Back Up Off The Wall 歌词
| 歌曲 | Back Up Off The Wall |
| 歌手 | Brand Nubian |
| 专辑 | Foundation |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Dechalus, Dixon, Hawkins ... | |
| No, flagro | |
| Uh, what!! | |
| Yeah, brand nu' comin' through | |
| Long island, harlem world, all out, all out | |
| Let's talk abou tit | |
| What, yeah, now put ya hands up | |
| Uh, what, now put ya hands up | |
| Put ya hands up | |
| Now get ya back up off the wall | |
| [sadat x] | |
| I'm better feeling than running raw | |
| Chain gang link i need a shrink | |
| What y'all niggaz think i'ma do when i get real money | |
| Iano keys played in series | |
| Peace to lil' cease | |
| Microphone track board, loose chord, oh lord | |
| Promo number one sadat x had a grenade | |
| And the have next day i smashed the shit allie played | |
| Now we delayed by ninety days | |
| You better find me anyways | |
| You better return to the terrordome, ain't nobody home | |
| Non-haters play the corner in the elevator | |
| Crash crews smack the open palm so you don't bruise | |
| You push a button and what happens nothing | |
| I push one and there's a man with a gun in the doorway | |
| I'm in 4a, i been in there all day | |
| I had some smokes, some bitches and chicken on a slab | |
| There's enough for everybody so y'all niggaz don't grab | |
| Chorus: loon | |
| Come on, come on, come on, yo | |
| So get your back up off the wall | |
| What, i said dance, come on, come on | |
| So put your hands up | |
| Stop frontin and pop somethin | |
| Cornball niggaz stay frontin ain't got nothin | |
| Mad cause the life i lead, twice ya speed | |
| Brown-skinned mami, that's the wife i need | |
| Light that weed, front nigga might just bleed | |
| Tryin to ball with y'all but i might just flee | |
| [lord jamar] | |
| The second coming of christ | |
| I'll make you run for your life | |
| It's like a gun up against a knife | |
| You can never win, when we fight to the end | |
| I'm tight with the pen | |
| Don't be going off the head, cause they be blown off the head | |
| And showin off the skills of the mentally dead | |
| I do the knowledge before any words get said | |
| Herbs get me red, hold on, simply red | |
| Pimps be dead in rap, everybody's fed with that | |
| Y'all could go ahead with that | |
| I'm trying to show you where my head is at | |
| Dread be the positive black | |
| Drop the b, you get lack | |
| See you when you get back | |
| Lyrical three-pack, spiritual miracle | |
| Uhh, lord jamar the imperial | |
| Microphone serial killer, urban guerilla | |
| You acting mysterious, we out to take this rap shit seriosu | |
| Slap the taste out of your mouth, then break out | |
| Chorus | |
| [grand puba] | |
| Now i'ma put a rush up on molasses | |
| Breeze on through like easy passes | |
| Wiggle more asses than aerobic classes | |
| El kabong, my people blaze them trees up like cheech and chong | |
| Get that ass open like a pair of butt cheeks in thong | |
| For sure dog, i don't mean to come off pushy | |
| Blaze your party hot, and have it smelling like d'bussy | |
| Spit my phlegm and drop my gem | |
| Collect my wins and copy the benz with the icy rims | |
| I be dramatical, mathematical, radical thriller | |
| The mic killa wreckin more shit than godzilla | |
| Matter of fact i'm more iller, knock your shit off the pillar | |
| The four-wheeler touched every flava but vanilla | |
| You know my name, my game, so shorty shake that thang | |
| I get you open like them ball-head niggaz on rogaine | |
| Spit my flow all the way from new ro' | |
| To acapulco, white poos brown like cocoa | |
| Flip flows def like so so | |
| Chorus |
| zuo ci : Dechalus, Dixon, Hawkins ... | |
| No, flagro | |
| Uh, what!! | |
| Yeah, brand nu' comin' through | |
| Long island, harlem world, all out, all out | |
| Let' s talk abou tit | |
| What, yeah, now put ya hands up | |
| Uh, what, now put ya hands up | |
| Put ya hands up | |
| Now get ya back up off the wall | |
| sadat x | |
| I' m better feeling than running raw | |
| Chain gang link i need a shrink | |
| What y' all niggaz think i' ma do when i get real money | |
| Iano keys played in series | |
| Peace to lil' cease | |
| Microphone track board, loose chord, oh lord | |
| Promo number one sadat x had a grenade | |
| And the have next day i smashed the shit allie played | |
| Now we delayed by ninety days | |
| You better find me anyways | |
| You better return to the terrordome, ain' t nobody home | |
| Nonhaters play the corner in the elevator | |
| Crash crews smack the open palm so you don' t bruise | |
| You push a button and what happens nothing | |
| I push one and there' s a man with a gun in the doorway | |
| I' m in 4a, i been in there all day | |
| I had some smokes, some bitches and chicken on a slab | |
| There' s enough for everybody so y' all niggaz don' t grab | |
| Chorus: loon | |
| Come on, come on, come on, yo | |
| So get your back up off the wall | |
| What, i said dance, come on, come on | |
| So put your hands up | |
| Stop frontin and pop somethin | |
| Cornball niggaz stay frontin ain' t got nothin | |
| Mad cause the life i lead, twice ya speed | |
| Brownskinned mami, that' s the wife i need | |
| Light that weed, front nigga might just bleed | |
| Tryin to ball with y' all but i might just flee | |
| lord jamar | |
| The second coming of christ | |
| I' ll make you run for your life | |
