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Blasi blah blah blasi blah blah blasi blah [x6] |
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[Chorus] |
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J to the I to the V to the E to the |
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T to the A to the L to the K [with "blase blah's" in background] |
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[x4] |
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So what you sayin, kid, you but you |
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Sprayin niggas means saliva messy slobberin |
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(I know you got soul!) |
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From my Timmies |
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When you test me clobberin these niggas easy |
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See I hunger for ya talkin shit, you please me when you say ya shit is butter |
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Poor excuse for the use of noise |
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Slaughterin there'll be no truce |
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Ya boys'd break ya jaw if they ya peoples |
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To stop ya yap from playin Doc Kevorkian |
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I'll lock ya talk see then commence the mercy killin cause ya mental's dead |
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Ya verse be still intensely showin you gots love for the game |
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Maybe if you playin tennis cause you mista menace |
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Wicked, crazy hard |
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To listen to without my finger flyin to the fast forward button |
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Cause ya feeble ass flowin nothin new |
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Nothin new and cuttin through we be the Juggaknots |
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If you know the deal then you gots to keep it real... far away |
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Secluded from my vision on the hush |
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And any effort towards rebuttal leads to crushin feeble niggas with the jivetalk |
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[Chorus x4] |
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Ayo I heard you comin out |
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The closet deposit ya masculinity |
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Ya guts, the hair on ya chest, ya scrawny nuts |
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Nigga run ya manhood |
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I takes ya average dropping bombs joker |
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Till the family jewels will be locked in ya mom's choker |
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Leavin niggas jelled but I never thought the KY |
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And when you say, "I gots ya back," you tryin to hit the hay |
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I never knew the static could be so traumatic so I cut em slack |
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And everybody singin "Who's the Mack" and "Tryin to be a Player" |
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Bridge yaself and rascal |
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Getting crazy ass |
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Whip ins I gets hostile when a brotha know he fly |
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But to me reminiscent of Jeff Goldblum, fallin apart |
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Breakin as the Brewin's in ya soul, dooms are given |
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And driven by the stress |
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Thoughts are deep |
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Throatin my quotin but the Juggaknots'll never fail to peep |
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Ya style's corny just a horny slob |
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Talkin bout you gettin laid off |
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And then you best to get a fuckin job but not the jivetalk |
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[Chorus x4] |
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Well then there're times I can't front ya style's milk |
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Curdlin close to cottage cheese |
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With ya verbal and ya boast of knowledge |
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Please, kid, I know ya style's def |
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Cause you couldn't possibly be hearin loud and clear and mean the shit you sayin |
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Quit ya playin cause ya thought is nothing |
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Only around the edges you be rough |
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And in comparison I'm only catchin L's when I puff em |
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From the strictly raw (Jog into hooker style) |
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Ya joints hot (And I'm bettin your condition took a while after clinic visits) |
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During which the master cynic blizzards |
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As a rain storm and flushin out those cockier than Jordan, for the swing and miss |
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0 for 4, no rapport, bringin pissed feelings to the enemy |
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So nigga buy serenity |
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(My style's dope) |
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Fiendish |
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Paranoid, can't cope, squeamish |
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Knowin that the Juggaknots stalkin, jivetalkin |
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If y'all still ain't understandin me, let's get on down |
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In ya case, on ya hand and knee, defeated |
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[Chorus x5: with "blase blah's"] |
