high |
