Verbal Clap 歌词
| 歌曲 | Verbal Clap |
| 歌手 | De La Soul |
| 专辑 | The Grind Date |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : De La Soul, Flower, Jay Dee ... | |
| You out there? Louder! Well clap your hands to what he's doing On tempo Jack" [Posdonus] | |
| NYC gave you the ball, so how you gonna hate us? | |
| We creators of them | |
| East coast stars | |
| If you ask me | |
| I'll tell you there's no comp | |
| But I'm still humble, even though | |
| I will crumble halls | |
| Some call 'em songs, | |
| I call 'em words from me that take long to cook | |
| So some feel free in sayin that we don't hunger for beats | |
| Not that we not hungry, just picky in what we eat | |
| Keep food off the mind and keep weight off the body | |
| All you gotta do is keep my name out your mouth | |
| And stop frownin like you hostile | |
| You know that it's a booger rubbin up against your nostril | |
| Nigga how you figure you can play this rap game without the backbone? | |
| It's Maseo, | |
| Dave, Wonder | |
| Why, givin what you lack holmes [Dave] | |
| Aiyyo prepare yo'self for the | |
| Neutron, bitch! | |
| This is eighty-six, let that neo-rap go | |
| We present these flares to put fire to your ears to lay smoke like rusty exhaust pipes | |
| We run mics, let | |
| Sean run the marathon | |
| Yo raise that money son, we raisin these kids | |
| Get claps when curtains close, stage left | |
| Up your stamina baby, bring some breath | |
| SAT book smart, part ese | |
| Loc'in like | |
| Tone, street niggaz get grown | |
| Acquire more couth before you get poofed | |
| Or get some shells sent over to your mic booth | |
| Excuse, my delivery, but when peace don't work see this piece gon' work, cock aim and | |
| SHOOT! It's my constitutional right to bear arms | |
| Arms and bare hands on mics, make fans unite | |
| Woodstock and white folks involved | |
| Black man get on yo' job! "Well clap your hands to what he's doing On tempo Jack" [Chorus x2: De La Soul] | |
| Let's go beat for beat, and rhymes for rhymes (put, all, the things aside) | |
| Just bring your beats, and bring your rhymes (put, all, the things aside) [Posdonus] | |
| The heavyweight | |
| L.I. brother with no date, of expiration | |
| On this fate on the mic, them birthday keep comin | |
| I'm hated on by niggaz | |
| I love most | |
| So what threat could you possibly pose when | |
| I'm on your coast? | |
| So raise your guns or your glasses | |
| Either way there'll be a toast in the air | |
| Markin the return of bare minimums you need to learn | |
| Get your verbs right when you down to clap [Dave] | |
| See that gun powder calibre rap'll tip hats like gentlemen do | |
| Smash tenements and skyscrapers | |
| Bow-tie papers stacked high | |
| Pay the resident tax or get your street sweeped | |
| Front row, backstage or the cheap seats | |
| I (Dodge) richochets like (Ram) trucks, you slow poke to pull it | |
| And I sup-pose you wanna top the | |
| Billboard chart | |
| Man I toast these rhymes and then pop like | |
| Pop-Tarts [Chorus] "Well clap your hands to what he's doing |
| zuo ci : De La Soul, Flower, Jay Dee ... | |
| You out there? Louder! Well clap your hands to what he' s doing On tempo Jack" Posdonus | |
| NYC gave you the ball, so how you gonna hate us? | |
| We creators of them | |
| East coast stars | |
| If you ask me | |
| I' ll tell you there' s no comp | |
| But I' m still humble, even though | |
| I will crumble halls | |
| Some call ' em songs, | |
| I call ' em words from me that take long to cook | |
| So some feel free in sayin that we don' t hunger for beats | |
| Not that we not hungry, just picky in what we eat | |
| Keep food off the mind and keep weight off the body | |
| All you gotta do is keep my name out your mouth | |
| And stop frownin like you hostile | |
| You know that it' s a booger rubbin up against your nostril | |
| Nigga how you figure you can play this rap game without the backbone? | |
| It' s Maseo, | |
| Dave, Wonder | |
| Why, givin what you lack holmes Dave | |
| Aiyyo prepare yo' self for the | |
| Neutron, bitch! | |
| This is eightysix, let that neorap go | |
| We present these flares to put fire to your ears to lay smoke like rusty exhaust pipes | |
| We run mics, let | |
| Sean run the marathon | |
| Yo raise that money son, we raisin these kids | |
| Get claps when curtains close, stage left | |
| Up your stamina baby, bring some breath | |
| SAT book smart, part ese | |
| Loc' in like | |
| Tone, street niggaz get grown | |
| Acquire more couth before you get poofed | |
