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MC Ren lyrics - Da Villain in Black

Keep It Real

Original and similar lyrics
'That's what the fuck I'm talkin' about That real shit nigga' Living room packed, laid back on the flow Niggaz can't see me on the madden with Frisco I'm runnin' fools straight to the dirt While my man Train talkin' on the phone, the evil curse Niggaz waste gas drivin' down the same streets And hood rats wishin' for the passenger seats Flag 'em down, like they flaggin' down to get a taxi Too good to ride a bus, drinkin' is a must Another day kickin' back, the scientist is hard at work Thinkin' how to get paid, kickin' back in the shade Or call Will and Temple where my homie down by Zeenie With the bald head it's too hot for the beanie Sittin' on the porch niggaz run the stop sign Hookers sell they bodies 'round the way ain't hard to find Right in the corner of McDonald's parkin' lot Peepin' out their hair 'cause that spot is hot And that's real (CHORUS)(2x) Nigga gotta keep my shit real Lettin' punk niggaz know how the fuck I feel Pussy ass niggaz always wanna be around A nigga like Ren when I put that real shit down Randy up the street cuttin' up the fresh fade And Compton P.D. around the corner 'bout to raid The yellow helicopter hangin' 'round like a gnat And hood rats yellin' out a car where the party at My robbin' train go and get a duce And niggaz 'round the way don't give a damn about a gang truce But I gotta lotta love for my people And like they ain't tryin', niggaz just keep dyin' I won't be like most niggaz and just come And shoot my video in Compton and disappear for a year We make fools like that shake the spot One for the treble jack yo ass in the parkin' lot 'Cause handkerchief headed niggaz come around fakin' Braggin' 'bout that money they be makin' Boot lickin' butt dancin' niggaz just better chill Before I tell 'em how I feel and that's real (CHORUS) Yeah, uh, break it down All y'all busta ass niggaz Do it like this, 1995 Uh, yeah, come all y'all fake ass niggaz to this Goin' to the pad hit the beach up on the pager Here comes Korleone up the street in the mini-Blazer While the dominoes start to get shakin' The same time that the barbique start bakin' I don't eat swine, but I take a turkey burger I can't fade worms, that books' full of terms Homies pass by, some stop and conversate On a gang a topics we start to debate On why in black neighborhoods is always towed down And white neighborhoods ain't one piece a trash 'round So we gotta do for self and quit bitchin' Recycle black dollars so we can roll Impalas Every street got their own rap artist On every cover every brother got a gun tryin' to look the hardest But some deserve a slap 'cause they laid down they strap When they hear that's a rap and that's real (CHORUS)


NAS "It Was Written"
Yo, release what's in me Besides the Henny, it's eyes that's seen plenty Fiends get skinny as if Queens was a Craig Jenny Instead of diet plans it's crack 200 grams I pump a G-pack, peeping for where the D's at It's slow, lookin for Rambo, the cop who got grazed Back in the days, chasin niggaz through my project maze That cop he got a death wish He run behind niggaz until you breathless Everyday he makin ten arrests, sheeit My nigga check this, I know the bitch he rest with I even blessed it, forty-dash-ten inspect it (Already checked it Dunn, near his ankle you could see his gun) Peep, he parked his Jeep in the back of the slum to check Tanisha, fat ass real fly, with the blonde caesar Vetacini summer gear, she push the two-seater I heard she brag about the way he eat her A Irish man short slim with a tan, they say he laced her cheeba She do be lookin weaker, now her teeth are foul Speakin loud, peep her style, in and out of every reefer cloud Fat ass dissolvin, like cotton candy in a mouth that's starvin Rock the same gear daily, like a soldier in my squadron I heard she let Jake investigate from her window cause she's a nympho, suckin dick and coughin up info So now it's set up, her and the beast to get wet up I know he vest up, we blazin from the neck up (Yo let me knock first) Soon as he open it your glock burst They had the chains on, son hit the lock first We busted in the cop jerked Jungle popped one in his shirt I grabbed the bitch by her tits, she tried to say she Earth We saw the cameras, tape recorders, and the monitors They eyein us (Nas yo he survived one from the fo'-five) Pull his shades down, they seen his last days now There's no way now, we can be treated just like a slave now Two in the dome, he's laid down, aiyyo the bitch is saved now She's living in a snitch grave now [Chorus: Nas] Shootouts is similar to Wild West Broad daylight, face to face without a vest You know the episodes, thugs camouflage the spectacles Please God to save the life that the Devil sold See +It Was Written+ but was never told Peep the jewels black man, it's even better than gold Niggaz roll with iron, police roll in hot pursuit tryin to stop the loot, fuck Jake, cock and shoot [Nas] Still on the streets with my peeps so deep We threw a block party for my man goin up creek to do his two to four, niggaz show love, from all around the board Peace Lord, Sony Handi-Cam on record Pop a bottle, cause when you come home we still got it sewn We can watch the tape play back and just zone Film all the bitches, on the benches with ill extensions We block the streets off, only crew cars can enter Music was loud and it was crowded Barbecued wings we fed the fiends (gamble in the back) Killa shouted And Frank tried to stop the bank loss, about what a Roley cost Guzzled his drink, and staggered off He's a Big Will, used to slang krill, now he own the hill Couldn't take losin his cash, and I could feel somethin in the air yeah, Frank returned with Pierre A gun slinger, who niggaz hadn't seen in a year I usually be holdin - 'specially this type of weekend And everyone except for me had started reachin They had gats in each others faces, with kids and grandmothers around, Frank's only concern was his paper My man Killa let off, half of them fake niggaz jet off Police blitz quick, waitin for that to set off Runnin the static, it got me mad cause they a bunch of faggots Startin shit in my hood, I can't have it Yo High, get the 40-cali stainless, Jake is still out Let's make it real and still make them niggaz famous Dip behind trees in fatigues and squeeze, dodge and weave Hearin Jake retaliatin, and Wiz was up the alley waitin We breeze, jump in the ride, heard Pierre died Internal bleedin inside, and ain't been back since ninety-five [Chorus]

