King T, Tha Alkaholiks - Got it Bad Y'all lyrics
[King T, Tha Alkaholiks - Got it Bad Y'all lyrics]
Pooh-butts play the rear cause
I'm making papes the rhymes ain't no thicker
Than a skittle grapes
A lot of girls would like to
Thank me for the hanky panky
On the mic I hold the belt
Now I know no one could spank me
It took a long time for the
People to hear my rhymes
Seems like I been rapping since
My birth in '69 sorry to keep you waiting
I run rhymes like Walter Payton
I get around like spokes on a Dayton
But, I won't knock off
Because I just rock off
The beats to get funky
Like when you take your sock off
To all the white folks I would like to say
"Howdy" and to all my brothers I say please
Quit acting rowdy wack MCs in ninety-two
Ew you need to take a rest
The public don't you aim the best
You're softer than a hookers chest
Raps, I make em, snaps, I make em
For duties moving booties cause I
Shake shake shake em
And I got rhymes, funky funky rhymes
E-Swift hold the needle down
With nickels and dimes
I drink Olde English, St ides and Mickeys
When it's time to roll I
Throw on my black Dickies
On the mic I get wicked, like Wilson Pickett
I get the place jumping like a
Cricket when I kick shit
I'm from the West coast
But don't sleep home-stimpy
Even if I was a paperboy
You still couldn't rip me
I walk up and chalk up pairs like the Knicks
I'm all in the mix like snares and kicks
When it comes to rhymes I
Get loose like belt buckles
Those who chose to oppose this
Nose is felt knuckles
(Where you going to?) To the tip
(And what cha bout to do?) Bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many rappers say they
Kick it like Bruce Lee
(What's your favorite brew?) Olde E
(And what it make you do?) Go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearranging and
Changing like times
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
Back the fuck up, give me room to breathe
Not too many niggas can flip
The rhymes like these
I freak the technique as if it was a bitch
Got more soul than the pick with a fist
Pitch the ball, so I can beat it with the bat
Talk some shit, so I can smoke ya with my gat
I'm feeling kinda feeling kinda
Feeling kinda feeling kinda
Feeling kinda buzzed off a
Sack of chocolate Thai
My my my ho, I like to rip the shows up
Smack the hoes that walk around
With they nose up
Run to the liquor store, before they close up
Buy a few 40s, cause daily I get to' up
Sit at the crib and write riggy-riggy-rhymes
Line after line after liggy-liggy-line
Yo I can get funky, buy my tape and bump me
To the break of dawn I hit
The bud and pass it on hanging at the park
Shooting craps on the weekend
My brown bag is wet cause
My tall can is leaking
Staring at the cops, beating up on Rodney
While a pack of OG's stepping to
Me trying to rob me
Just because I'm dope, niggas wanna smoke me
On the mic I get funky
While you're doing the hokey-pokey
Dance steps
I think that you should leave to Paula
Alkaholiks is the shit
E-Swift's the smooth baller
Is slangin' these rhymes like a rock
Life ain't shit but money and a Glock
Don't punch a clock, but I clock a fat knot
So I can smoke a lot of pot
That I roll up with tops
And ya ain't heard shit yet
I'm just gettin warm
Like hot butter on say what? The popcorn
I'm headed to the top, please
Give me my props my beats are fat as fuck so
Bump my shit in your box
I love to hit the skins
But then again who doesn't?
