The Cenobites, Percee P - You're Late lyrics

Yeah, what's up with all you
Stupid motherfuckers out there
Giving me that jive vibe and that jam jam
Huh
Don't come back with grass between your ass
Cause, I'm out here to last
And move on forward past that's right
I gets deep up in that
Rectum and I check them

I got a problem
Niggas is wack and they cold fronts
Suburban areas
Born and raised with no blunts
Never had a gun, one to pump in a shootout
Always went to church with mom
And wore a suit out
Who doubt, can it be hard faking these gods
Yo Don, the kid down the block
He's writing your style
Kicking your style, flaunting your style
Jocking your style
Did you see him at the Apollo and
Following, swallowing sperm and
Then throw up, blow up, then pick a ho up
I never need to suck a dick for a deal
I never need a car to pull a fly bitch
I leave you standing like an S1 W
Cold and freezing with your asshole standing
Coughing, sneezing, begging, pleasing
MC's smell like fish, that's a reason
Oh you cut your hair bald?
Hey yeah, yeah yeah, yeah
A lot of you made your bills with wack skills
Now you're selling your asshole
Dreams on Hollywood Hills
Like a shark would bite
Suck my deals with gills
Cause you're no frills
Taking feminine pills reel to reel
My cock you feel, fuck that shit
Your girl is wet as a seal
You can't front man, act like a stunt man
Fool of the girls
Cause your lover is one man
I know the girls and the
Girls that lick girls
But, it's hard to breathe with
Your bullshit Jheri curls
Don't try to step to the X with that ill shit
I'm not PM dawn, crazy man with real shit
Don't try to play me cause
You gotta do shows, hoes
Wipe that shit out your nose

In '88 it was all about an ill flow
Lyrcial goodies, not a hoodie and a steel toe
Talking bout you wrecking parties
Stretching hotties catching bodies
Then let me see you step to Gotti
I stunned you with skills, megatons of it
Fuck the guns and shit
I'll beat anyone you get
I cut you off like a sharp machete blade
Swear to God
The only card you be pulling is Medicaid
Joke to me, broke MC with a gold head
Wrecking, checking say better rhymes
On my own shit
I got a deal corruption and come up with
But niggas like you just suck dick
Like cattle, punk rappers I rounds up
Yo chief
I turns your fucking beef into ground chuck
You're pulling bitches? Nope, not on my block
Nigga, the only hoes you can
Get is from my Glock boom boom boom boom

Yo Don, punch the fuck in, you're late

Body bag 'em
I stang 'em with lyrical dimes be hangin up
Niggas that figure we're the
Triggers with fake triggers
Never underestimate what the best will take
Of the rest state of MC's
Make them bless the great
Of some more top minds, align refine
To the exaggerated potency of a Glock nine
I rock mine with tope rhymes in a lot time
To weaker brothers
And others who debate I got mine
I rock on beat off beat, toss meat
Where's that skill, punk? You lost me
Rehearse first curse cause we
Heard church worse
And facilitate rehabilitate the
Message purposes
Blood spatter, I'm mad as a mad hatter
Rappers stagger badder rappers at
A distance for instance
Rappers get deals after kicking nil
I'm checking skill after that's
A drill technical bill
Hearse blood on my first drug
So leave nubs for hands
My Timbs land like Van Damme to Sam
Man that's packing dust
The dust with a lush to bust
Because of us you want to
Get back into lyrical thrust
But the mic you hold is overthrown
Or should I spit out of my lung
On my tongue I brought a Trojan
Now I'm a disperse the verse
And piece the purse
And keep the Earth decrease when
I drop a piece