King T, Sledge - Check the Flow lyrics
[King T, Sledge - Check the Flow lyrics]
We got them, Sledge, ruff heads
(check the flow)
King Tee's on the set (check the flow)
When niggas try to get high-tech
(check the flow) the dialect's on the flex
Watch this, when I shine I bring rain
Clouds, bust storms, yo, this ain't the norm
When I perform, I get you up out your seat
Get down with the real deal skills
Then chill
Then show your ass how to get amped
Then lamp
Stretch, flex, then tackle what's next
Cause MC's, that luck up, need to hush up
Who can't brush up, on their rap style
Shut the fuck up
Then duck from the one that gets buck-wild
I chop your ass in half, with a smile
Big grin, all teeth, for those who got beef
Fuckin with me ock, you're six feet deep
Down in the ground, alone with no sound
While I'm up here CHILLIN, top billin
And illin, on all those, who oppose
I wanna take one more shot, strike a pose
Uhh!
Smash, here comes the one that talks trash
To garbage MC's, who try to diss me
And my crew - the ill ville animal cannibal
Backbreakers, government amputators
Bounce to this if you think
You know the hit's
And all you gassed-up critics
Put the brakes on the shit
Cause, I'm tired of this
And I'm tired of that
Motherfuckers sayin King Tee's shit was wack
But in fact
My rhymes crack backs and make money stacks
By the truckload, now let's go for the gold
So strap on your seatbelt yo and let's go
And get down, to the sound that burns quick
Cause, I'm about to burn rubber
On this number
And any MC who claims his style is legit
Suckers wanna try me? (I know not why Tee)
I light that ass up like the 4th of July G
Uhh!
Capital S-L
Crooked letter humpback fuck that
Thump that, shit that's never wack
Cause this goes out too all
The niggas that we rushin
To hear the shit I'm
Bustin over ruptured percussion
It ain't my fault that I'm
Layin niggas down like asphault
And blow your ass away like chalk, dust
Then crush your monkey-ass unto the side
Cause wrecked dialect is
Causin lyrical genocide
I stress facts like IRS wants tax
From anyone claimin that they're livin
Kind of fat you see
I could get sick in the thick of shit
I turn my toes up, when it goes up
My foe's butt
Hey nigga back-steps, even you can get hit
I'm more crankier than a bitch on the shit!
Niggas get heated cause they
Just got defeated
By the two man team, the Sledge and the King
Uhh!
(check the flow)
King Tee's on the set (check the flow)
When niggas try to get high-tech
(check the flow) the dialect's on the flex
Watch this, when I shine I bring rain
Clouds, bust storms, yo, this ain't the norm
When I perform, I get you up out your seat
Get down with the real deal skills
Then chill
Then show your ass how to get amped
Then lamp
Stretch, flex, then tackle what's next
Cause MC's, that luck up, need to hush up
Who can't brush up, on their rap style
Shut the fuck up
Then duck from the one that gets buck-wild
I chop your ass in half, with a smile
Big grin, all teeth, for those who got beef
Fuckin with me ock, you're six feet deep
Down in the ground, alone with no sound
While I'm up here CHILLIN, top billin
And illin, on all those, who oppose
I wanna take one more shot, strike a pose
Uhh!
Smash, here comes the one that talks trash
To garbage MC's, who try to diss me
And my crew - the ill ville animal cannibal
Backbreakers, government amputators
Bounce to this if you think
You know the hit's
And all you gassed-up critics
Put the brakes on the shit
Cause, I'm tired of this
And I'm tired of that
Motherfuckers sayin King Tee's shit was wack
But in fact
My rhymes crack backs and make money stacks
By the truckload, now let's go for the gold
So strap on your seatbelt yo and let's go
And get down, to the sound that burns quick
Cause, I'm about to burn rubber
On this number
And any MC who claims his style is legit
Suckers wanna try me? (I know not why Tee)
I light that ass up like the 4th of July G
Uhh!
Capital S-L
Crooked letter humpback fuck that
Thump that, shit that's never wack
Cause this goes out too all
The niggas that we rushin
To hear the shit I'm
Bustin over ruptured percussion
It ain't my fault that I'm
Layin niggas down like asphault
And blow your ass away like chalk, dust
Then crush your monkey-ass unto the side
Cause wrecked dialect is
Causin lyrical genocide
I stress facts like IRS wants tax
From anyone claimin that they're livin
Kind of fat you see
I could get sick in the thick of shit
I turn my toes up, when it goes up
My foe's butt
Hey nigga back-steps, even you can get hit
I'm more crankier than a bitch on the shit!
Niggas get heated cause they
Just got defeated
By the two man team, the Sledge and the King
Uhh!