Wu-Tang Clan, Redman - Redbull lyrics
[Wu-Tang Clan, Redman - Redbull lyrics]
RZA came and got me, this what I came to do
Come on ring the bell so it's time to eat
Brick Dog stash weed inta AMIseats
Bomb inside the palm
Doc rock a wifebeater with me beatin
My wife ass ironed on
The front with my pump built like the Klumps
To carry it I take the spare out the trunk
I stay hungry, I ain't worked for days
That's why you see the pump
When the curtains raise blast! Don't panic
Do I gotta explain how I tame
And lock the rapgame single handed?
Hell nah! I won't tell you son
If I find a wack idea I sell you one
Doc and Hot Nick, Inspectah
My lecture's like Hannibal Lector's
Where's the ketchup?
Don't speak on it, shut ya trap
I see ya whole crew yellow like mustardpacks
Ah woo, Doc in my own zone
You say you got the rapgames sewn
But it's sewn wrong
I ride through ya hood in a Mr softee truck
Then pull a mac out a box of snow cones
Yeah, ya little fucks
Gimme ya fucking money!
Uhuh, check it
I'm hotter than a hundred degrees
With my coat on
Playing with a dynamitestick
Where did I go wrong?
Somebody pull the fire along when Jonny stomp
If ya lukewarm leavin ya
Clothes and boots torn
Pro's and con's, megabomb's and so-on's
By Arrid Extra-Dry MC's to get their roll on
First issue got issues
What is Hip-Hop to Hot Nickles?
It's like Funk Doc to snot tissues, word
Look at my hand and get the third
Finger out ya earhole like:
Fuck what you hear
Now that's what I call hardcore
Let's act fool
Mr fix-It like Handyman I pack tool
I been shitty
I'm from the bowels of the city (New York)
And just because my outfit match
Don't make me pretty
Baggy dungarees, dick need room to breathe
In a room full of crackers
I might cut the cheese
Ain't no rules to the game
If it is we ain't playin
In your business like EPMD
"So What Cha Sayin'"
You co-signin that bullshit yo man tryin
Chaka chaka cha ta tatat! Slugs flyin
Yo, ya check, the Kodak pose from magazines
To the big screen
Fo' wheel machines like ya wit's scream
Kids fiend from the urban to sub-urban
Roll upon me thirstin like: Hey
Hey Mister Dream-Merchant
We roll longer than dice in a casino
Cee-lo in the 4, 5 or 6 with double 0
Behind the tinted windows I lay low
On some hydro tryin to slide from the 5-0
But now I get wild similar to Ol' Dirty
A third time felon just hit with over 30
No worries, style have em so thirsty
First degree heats are quittin on me
Cold turkey, no mercy
I bring the pain of a hundred migraines
But a thousand shoutin my name
That's why I came
But first bring the cashburst
Then the outburst my surround sound pound ya
Ear like Jevon Kearse
I flex muscle outside I find a next hustle
Trouble with ya here and face the TEC-muscle
Even the best buckle win
I take it to the extreme it gets ugly
But it's what a nigga do to get CREAM
This life
Come on ring the bell so it's time to eat
Brick Dog stash weed inta AMIseats
Bomb inside the palm
Doc rock a wifebeater with me beatin
My wife ass ironed on
The front with my pump built like the Klumps
To carry it I take the spare out the trunk
I stay hungry, I ain't worked for days
That's why you see the pump
When the curtains raise blast! Don't panic
Do I gotta explain how I tame
And lock the rapgame single handed?
Hell nah! I won't tell you son
If I find a wack idea I sell you one
Doc and Hot Nick, Inspectah
My lecture's like Hannibal Lector's
Where's the ketchup?
Don't speak on it, shut ya trap
I see ya whole crew yellow like mustardpacks
Ah woo, Doc in my own zone
You say you got the rapgames sewn
But it's sewn wrong
I ride through ya hood in a Mr softee truck
Then pull a mac out a box of snow cones
Yeah, ya little fucks
Gimme ya fucking money!
Uhuh, check it
I'm hotter than a hundred degrees
With my coat on
Playing with a dynamitestick
Where did I go wrong?
Somebody pull the fire along when Jonny stomp
If ya lukewarm leavin ya
Clothes and boots torn
Pro's and con's, megabomb's and so-on's
By Arrid Extra-Dry MC's to get their roll on
First issue got issues
What is Hip-Hop to Hot Nickles?
It's like Funk Doc to snot tissues, word
Look at my hand and get the third
Finger out ya earhole like:
Fuck what you hear
Now that's what I call hardcore
Let's act fool
Mr fix-It like Handyman I pack tool
I been shitty
I'm from the bowels of the city (New York)
And just because my outfit match
Don't make me pretty
Baggy dungarees, dick need room to breathe
In a room full of crackers
I might cut the cheese
Ain't no rules to the game
If it is we ain't playin
In your business like EPMD
"So What Cha Sayin'"
You co-signin that bullshit yo man tryin
Chaka chaka cha ta tatat! Slugs flyin
Yo, ya check, the Kodak pose from magazines
To the big screen
Fo' wheel machines like ya wit's scream
Kids fiend from the urban to sub-urban
Roll upon me thirstin like: Hey
Hey Mister Dream-Merchant
We roll longer than dice in a casino
Cee-lo in the 4, 5 or 6 with double 0
Behind the tinted windows I lay low
On some hydro tryin to slide from the 5-0
But now I get wild similar to Ol' Dirty
A third time felon just hit with over 30
No worries, style have em so thirsty
First degree heats are quittin on me
Cold turkey, no mercy
I bring the pain of a hundred migraines
But a thousand shoutin my name
That's why I came
But first bring the cashburst
Then the outburst my surround sound pound ya
Ear like Jevon Kearse
I flex muscle outside I find a next hustle
Trouble with ya here and face the TEC-muscle
Even the best buckle win
I take it to the extreme it gets ugly
But it's what a nigga do to get CREAM
This life