Down The Line

Big Daddy Kane "Taste of Chocolate"
[Kane] Okay, okay, okay, okay Attention to the whole crew Scoob Lover, Scrap Lover, I don't need your dancin Mister Cee I don't need you on the turntables Ant Live I don't need you collectin the dough And Little Daddy since you my brother get yo' ass on in here Cause we gettin ready to take things down the line Here we go one time Prepare yourself for MC terror And don't make the error of tryin to come near a rapper so smooth and swift with the gift of gab to grab the mic, cause I'm sorta like Vincent Price, but you never been so nice So back up off me, I'm seperatin men from mice Kickin ass in every committee, city to city Until both shoes are city The regulator innovator dominator creator of data Plus an imitator assassinator Lyrics don't display a too don sweet Hard as concrete, and always on beat Steppin to this, you're not allowed You keep frontin on the stage like you're rockin the crowd Snatchin the microphone real proud But your rhymes are so booty you should write em on White Cloud So next up down the line, Scrap Lover [Scrap Lover] Aiy-aiy-yo, the microphone's mine But I prefer peace, so the road'll get rough when a toy MC, gets the heart to pull a bluff and there's no laughter, cause the one that I'm after is smashed, for that reason you have to make sure each and every lyric is harmless Cause if not, you won't be able to calm this Brother from Brooklyn, made to fit a groove And prepared for the unexpected, to make a move So put up your girl, and let's see who's in trouble troop And if you got a sister, then make it a double scoop The capital S the C, the R-A-P stands for me, cause I'm the only MC with an original rap style You disagree, you get put on the Scrap pile So stay off the set, with George and Jet-son You never seen a dancer who rapped well you met one Now spin the Wheel of Fortunes or be wise and stay back Co-host my show, like Pat and don't Sa-jak shit or get ate like oats and barley Save your Sweat for Keith, and the Beef for Charlie So next up, goin down the line, Scoob Lover [Scoob Lover] Yo, the microphone's mine It's the S y'all, to the C y'all, double-O B y'all Well god damn it's me y'all Jump back, kiss myself, I'm so fly Sip a brew or two, cause yo, I don't get high I might wave hi.. .. at a pretty young girl that walk by But yo, you all that, you can't stop A-with the weave in your head like a mop You must know karate, cause your face look chopped Now back to the subject of the matter I eat a lot of food, but I won't get fatter Let me see I'm slim, my hair is well trimmed And when I'm low-key I throw on a brim But I'm not conceited, when hangin out I need it For when trouble comes then I never have to meet it I'm intellectually spoken, I'm not jokin What are you, smokin You be hopin wishin and prayin to be like Scoob but what are you sayin Well it takes style, charisma, class Fuck up on the Lover, and I bust your ass So next up, movin down the line Mister Cee [Mister Cee] Yo, the microphone's mine Mission, to make DJ's feel the wrath So here's a paragraph, written on behalf of the ruler, dictator, DJ ambassador Makin a massacre, you couldn't last through a round of combat, where my left arm's at My mouth with the mic in my hand, when I attack I shake and bake or fake a snake Take em and make em ache and flake, I break like an earthquake When I erupt, MC's I corrupt, to be blunt I'ma tear shit up So next up goin down the line The Little Daddy Shane [Little Daddy Shane] The mic is all mine MC's crawl by when they see this tall guy Six foot three huh, nobody's small fry The Little D-A double-D Y The S-H-A-N-E, yes it's me You better believe there's no comp and I'm certain So if you try to battle me, then it's cur-tains I'm no joke, the wrong one to provoke One false move and KERRRRRR-ROAK! So take it easy and slide on greasy Cause I'm more rougher than hair when it's peasy I'm more rougher than steak when it's raw So keep that in mind, mon cherie amore Cause I'm a lover you find quite young And Brooklyn New York, is where I'm from So keep it on and you don't quit That supercalafragilisticexpalidopeshit So next up down the line, Ant Live [Ant Live] Yo, the microphone's mine Yeah I took it, I ain't gonna give it back And it's a fact that I can swing, I'm not a new jack Got the mic in a chokehold, you won't hear a peep Then I put it to sleep I see a lot of brothers got raisins in the place Not Al Pacino, I don't need a Scarface But I know, if some shit goes down I'll turn the whole New York into Bucktown A 'Face ain't real Scar'red, cause I real hard And I ain't no bullshit bodyguard Walk the streets to New York and stay alive All I need is my loaded four-five And sweet and deadly like a killer beehive And I can stalk in Fort Greene park and survive.. And my name is Ant Live [Big Daddy Kane] Now that's what I'm talkin bout That's EXACTLY what I'm talkin bout Put your weight on it fellas Anyway you can get back to work now Get back to your god damn jobs And we outta here, love peace and hairgrease