| It' s like a gun up against a knife | |
| You can never win, when we fight to the end | |
| I' m tight with the pen | |
| Don' t be going off the head, cause they be blown off the head | |
| And showin off the skills of the mentally dead | |
| I do the knowledge before any words get said | |
| Herbs get me red, hold on, simply red | |
| Pimps be dead in rap, everybody' s fed with that | |
| Y' all could go ahead with that | |
| I' m trying to show you where my head is at | |
| Dread be the positive black | |
| Drop the b, you get lack | |
| See you when you get back | |
| Lyrical threepack, spiritual miracle | |
| Uhh, lord jamar the imperial | |
| Microphone serial killer, urban guerilla | |
| You acting mysterious, we out to take this rap shit seriosu | |
| Slap the taste out of your mouth, then break out | |
| Chorus | |
| grand puba | |
| Now i' ma put a rush up on molasses | |
| Breeze on through like easy passes | |
| Wiggle more asses than aerobic classes | |
| El kabong, my people blaze them trees up like cheech and chong | |
| Get that ass open like a pair of butt cheeks in thong | |
| For sure dog, i don' t mean to come off pushy | |
| Blaze your party hot, and have it smelling like d' bussy | |
| Spit my phlegm and drop my gem | |
| Collect my wins and copy the benz with the icy rims | |
| I be dramatical, mathematical, radical thriller | |
| The mic killa wreckin more shit than godzilla | |
| Matter of fact i' m more iller, knock your shit off the pillar | |
| The fourwheeler touched every flava but vanilla | |
| You know my name, my game, so shorty shake that thang | |
| I get you open like them ballhead niggaz on rogaine | |
| Spit my flow all the way from new ro' | |
| To acapulco, white poos brown like cocoa | |
| Flip flows def like so so | |
| Chorus |
| zuò cí : Dechalus, Dixon, Hawkins ... | |
| No, flagro | |
| Uh, what!! | |
| Yeah, brand nu' comin' through | |
| Long island, harlem world, all out, all out | |
| Let' s talk abou tit | |
| What, yeah, now put ya hands up | |
| Uh, what, now put ya hands up | |
| Put ya hands up | |
| Now get ya back up off the wall | |
| sadat x | |
| I' m better feeling than running raw | |
| Chain gang link i need a shrink | |
| What y' all niggaz think i' ma do when i get real money | |
| Iano keys played in series | |
| Peace to lil' cease | |
| Microphone track board, loose chord, oh lord | |
| Promo number one sadat x had a grenade | |
| And the have next day i smashed the shit allie played | |
| Now we delayed by ninety days | |
| You better find me anyways | |
| You better return to the terrordome, ain' t nobody home | |
| Nonhaters play the corner in the elevator | |
| Crash crews smack the open palm so you don' t bruise | |
| You push a button and what happens nothing | |
| I push one and there' s a man with a gun in the doorway | |
| I' m in 4a, i been in there all day | |
| I had some smokes, some bitches and chicken on a slab | |
| There' s enough for everybody so y' all niggaz don' t grab | |
| Chorus: loon | |
| Come on, come on, come on, yo | |
| So get your back up off the wall | |
| What, i said dance, come on, come on | |
| So put your hands up | |
| Stop frontin and pop somethin | |
| Cornball niggaz stay frontin ain' t got nothin | |
| Mad cause the life i lead, twice ya speed | |
| Brownskinned mami, that' s the wife i need | |
| Light that weed, front nigga might just bleed | |
| Tryin to ball with y' all but i might just flee | |
| lord jamar | |
| The second coming of christ | |
| I' ll make you run for your life | |
| It' s like a gun up against a knife | |
| You can never win, when we fight to the end | |
| I' m tight with the pen | |
| Don' t be going off the head, cause they be blown off the head | |
| And showin off the skills of the mentally dead | |
| I do the knowledge before any words get said | |
| Herbs get me red, hold on, simply red | |
| Pimps be dead in rap, everybody' s fed with that | |
| Y' all could go ahead with that | |
| I' m trying to show you where my head is at | |
| Dread be the positive black | |
| Drop the b, you get lack | |
| See you when you get back | |
| Lyrical threepack, spiritual miracle | |
| Uhh, lord jamar the imperial | |
| Microphone serial killer, urban guerilla | |
| You acting mysterious, we out to take this rap shit seriosu | |
| Slap the taste out of your mouth, then break out | |
| Chorus | |
| grand puba | |
| Now i' ma put a rush up on molasses | |
| Breeze on through like easy passes | |
| Wiggle more asses than aerobic classes | |
| El kabong, my people blaze them trees up like cheech and chong | |
| Get that ass open like a pair of butt cheeks in thong | |
| For sure dog, i don' t mean to come off pushy | |
| Blaze your party hot, and have it smelling like d' bussy | |
| Spit my phlegm and drop my gem | |
| Collect my wins and copy the benz with the icy rims | |
| I be dramatical, mathematical, radical thriller | |
| The mic killa wreckin more shit than godzilla | |
| Matter of fact i' m more iller, knock your shit off the pillar | |
| The fourwheeler touched every flava but vanilla | |
| You know my name, my game, so shorty shake that thang | |
| I get you open like them ballhead niggaz on rogaine | |
| Spit my flow all the way from new ro' | |
| To acapulco, white poos brown like cocoa | |
| Flip flows def like so so | |
| Chorus |
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