I love to hit the herbs cause
It leave me feeling buzzing
I dedicate this chumpie to the
Poets who can wreck
And to all the natty dreads I
Gots to give them nuff respect
(Where you going to?) To the tip
(And what cha bout to do?) Bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many rappers say they
Kick it like Bruce Lee
(What's your favorite brew?) Olde E
(And what it make you do?) Go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearranging and
Changing like times
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
Up jumps the man with the loot
Rocking like a troop with the Alkaholik group
Everything is kosher, got a little taller
Living kinda phat cause King Tee's a baller
I just irritate the wack
Leave em so confused
When I'm checking on the mic
With the ones and twos
Sneak you a peek of the drunk technique
Can't stand up, need to take a seat
Baby baby baby it's the Alkaholiks
But, I can freak the mic no
Matter how ya call it
Metaphors grand, and I'm the great man
Drink a whole fifth yes I can, yes I can can
The girls call me dick-em down
Got that title rocking for the crown
Catch y'all later, around next weekend
I'm a Alkaholik and I'm late for my meeting
I'm making papes the rhymes ain't no thicker
Than a skittle grapes
A lot of girls would like to
Thank me for the hanky panky
On the mic I hold the belt
Now I know no one could spank me
It took a long time for the
People to hear my rhymes
Seems like I been rapping since
My birth in '69 sorry to keep you waiting
I run rhymes like Walter Payton
I get around like spokes on a Dayton
But, I won't knock off
Because I just rock off
The beats to get funky
Like when you take your sock off
To all the white folks I would like to say
"Howdy" and to all my brothers I say please
Quit acting rowdy wack MCs in ninety-two
Ew you need to take a rest
The public don't you aim the best
You're softer than a hookers chest
Raps, I make em, snaps, I make em
For duties moving booties cause I
Shake shake shake em
And I got rhymes, funky funky rhymes
E-Swift hold the needle down
With nickels and dimes
I drink Olde English, St ides and Mickeys
When it's time to roll I
Throw on my black Dickies
On the mic I get wicked, like Wilson Pickett
I get the place jumping like a
Cricket when I kick shit
I'm from the West coast
But don't sleep home-stimpy
Even if I was a paperboy
You still couldn't rip me
I walk up and chalk up pairs like the Knicks
I'm all in the mix like snares and kicks
When it comes to rhymes I
Get loose like belt buckles
Those who chose to oppose this
Nose is felt knuckles
(Where you going to?) To the tip
(And what cha bout to do?) Bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many rappers say they
Kick it like Bruce Lee
(What's your favorite brew?) Olde E
(And what it make you do?) Go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearranging and
Changing like times
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
Back the fuck up, give me room to breathe
Not too many niggas can flip
The rhymes like these
I freak the technique as if it was a bitch
Got more soul than the pick with a fist
Pitch the ball, so I can beat it with the bat
Talk some shit, so I can smoke ya with my gat
I'm feeling kinda feeling kinda
Feeling kinda feeling kinda
Feeling kinda buzzed off a
Sack of chocolate Thai
My my my ho, I like to rip the shows up
Smack the hoes that walk around
With they nose up
Run to the liquor store, before they close up
Buy a few 40s, cause daily I get to' up
Sit at the crib and write riggy-riggy-rhymes
Line after line after liggy-liggy-line
Yo I can get funky, buy my tape and bump me
To the break of dawn I hit
The bud and pass it on hanging at the park
Shooting craps on the weekend
My brown bag is wet cause
My tall can is leaking
Staring at the cops, beating up on Rodney
While a pack of OG's stepping to
Me trying to rob me
Just because I'm dope, niggas wanna smoke me
On the mic I get funky
While you're doing the hokey-pokey
Dance steps
I think that you should leave to Paula
Alkaholiks is the shit
E-Swift's the smooth baller
Is slangin' these rhymes like a rock
Life ain't shit but money and a Glock
Don't punch a clock, but I clock a fat knot
So I can smoke a lot of pot
That I roll up with tops
And ya ain't heard shit yet
I'm just gettin warm
Like hot butter on say what? The popcorn
I'm headed to the top, please
Give me my props my beats are fat as fuck so
Bump my shit in your box
I love to hit the skins
But then again who doesn't?
I love to hit the herbs cause
It leave me feeling buzzing
I dedicate this chumpie to the
Poets who can wreck
And to all the natty dreads I
Gots to give them nuff respect
(Where you going to?) To the tip
(And what cha bout to do?) Bout to rip
Some people use the word funky too loosely
And just how many rappers say they
Kick it like Bruce Lee
(What's your favorite brew?) Olde E
(And what it make you do?) Go pee
It used to be about rhymes, all about rhymes
Now rappers rearranging and
Changing like times
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
I got it bad y'all, I got it bad y'all
When it comes to the pen and the pad y'all
Up jumps the man with the loot
Rocking like a troop with the Alkaholik group
Everything is kosher, got a little taller
Living kinda phat cause King Tee's a baller
I just irritate the wack
Leave em so confused
When I'm checking on the mic
With the ones and twos
Sneak you a peek of the drunk technique
Can't stand up, need to take a seat
Baby baby baby it's the Alkaholiks
But, I can freak the mic no
Matter how ya call it
Metaphors grand, and I'm the great man
Drink a whole fifth yes I can, yes I can can
The girls call me dick-em down
Got that title rocking for the crown
Catch y'all later, around next weekend
I'm a Alkaholik and I'm late for my meeting