FIELD MOB "From Tha Roota To Tha Toota"
field mob, i'm shawn J and him, thats boondoc i represent the south, and thats the way i'm a keep it if u got game then peep it, its the southern way i wouldn't have it no other way, so mutha fuck what the others say, love it or leave. yes its hard but its fair, gotta hustle to get it keep grindin and grindin, and soon u will get it, the struggle is in me, thats how i had to live, thats why i'm actin like a nigga that ain't never had shit, mashin the flo master to the floor, petal to the metal hear the dual pipes roar, wanna be a balla shot caller, twenty inch blades skinny benny tryin to get paid chorus we them country ass niggas from the bottom of the map, ridin heavy big bodies and vogues we drink cheap liquor smoke sticky sweet swishers and boy we love fucking them hoes(repeat) damn real i'm a country ass nigga, shawn show no shame bare-foot on your block selling rock cocaine georgia boy from the south spit when i talk, smack when i eat, from the field pimp when i walk whoa, lil daddy he ain't even not ready field mob come ridin a stretch box chevy, follow me now, i'm a take you where the good dope at call it butter where the hood folks at, in the gutter stay low, keep movin nah you can't stop them boys infrared dot your du-rag and tanktop that guerilla coke grown suburban word with more grams than a old folks home now this the way i slang dick every which a way, best get your bitch and pray she don't wanna get with J but if i do mack your bitch, you just shit outta luck like leprechaun laxative chorus i get sick if i ain't home in the south u can hear it in my voice watch i get on the track and ride like a rolls royce and lean in it, spit sixteen, supreme splendid tipsy from tangueray with tangerines in it they say the south slow, folk whats the speed limit? nah, fuck the speed limit these bustas need gimmics the game like a skinny girl pussy, deep so deep, you could park a limosine in it all in my green tinted, d's in it chevy caprice in it on mean 20's paint shinin like oil sheens in it leanin on white blunts, so fresh so clean in it it ain't sprite or water then don't u drink in it 6:15 in beatin up your spleen in it tricks dream to be in it, just to be seen in it flex, mug mean in it whe

