BET, Tech N9ne, B.o.B - 2011 BET Hip Hop Awards - Indie Meets Mainstream Cypher lyrics
[BET, Tech N9ne, B.o.B - 2011 BET Hip Hop Awards - Indie Meets Mainstream Cypher lyrics]
They hollering at the K back
MI crooked slay that
Been killing beats since adapt
Yeah me and rhymes go way back, way back
Time machine flow when I
Was swanging and riding
If you ain’t repping for your people
Then you’re shucking and jiving
Tap dancing and sliding to beat
That you can’t comprehend
How dare you speak on where I’m
From if you ain't never been
Fried Kool-Aid who made
Never ate that in fact
Grandma was chefing for real
Made meals off love and scraps
Thank God for my country folk and family
Instead of a metaphor I’d rather
Take it by James Anderson
Damaging how they televised Basketball Wives
And not tornadoes in the South
And how we lost lives still rebuilding
Pray for the children that have no hero
Only the villains that tell them get money
Sleep when you die, I find it funny
Because when you rest in peace don’t
Mean fast asleep in slumber
Thank God and stay humble
Real rock, rap and not to Xerox, weird not
Enough to make you fear a lot from here watch
I ran scrimmage and I fought
To the damn finish
And I popped eyes open without
Eating me canned spinach
My fans in it constantly tellin'
Me I can win it if I stand grimace damagin'
Man every damn minute
I blend then expands quick
It slams wicked rhyme
Grand spittage, HAM with it
Fam dig it's N9ne
Chea, hard to see me like the background
Your rap styles comin' softer
Than a cat’s meow
Red laces big booted like I’m Iraq bound
That frown will get you ate by
My cannibal from Sac Town
So relax pal, pat down, gat down, bat down
Blackout
With a fat smile I might react foul
So don’t make this cat growl
I caught everybody when I spazzed
Wow who do I catch now?
Cleveland, what up?
Yeah, Kells, uh, Cobain's back
I smell like teen spirit, man, Cobain's back
And I got these teens
Screaming like Cobain's back
You try me and I’ll make you
A legend like Cobain’s strap blaat
They say I’m wasting my time
Where the watch at? How he got that?
They say it wasn’t my time
Where the watch at? Now watch that
Speed of my syllables rhymes
Better clock that stop that
Bad Boy gave me the contract and I dot that
Now who the heck is this
With his pants red as 666
All up in your girlfriend’s TwitPics?
That Eastside boy up out the 216
That’s making these other rappers get
Melo like the Knicks, eh
Get you spitters huck-to finished
And when y'all win the game and
The cypher was a scrimmage
So everybody gossiping tell a
Friend and a pigeon how this white boy just
Bodied Black Entertainment Television
Lace Up!
Pushing a hoopty, bumping the Fugees
My life is a scary movie
Your life is a male groupie
Kendrick Lamar broke the handle with 22 Uzis
Stuffed it in my mouth and cack-cack-cack!
Killed the rappers that knew me
Compton’s most wanted
I live my life in a dungeon
Came out a dragon I can
Probably touch the sun with my bare hands
What are your plans? To win a Grammy?
Sweet taste of victory, like Oprah’s punany?