| Or get some shells sent over to your mic booth | |
| Excuse, my delivery, but when peace don' t work see this piece gon' work, cock aim and | |
| SHOOT! It' s my constitutional right to bear arms | |
| Arms and bare hands on mics, make fans unite | |
| Woodstock and white folks involved | |
| Black man get on yo' job! " Well clap your hands to what he' s doing On tempo Jack" Chorus x2: De La Soul | |
| Let' s go beat for beat, and rhymes for rhymes put, all, the things aside | |
| Just bring your beats, and bring your rhymes put, all, the things aside Posdonus | |
| The heavyweight | |
| L. I. brother with no date, of expiration | |
| On this fate on the mic, them birthday keep comin | |
| I' m hated on by niggaz | |
| I love most | |
| So what threat could you possibly pose when | |
| I' m on your coast? | |
| So raise your guns or your glasses | |
| Either way there' ll be a toast in the air | |
| Markin the return of bare minimums you need to learn | |
| Get your verbs right when you down to clap Dave | |
| See that gun powder calibre rap' ll tip hats like gentlemen do | |
| Smash tenements and skyscrapers | |
| Bowtie papers stacked high | |
| Pay the resident tax or get your street sweeped | |
| Front row, backstage or the cheap seats | |
| I Dodge richochets like Ram trucks, you slow poke to pull it | |
| And I suppose you wanna top the | |
| Billboard chart | |
| Man I toast these rhymes and then pop like | |
| PopTarts Chorus " Well clap your hands to what he' s doing |
| zuò cí : De La Soul, Flower, Jay Dee ... | |
| You out there? Louder! Well clap your hands to what he' s doing On tempo Jack" Posdonus | |
| NYC gave you the ball, so how you gonna hate us? | |
| We creators of them | |
| East coast stars | |
| If you ask me | |
| I' ll tell you there' s no comp | |
| But I' m still humble, even though | |
| I will crumble halls | |
| Some call ' em songs, | |
| I call ' em words from me that take long to cook | |
| So some feel free in sayin that we don' t hunger for beats | |
| Not that we not hungry, just picky in what we eat | |
| Keep food off the mind and keep weight off the body | |
| All you gotta do is keep my name out your mouth | |
| And stop frownin like you hostile | |
| You know that it' s a booger rubbin up against your nostril | |
| Nigga how you figure you can play this rap game without the backbone? | |
| It' s Maseo, | |
| Dave, Wonder | |
| Why, givin what you lack holmes Dave | |
| Aiyyo prepare yo' self for the | |
| Neutron, bitch! | |
| This is eightysix, let that neorap go | |
| We present these flares to put fire to your ears to lay smoke like rusty exhaust pipes | |
| We run mics, let | |
| Sean run the marathon | |
| Yo raise that money son, we raisin these kids | |
| Get claps when curtains close, stage left | |
| Up your stamina baby, bring some breath | |
| SAT book smart, part ese | |
| Loc' in like | |
| Tone, street niggaz get grown | |
| Acquire more couth before you get poofed | |
| Or get some shells sent over to your mic booth | |
| Excuse, my delivery, but when peace don' t work see this piece gon' work, cock aim and | |
| SHOOT! It' s my constitutional right to bear arms | |
| Arms and bare hands on mics, make fans unite | |
| Woodstock and white folks involved | |
| Black man get on yo' job! " Well clap your hands to what he' s doing On tempo Jack" Chorus x2: De La Soul | |
| Let' s go beat for beat, and rhymes for rhymes put, all, the things aside | |
| Just bring your beats, and bring your rhymes put, all, the things aside Posdonus | |
| The heavyweight | |
| L. I. brother with no date, of expiration | |
| On this fate on the mic, them birthday keep comin | |
| I' m hated on by niggaz | |
| I love most | |
| So what threat could you possibly pose when | |
| I' m on your coast? | |
| So raise your guns or your glasses | |
| Either way there' ll be a toast in the air | |
| Markin the return of bare minimums you need to learn | |
| Get your verbs right when you down to clap Dave | |
| See that gun powder calibre rap' ll tip hats like gentlemen do | |
| Smash tenements and skyscrapers | |
| Bowtie papers stacked high | |
| Pay the resident tax or get your street sweeped | |
| Front row, backstage or the cheap seats | |
| I Dodge richochets like Ram trucks, you slow poke to pull it | |
| And I suppose you wanna top the | |
| Billboard chart | |
| Man I toast these rhymes and then pop like | |
| PopTarts Chorus " Well clap your hands to what he' s doing |
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