Cheese And Dope

PROJECT PAT "Mista Don't Play"
[Project Pat] I been slanging on this green green that I done get cut by these police making raids, jumping out chicken nutz couldn't ball, down to none, got this weed is in my lungs nigga's stick me for a bag, I'ma shoot 'em in his ass I'ma show 'em who the boss, when you niggaz gonna learn When you cross in this game, then yo ass will get hurt When my turn or my time rock a what, for a dime Takin' fair chance after chance, but I got to dance Take the rules of this shit, that's why I keep a revolver I've been heard you're robbers, don't want no other robbers boy I done and scald ya, with pistol slapped cross mouth Reach in niggaz pockets, and take yo money out When you know what's goin', you got cheese, I got dope For da 900th stone, I got peas, I got coke ain't no credit give mang you could get from round here Niggas robbing, niggas banging niggas slangin' down here [chorus] I got cheeeese, hoez, and a bunch of fucking dope I got peeeeeas, coke, and some killaz at da doo' hyyydro weed smoke, and a quarter ounce of dough what yoooouuuu need brah, is to fuck wit yo boy [Project Pat] You heard word what's the word but you dawgs is da low selling weed and this weed, but you won't complain a stoo' I'ma go, I'ma pull, leave a rabbit out a hat On some cane, mr.sugar, and some killaz strapped wit gats Always trying to be slick, you done stepped in some shit You done broke ghetto laws, you could tote a fuckin jaws Nigga boy, he ain't know, cus da street never minds Walk right up on yo ass, shoot you, right between the eyes, you be stinkin' wit the flies walking around on chrome, wit yo bitch, smokin' dro fucking all in yo home, while she kissing on ma lips, She be sucking on ma dick, grip the glock - sixteen booms as I dip Through the streets of da hood, north memphis hollywood Represent it, to da max, out this out of state facts Trying to stack me some pape's, got my foot on you snakes Trying to squeeze, hustle-in, for you niggaz that I fade [chorus 2x] You could duck from the tech, on da scaldae Once I get my cheese, or my flow, then I must be paid If you want to come against me dawg, bring your whole brigade Get you suckaz sliced, like a dog, with a swisher blade Sippin' on some pauly vision, like some sweet kool-aid Strapped with me, an automatic gun, don't you violate Niggaz ain't gonna snitch on me dawg, i didn't hesitate Caught him, at the projects one day, sent him, to his grave Playaz wanna come through the hood, but they got the fear Knowing it ain't all to the good, you could get it here Wrong place, at the wrong time, calling 'sip' let's go Wope fiends, keep me on the map, and my pockets full Eyes red ass hell, cuz I ain't had a blink of sleep Snorted a quarter ball, so that U, could stay on my feet Trick's in this bitch, just as same as a nigga too If you trusting hoes in this game, you'se a dammn fool.. [chorus till end]

Who Knows Why

Freddie Foxxx "Industry Shakedown"
Yeah Turn it up That's right For my niggas Here we go [Verse 1] Some real niggas have gone away... never to return Stay forever on wax cuz the mics they burn Outta sight, outta mind, never does it mean outta might, outta rhyme So I return to make it hot for those who cannot Smile down on me niggas, while I rock the spot Is there heaven for a nice emcee Crushin all these suckers dear God don't be mad with me I don't mean to hurt nobody, I just wanna rock the party And give you a taste of what's left, before I see death Watch a nigga back, cuz I don't trust nobody Left hand hold the mic, and right bust the shottie Sendin angels to guide me through, in the white drop top When they ride me through When I hit the pearly gates, will they take my tax Will they let me rock the mic, will the beats be phat Will the rappers write they own rhymes up in that piece Will the fakes get locked by the cop police Or will I have to deal with A R's who don't got no say I hope it don't be that way, tell me HOOK 2X: Who Knows Why The reasons we live and the reasons we die You can't figure this one, so why try God help my soul as I testify And I wont lie [Verse 2] Now as I'm lookin in the mirror I see myself Handsome with attitude, so momma gratitude I put the pressure on emcees I make it hard for ya, with total, disregard for ya This rap shit is raw not to be touched The ingredients if tampered with, could get you fucked up No one knows this secret I hold like Moses Given at birth, now what it's worth, it's more than a million six Let me spit it to you niggas, while my rhyme exists Listen, separate the real from the wishin If you bust at me and miss, you gon end up missin Cuz on these rap niggas styles I be shittin, pissin Leave you niggas lookin dumb like two niggas kissin I'm the true hardcore underground messiah I'm the kinda nigga street thugs can admire You never see me gettin robbed, jumped down and whipped out Or cryin 'bout a deal with no money, flipped out I get off my ass and make it happen I'll stick up the world if I aint rappin So why do I exist, tell me HOOK [Verse 3] May Allah shine down on any emcee That'll stand on stage and hold a mic with me May he give you all the flow of the ocean water And some nice hand skills to prevent slaughter My lyrics painful like bullets from a rusty tech Bumpy Knucks, nigga what, and you must respect All the true shit that I reflect Niggas know I exist only to wreck Won't let the verse loosen til you sign the check I won't be fussin at ya, but bustin at ya I treat all my rhymes like they devines Niggas spot me like a UFO I turn my mic on and resurrect the livest flow So if you askin me, why am I here To clarify hip hop loud and clear Real niggas, tell me HOOK

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