, and no-one's from the old school 'Cause rap is still a brand-new tool I say no-one's from the old school 'cause rap on a whole Isn't even twenty years old Fifty
me a bat, the kill-or-be-killed kind of attack Steamin' ___, speedin' navigatin' the map Negotiating with a chick, she got her head on your lap, ya hand on
! Ensemble: 'n look around Sister owl-gonkwin-jane cow-hoon: To see what's goin' on! Ensemble: But what you lost Sister owl-gonkwin-jane cow-hoon:
tarantino Scales for venezuela, brown as ni o Making the block hotter than jalepe os G. luciano Be wettin' shit like piesce in 'casino' Fifty dollar
t in the hood enough How bout hes just misunderstood to us Vision is fine, I can still hear So I pop one more till everything is unclear Cause... nothings
hip boo I'm wale And that DC shit I rap all day, and my eyes red cause of all that haze Don't blow my high let me shine drumma on da beat let me take
not hip boo I'm wale And that DC shit I rap all day, and my eyes red cause of all that haze Don't blow my high let me shine drumma on da beat let me
diabolical, cushion is not ??? [Verse 22: The Clipse] Red rum, red rum, such power in the tongue Never in the wildest, was he talkin' da dum Style on
toxable Lyrically diabolical, cushion is not ?? [The Clipse] Red rum, red rum (such power in the tongue) Never in the wildest, (was he talkin to them) Style on
Lyrically diabolical, cushion is not ??? [Verse 22: The Clipse] Red rum, red rum, such power in the tongue Never in the wildest, was he talkin' da dum Style on
More reservoir dogs than Tarantino Scales for Venezuela, Brown as Ni O Making the block hotter than Jalepe OS G. Luciano Be wettin' shit like Pesci in "Casino" Fifty
sharp fangz Yea [Canibus:] The vocalist with osmosis spit Canibus on some robust robot shit You're not fit, drop, give me fifty bars of spit 950 more
the garage and switch wheels My chicks real, with the menage and tip drills Give me a massage, then show me how them lips feel I'm shinin cause I'm clinin on
, the kill-or-be-killed kind of attack Steamin' _, speedin' navigatin' the map Negotiating with a chick, she got her head on your lap, ya hand on your
Candahar You gonna see so much red you think your man on Mars That concrete that's under your feet gon land on hard I got gooms that stand on guard Post
, on you like that! Once again Chamber Music, what what, yeah, what the deal? It's Xzibit. Get on the ground, get on the ground! Hands on the back of
. To his feet he leapt. To the sea he looked. To the lighthouse on the stone. The price is paid and from now on he lives forever alone. Fifty years
do (I used to work at the post office...) You'll scratch your head (But I don't wanna un-do my doo. . .) 'N look around (just to see what's goin' on. . .) But what you lost