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I know you like to do ecstacy, and then forget where you are |
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Be up in a room with a stripper, and your homie |
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Lamar Now that's a nasty threesome, a straight mis-match |
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Instead of bangin' on the broad, you'd rather open his hatch |
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And start packin'... and get some dookie on your tip |
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Don't look now, you got a loogie on your lip |
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Next time video tape it, let us all see it |
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This is Sir |
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Herb, I'll put you on the web - you pervert |
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The number 23 on the beats, 'bout to do ya |
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Mister Blake |
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A.K.A. DJ |
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Quik talkin' to ya |
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And I'll prove |
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I'm proper and yo game is whack with 1 line |
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I'll never put my name on a track that wasn't mine |
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This hip-hip shit, is getting stupid again |
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These niggas gun-tottin', fightin', gettin' rutless again |
|
There's a message in the |
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Big Book, didn't you read it? |
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It say if niggas don't remember the past, they gonn' repeat it |
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So I'm into ???ated |
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That ground heart-stated |
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And we all made it |
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If you want a hit, nigga, call |
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David The first name basis, depends on how the pay is 50 under the table do it enough, don't need a label ' |
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Cause I rob from the rich and |
|
I... gives to the ?floor? |
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The ground-level ground shovel diggin' up some more |
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So let's stay focused 'cause the chip is the prize |
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Now put your shit in first, nigga, and shift it to rise |
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And like Frank |
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Nitti, ?We 2-degree? |
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And you haters trippin' cause |
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I got the key to the city |
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Not a sissy but the hoes keep callin' us pretty |
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And you mad 'cause the bitch got me on her titty |
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Mr. Troutman talk me talkbox, do why diddy! |
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And I'll tell you to your ear, nigga, you sound shitty |
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I'll take your hoe up to the room and show her no pity |
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So call me |
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DJ Meow Mix 'cause we gets kitty (meow) |
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Scratchin' all the fleas off of these |
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Stayin' high off of trees |
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Top villian, and enjoyin' the breeze |
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And the time |
|
I'm spendin' in yo bitch, a supreme blast |
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In the back of my |
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S-500 playin' |
|
Dreamcast [Chorus] |
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You Ain't |
|
Fresh [x7] |
|
You a busta, nigga! |
|
You Ain't |
|
Fresh [x7] |
|
You a busta, nigga! [Verse 2: Erick Sermon] |
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Yo, yo, I'm into somethin' new, hoppin' through |
|
Quicker than the |
|
Compton Crew, and |
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Y too Yo, what you wanna do? |
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You ain't fresh! |
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No contest - we cook like |
|
Raekwon the |
|
Chef And write for the skills, get set for the kill |
|
And prep for the meals, after that we chill |
|
The E-R-I- |
|
C-K is my name, |
|
I spell Bring it back like '92, with clientele |
|
And keep shit right, and make sure the sound excite |
|
Nigga in affect, like flashlight |
|
Quik and I do it 'til death |
|
In the house 'yall, blackin' out like |
|
Red & Meth |
|
Thick-boned women, in jeans and linen |
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Yeah (whew!), make a nigga wanna go fishin' |
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And when I walk by, girls singin' a song |
|
Like E... is like a phemomenon |
|
Ugh, al around the world they be bumpin' to |
|
E Shuttin' it down, right in your company |
|
I blow through like a gust of wind, through doors |
|
Tearin' down the roof, rippin' the floors ' |
|
Cause rap's no game, |
|
I pack heat, ain't afraid to pull it |
|
For what packs, |
|
I packs full of bullets |
|
Stop when |
|
I come through |
|
Big, Black, mother****er fresh for '99 |
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You suckas! [Chorus] |
|
You Ain't |
|
Fresh [x7] |
|
You a busta, nigga |
|
You Ain't |
|
Fresh [x7] |
|
You a busta, nigga [Verse 3: Kam] |
|
Kam got get-back |
|
So get up off my dick, rat |
|
Nigga, that shit whack |
|
You want a hit track? |
|
Where Quik at? |
|
Knick, knack, patty whack |
|
I only bone dimes |
|
How you tight? |
|
You don't even write your own rhymes |
|
It's been a long time |
|
Since you last heard from me |
|
Like Bill ass |
|
Hillary, "what's up?" |
|
Still love me, pretty young thang? |
|
City I'm from bang |
|
What's up, nigga? |
|
Real G's don't wear titty and tongue rings |
|
You's a fruity-o, you make the most excuses |
|
And keep a studio full of ghost producers |
|
Young boss heard |
|
You was tryin' to floss, nerd |
|
Hollerin' "which side is the realest?" |
|
Who you steal that from? (Mausberg) |
|
The street slang thief is your chief employment |
|
You live a life full of grief after brief enjoyment |
|
Fake gang bangers, when you see us, tuck all rags |
|
Adios, buenos dias, **** y'all fags! [Chorus] |
|
You ain't fresh |
|
You ain't fresh... |
