Spose - Just an Emcee II lyrics
[Spose - Just an Emcee II lyrics]
Live from where the sun comes up
Yes yes y'all freak freak y'all
Turn it up y'all wells, Maine
Spizzy Spose y'all small world y'all
Prep Dank y'all turn it down
I'm like the broke Young Hova no Range Rover
But still hot when serving
People - Anna Kournikova
No fancy restaurant twenty dollar entrees
It is Wendy's, it is Friendly's, it is empty
It is gay
No Tyrone Biggums crack rocks where my pot at
A movie director, man, I don't get shot at
Unburly rhyme-satirist in Hurley and Atticus
Never up early counting cash on my abacus
Weed leaf rustler, window-shopper customer
In other words you could say I'm
"not a not a hustler"
I rapped for six years but still anonymous
No bling, dollar less and a bad economist
Life's Lauryn Hill, it's killing me softly
I got no cream you could call me black coffee
My finances more fucked than a used condom
Stocks fall like autumn
Greetings from rock bottom
But they're ain't no fake pimping
Thugging thugging gangster gangster gayness
I'm Beyonce less and not on the A-list
I know some bailiffs and I'm not proud of it
But I used to love weed, and well
I still love it!
Freak ex-geek no powder puff pipsqueek
No rough speak with scuffed sneaks
Yeah it's me
Just an emcee in a dirty white tee
Got trees from Mike V that be unsightly
Sometimes life's a drag
Sometimes it's a bong rip
I'ma live now put my money where my songs is
I'm still gnarly clam baking that Bob Marley
Till it's not even funny
Anymore - Chris Farley
I'm AIDs ill and malaria sick
With no hilarious schtick or gimmick
To get your trick
I'm hoping being honest gets
Into these arenas and my tracks flood the
Streets like Hurricane Katrina
I'm not here to be the
Hardest or act all retarded
I'm just an emcee man, a rapper, an artist
I don't bling or blang or sling, but my slang
Got you and your mang
Going ape like orangoutangs
Not a wack, weak wigger, wannabe thug
No kilos of drugs are hidden in my Lugz
But make no istake still I puff cake
I'm bony but not phony baked but not fake
It's all gravy, baby
I'm still porking ladies
But I don't do drive-bys
In next year's Mercedes
These are my thoughts
I don't exaggerate my life
If you carry the mic there's a stereotype
But I was born and bred
For this babbling business
Rap words like you getting
Scrabble for Christmas
No Cristal bottle or models
With swelled racks
I don't tote gats or sell crack, I just rap
Yes yes y'all freak freak y'all
Turn it up y'all wells, Maine
Spizzy Spose y'all small world y'all
Prep Dank y'all turn it down
I'm like the broke Young Hova no Range Rover
But still hot when serving
People - Anna Kournikova
No fancy restaurant twenty dollar entrees
It is Wendy's, it is Friendly's, it is empty
It is gay
No Tyrone Biggums crack rocks where my pot at
A movie director, man, I don't get shot at
Unburly rhyme-satirist in Hurley and Atticus
Never up early counting cash on my abacus
Weed leaf rustler, window-shopper customer
In other words you could say I'm
"not a not a hustler"
I rapped for six years but still anonymous
No bling, dollar less and a bad economist
Life's Lauryn Hill, it's killing me softly
I got no cream you could call me black coffee
My finances more fucked than a used condom
Stocks fall like autumn
Greetings from rock bottom
But they're ain't no fake pimping
Thugging thugging gangster gangster gayness
I'm Beyonce less and not on the A-list
I know some bailiffs and I'm not proud of it
But I used to love weed, and well
I still love it!
Freak ex-geek no powder puff pipsqueek
No rough speak with scuffed sneaks
Yeah it's me
Just an emcee in a dirty white tee
Got trees from Mike V that be unsightly
Sometimes life's a drag
Sometimes it's a bong rip
I'ma live now put my money where my songs is
I'm still gnarly clam baking that Bob Marley
Till it's not even funny
Anymore - Chris Farley
I'm AIDs ill and malaria sick
With no hilarious schtick or gimmick
To get your trick
I'm hoping being honest gets
Into these arenas and my tracks flood the
Streets like Hurricane Katrina
I'm not here to be the
Hardest or act all retarded
I'm just an emcee man, a rapper, an artist
I don't bling or blang or sling, but my slang
Got you and your mang
Going ape like orangoutangs
Not a wack, weak wigger, wannabe thug
No kilos of drugs are hidden in my Lugz
But make no istake still I puff cake
I'm bony but not phony baked but not fake
It's all gravy, baby
I'm still porking ladies
But I don't do drive-bys
In next year's Mercedes
These are my thoughts
I don't exaggerate my life
If you carry the mic there's a stereotype
But I was born and bred
For this babbling business
Rap words like you getting
Scrabble for Christmas
No Cristal bottle or models
With swelled racks
I don't tote gats or sell crack, I just rap