Big Daddy Kane/Jay-Z/Sauce Money/Shyheim/Ol' Dirty Bastard/Big Scoob - Show & Prove | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Big Daddy Kane/Jay-Z/Sauce Money/Shyheim/Ol' Dirty Bastard/Big Scoob
• Show & Prove

Verse One: Scoob

Hah hah, hey hey, laugh now nigga
My man's right behind you, Kane pull the trigger
I don't play, I'm from the hill where shit is real
And I'll be on your ass like bugs on a windshield
So bring your grip or you can think twice
Cause I got more rhymes than a five pound bag of rice
I'm hitting hard, oh word, I'm gon rock it
Once the shit drops, that's dough to the pocket
I cut hand, you still can't get no cards
You couldn't deal with Scoob if we was playin cards
But if I got beef and it's time for code red
My drill is like a hoe, and be takin mad niggaz to bed
So hurry up and skedaddle
Even if you join a army, you still couldn't battle
So where you from? England, you somebody great?
You burnin Scoob, "I don't think so mate"
I got the style that gets you open like a bag of smoke
I have your friends "Ah-hah man, that shit ain't dope"
Leave me alone when I'm rocking on the microphone
and play like E.T. and phone your black ass ho-wome
Yo Sauce, if you're down with the groo-hoove
Get on the mic and won't ya show and prove

Verse Two: Sauce

Hey, here I come with a slick rap, tic tac toe
When I flip tracks, so gimme my dick, back
I flow to it and through it, if you ever need to wonder
how you got dope like Sauce, money you didn't do it
I write my own with bigger hope, drink of Scope
Wrote what I figured, nope, damn you dig a nigga doe
Rhymes too drastic, bastard, pull hookers like elastic
N-B-A style, fann-tastic
No time to bite, but I just might, tonight I write left-handed
cuz I like, to grab my dick with my right
Who could ever say that I don't get plenty play
Win Lose or Draw, I'm bookin whores, anyway
As I get ready I'm steady if I go crazy I'd take Eddie
if I was Fred, I think I'd have to bone Betty
Suckin and luckin, hey, niggaz I'm duckin, nay
Nada no never meaning ain't no motherfuckin way
Rappers get gassed come on and get fast
Try to get past when I blast, and you can HAND over your ass
One line and that's fear
Rappers get so damn pussy they gotta go for a pap smear
So Shyheim, if your down with the groove
Get on the mic it's time to show and prove

Verse Three: Shyheim

Yo, yo
I spark the mic like weed that's in a cipher
And I get girls open like a reggae song by Tiger
So check me out, as I flip this here track kid
And make mad noise like a Metallica record
I'm psycho, a villain to the styles I be killin
when I'm thrusted, and all competition gets dusted
Cause I rock the world from U.S.A. to Asia to Russia
If your shit stinks I'ma flush ya, then bust ya
Like a crazy man from Cali son
My jams be packed like a Farrakhan rally, what?
You know my style, I put the F in effin foul
The Rugged Child locks you down like Rikers Isle
And got more girls than a Trailerload with Shabba
More Super than Cat, I'm the punani Don Dada
So Big Daddy, if you're down with the groove my man
Get on the mic and won't ya show and prove

ODB

Come on

Wu-Tang killa bees on a swarm

Rain on your college ass, disco dorm

Slippery when wet and don't you ever forget

You couldn't get a FLICK, of the hype outfit

Because the way that I dress this style mad wild

Enough to make a crowd of women scream "OW!"

Whether at a party or just in bed

All thoughts on Ason, keep that in your head

Yuh, my beats are funky and my rhymes are spunky

Sometimes I'll be like "Well god damn what's the recipe?"

I don't know, I ask my momma she don't know

she says "GO ASK YOUR GOD DAMNED FATHER!"

It's all about me in the place to be

Niggas thing they all that, yo, that shit is G

Mad game and it's a motherfucking shame

How

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