Kool Keith, Marc Live - Shit Expands lyrics

Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens Manhattan
Staten Island keith! In the house

It ain't about the bitch with a
Wig like she comin from China
Y'all fronted in rented Benzes
With Avis on 'em
No breakfast, I'm goin home
Fuck Chelsea or diner
Let the guys with the chrome
Buckets expose the cuffs, be a co-signer
I'm in your ass man
Close like your Starter jacket liner
Dr j sharper
Plug your asshole up with a tub stopper
Your wife's a New York City Breaker
Your baby's mom is a pop-locker
Know the metropolitan area custodian nigga
You sanitation worker shit cleaner
Floor mopper
Look down on the city with binoculars
Piss out at choppers
Defecate 80 thousand feet in the air
I flip your small game
Take your small urban territory
Put the street in the air
My shit rise, increase like subway fare
Scuffle your denim wear
Your sneaker line ain't makin it
I piss on four pair
You know the big head boy from the projects
Retarded motherfucker
You know you be in child care
You better stay there
Your crew get picked up with
Shitty diapers from daycare
Your phobia his crib death
The top rappers receive hot dogs up they ass
They get F
Mark flush the toilet, you shit next
Expand your stomach range with tummy pains
Shit in the back of your
Bentley when it rains
Leave your wooden panels with shit stains
Throw the turds out the windows
Watch them bounce in the carpool lanes
Hot 97

The shit expand
Over your Jacob the diamond watch
The penis is loose, we piss in your hand

Yo yo where's the block at? Uhh
They say 106th & Park is on, I'm mad
Fuck it it's on
I haven't heard a hard record in years, uhh
Everybody dancin, Harlem Shakin
Strip Free naked and put a pole up
And watch the ratings go up and if AJ steps
Take his Jacob and slap off the makeup
I'm in the crowd like Lee Malvo
With a sniper rifle
A hockey mask, a butcher knife
Yo who knows what I'll do
They sellin dreams with a rap battle - uh huh
Look - yeah - you rappers are kids
And rappin with a rap rattle
Nobody ever comes out - that's right
No twelve inches, no fires, no jets
Early retired, no links
No chains, no videos, no baguettes - uhh
"Don't Speak
" uh huh - I'm gettin Gwen Stefani
She's tossed up, sellin pussy like every week
So don't fight me - uhh
You can hype me - that's right
I'm liable to go out with a terrorist style
I'm liable to flow out with a terrible style
Viacom bought you (suckers)
I'm outta here nigga I'm changin the dial

Hot 97

No more cars and shit, we suicide bombers
Nigga, walk up in your radio station
We get gas from the gas station nigga
You better ask public relations
Blow out your DJ booth
With hats off, like motherfuckin Dr seuss
No buckets
Strictly bombs under the North Face goose
Caught you with acid baby
We put it in your motherfuckin orange juice
Fuck a turned up cap
How bout a burnt up motherfuckin baseball cap
With a whack-ass rap
We detonate with three sticks of
Dynamite through your turntables
Blow out your ass crack
You ain't the motherfuckin pimp
You ain't the motherfuckin mack
We do this right, you gon' drink a daquiri
Are you gon' come back at me
Are you gon' get smacked from me
Fuck around look how you act
To me bitch hot 97