Songtext:
"What are you going to do?" (2X) Reflektierende Klebefolie "Nigga!" "The K the double-O the L the G-R-A-P letters" "My mic sound nice, check one" "The K the double-O the L the G-R-A-P letters" "Sound nice" (cut and scratched)
[Kool G. Rap] Rougher than Gotti, in tone Basteln aus Papier Got a body harder than Flintstone Your girl got her skins boned I'm diggin her down with my skintone It's Brown-er than Bobby cause humpin is my hobby Down in the end zone, with mens, that made her friends moan Listen and learn and turn on your tuners if he looney ? ? I break, bang zoom, like Honeymooners I don't want singers, but finger snappers, speaker slappers Immobilienmakler Krefeld The wickeder rapper the dapper rapper's when I flap my trapper Got that ass gassed by Amoco, you know you ain't man to go dead up, head up, so I set up to slam a hoe I don't give a heck, but I don't peck on a redneck You wanna pull cards, you're a dead deck, bed check Lead my from tec, come and step up and get your head red Wait a sec, you comin to see what's left? I gotta catch my breath, rappers slayed cilpart ostern or played like Jeff to the left And none of you nitwits can get with this hit shit You dipstics, even Miss kiss, but no lipstick I don't run a style but a mile to bust a child Big ol snappy happy rappers smile like Gomer Pyle Hell, I'm ringin bells with a ding-dong I play you like ping-pong You swingin on my ding-a-long King Kong Plakate drucken I pop bad cops, I got a pig a day habit Bing bing BANG, just like the ricochet rapid Grab it, your sound is just like a lady baby, maybe you're old as Grady, still in the 80's, metaphors born in Haiti I pop to the top, now the hip-hop glock pop rocks Whenever it drops, I run over rappers at the record shop You name your best I'll say, who, like owls Pass me a towel, and I'ma move my bowels all over his vowels Spannfix Bring ten men, then I'll send my venom in em You ain't gonna win em cause he got a women's momentum And I don't wanna hear from this queer Cause one of these niggaz just doesn't belong here My rhymes are like the nine millimeter Beretta Cause anything rappers could do yo I could do it better
"The K the double-O the L the G-R-A-P letters" Schweine im Weltraum "My mic sound nice, check two" "The K the double-O the L the G-R-A-P letters" "sound nice" (cut and scratched)
You no-frill slow toy, cheap thrills, no joy My lyrical skills give me Pillsbury Doughboy Back, I'm packin em up like Jack the Ripper Some pally'll I'm pullin the zipper Finger popped, the better the batter or flipper You're out of date, you must be the Late Show, I hate those puttin on the brakes slow, uh-oh, better get Maaco Dead-on, head-on collision, bad decision You wanna see me nigga you better check your vision It ain't 20/20 money silly bunny your funny Your ass'll get smashed just like a crash test dummy Retire, an MC that Oscar Meyer could take Some of you wacky rappers just play anyway that's B-O-L-O-G-N-A So come and swing wild, mild child, and get your style hurt HEY HEY HEY! Should I say it's Fatter than Albert Play at your own risk, if you diss, got a lotta hot groups turnin cold, better go and sip on some Swiss Miss Inner city, actin like bitties, you're pussy so here kitty kitty, come get some milk from my hoe's titties Cross at the green not in between or get hit G Red light, green light, one two three Out for the dash, but in the flash, you shoulda let me pass 'fore crash, now that ass is in a bodycast Everytime I put out my records and tapes Motherfuckers go bananas like this was Planet of the Apes Grapes I bust em like cherries and lay down, bitches purchase tickets to ride the dick and sit down it like a Greyhound Down with the clowns actin like killers, as good as wooden soldiers See niggaz, you ain't even Magilla Guerillas Bass in your face, stingin like mace I'm bringin the right taste, hangin like waist Pick up the pace