Don’t judge me that’s just some irony
Trust me i like to laugh and get lucky
My sense of humor is rumored
To be a Gemini’s company
Come with me, in the planet rock
And I plan to rock in a plantation
Chasing many legends that made it
Face it you will never be Pac-10
Even when the planet stop
I’m 2012 on a 12-inch
Aiming straight at your pelvis
Elvis would come back as a
Black if he was hot you’re just a mascot on
A Kim Kardashian ass-shot
Full-blooded pedigree
Prize fighter special breed
My flow slow, they say it got special needs
I’m talking Ritalin, maybe even Adderall
Four bars from me would probably
Kill your whole catalog
Sixteen would make Deborah Lee
Cut the channel off
Thirty-two would make Paul Bunyan
Take the flannel off
Sixty-four would make your mama
Want sixty more i eat haters
Check the crumbs on my kitchen floor
They say my music’s pop
I call it buyin' cribs for my mama
Shakin' hands with Obama
And if you don’t believe me go
Online and check the pic
And if you check my flip cam you’ll
See your sister in a flick
I’m perfect from the field it’s
Like I can’t miss
I’m on a rant like Durant no pick no assist
Ya'll tripping on TIP, get off my man neck
I’m just saying Martha Stewart left
Prison in a jet
MI crooked slay that
Been killing beats since adapt
Yeah me and rhymes go way back, way back
Time machine flow when I
Was swanging and riding
If you ain’t repping for your people
Then you’re shucking and jiving
Tap dancing and sliding to beat
That you can’t comprehend
How dare you speak on where I’m
From if you ain't never been
Fried Kool-Aid who made
Never ate that in fact
Grandma was chefing for real
Made meals off love and scraps
Thank God for my country folk and family
Instead of a metaphor I’d rather
Take it by James Anderson
Damaging how they televised Basketball Wives
And not tornadoes in the South
And how we lost lives still rebuilding
Pray for the children that have no hero
Only the villains that tell them get money
Sleep when you die, I find it funny
Because when you rest in peace don’t
Mean fast asleep in slumber
Thank God and stay humble
Real rock, rap and not to Xerox, weird not
Enough to make you fear a lot from here watch
I ran scrimmage and I fought
To the damn finish
And I popped eyes open without
Eating me canned spinach
My fans in it constantly tellin'
Me I can win it if I stand grimace damagin'
Man every damn minute
I blend then expands quick
It slams wicked rhyme
Grand spittage, HAM with it
Fam dig it's N9ne
Chea, hard to see me like the background
Your rap styles comin' softer
Than a cat’s meow
Red laces big booted like I’m Iraq bound
That frown will get you ate by
My cannibal from Sac Town
So relax pal, pat down, gat down, bat down
Blackout
With a fat smile I might react foul
So don’t make this cat growl
I caught everybody when I spazzed
Wow who do I catch now?
Cleveland, what up?
Yeah, Kells, uh, Cobain's back
I smell like teen spirit, man, Cobain's back
And I got these teens
Screaming like Cobain's back
You try me and I’ll make you
A legend like Cobain’s strap blaat
They say I’m wasting my time
Where the watch at? How he got that?
They say it wasn’t my time
Where the watch at? Now watch that
Speed of my syllables rhymes
Better clock that stop that
Bad Boy gave me the contract and I dot that
Now who the heck is this
With his pants red as 666
All up in your girlfriend’s TwitPics?
That Eastside boy up out the 216
That’s making these other rappers get
Melo like the Knicks, eh
Get you spitters huck-to finished
And when y'all win the game and
The cypher was a scrimmage
So everybody gossiping tell a
Friend and a pigeon how this white boy just
Bodied Black Entertainment Television
Lace Up!
Pushing a hoopty, bumping the Fugees
My life is a scary movie
Your life is a male groupie
Kendrick Lamar broke the handle with 22 Uzis
Stuffed it in my mouth and cack-cack-cack!
Killed the rappers that knew me
Compton’s most wanted
I live my life in a dungeon
Came out a dragon I can
Probably touch the sun with my bare hands
What are your plans? To win a Grammy?
Sweet taste of victory, like Oprah’s punany?
Don’t judge me that’s just some irony
Trust me i like to laugh and get lucky
My sense of humor is rumored
To be a Gemini’s company
Come with me, in the planet rock
And I plan to rock in a plantation
Chasing many legends that made it
Face it you will never be Pac-10
Even when the planet stop
I’m 2012 on a 12-inch
Aiming straight at your pelvis
Elvis would come back as a
Black if he was hot you’re just a mascot on
A Kim Kardashian ass-shot
Full-blooded pedigree
Prize fighter special breed
My flow slow, they say it got special needs
I’m talking Ritalin, maybe even Adderall
Four bars from me would probably
Kill your whole catalog
Sixteen would make Deborah Lee
Cut the channel off
Thirty-two would make Paul Bunyan
Take the flannel off
Sixty-four would make your mama
Want sixty more i eat haters
Check the crumbs on my kitchen floor
They say my music’s pop
I call it buyin' cribs for my mama
Shakin' hands with Obama
And if you don’t believe me go
Online and check the pic
And if you check my flip cam you’ll
See your sister in a flick
I’m perfect from the field it’s
Like I can’t miss
I’m on a rant like Durant no pick no assist
Ya'll tripping on TIP, get off my man neck
I’m just saying Martha Stewart left
Prison in a jet
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