Rich Briing 'Em Back Lyrics
| Song | Rich Briing 'Em Back |
| Artist | Prime Minister Pete Nice |
| Artist | Daddy Rich |
| Album | Dust to Dust |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Lawson, Nash | |
| (feat. Cage) | |
| If anyone knows who the first rapper is, let us know | |
| [Verse 1: ???] | |
| Check it 1-2, check it, undercover as I wreck it | |
| Liver than a limb on a cripple, but still I rep it | |
| The voodoo master, last of the Mohicans | |
| Tomahawkin heads for my peeps that I be freaking | |
| Despicable, I hit you with the quick blow | |
| Stick you with the hyperdermic lyric in your blood flow | |
| I reanimated the chip off your shoulder | |
| Stick it up your ass, now you're the holder of a boulder | |
| Mo' money folder, from the streets soldier | |
| Flippin it on the 1-2, I twist, ya then I roll ya | |
| I move on the d-l, conceal like a smuggler | |
| Peepin out the process, and then I go for jugular | |
| A misdirected man with the taste to be prolific | |
| The person and the verbs that are droppin and I'm lifted | |
| So Rich, bring em back from the borough of the Brooklyn | |
| Folding all the dough like a hooker who be hookin | |
| [Chorus:] | |
| Bring it back on the rhyme | |
| Bring it back one more time | |
| Yeah, Rich chop the beat | |
| Type of music that starts getting G's | |
| [Verse 2: Pete Nice] | |
| Who's that, the master of the ill flow | |
| Heard him on a mix show, vocabs and lingo | |
| I'm flippin around a dollar boy, I'm a check Bobbito | |
| And then I get my dose, and I'm out to sleep benito | |
| Full of bigger bats in my belfry because I'm Edgar Alan Poe, like | |
| This and like that and eh - please grab my dick right | |
| My funk like the Groove Merchant label representin | |
| Daddy Rich bringin em back, stingin em like a henchman | |
| So step, cause you never, never fuck with me hops | |
| Sippin on a 40 as I listen to the dreadnots | |
| What's that, you thought you got the heartbeat | |
| But yo, I got mysery for you and your punks, see | |
| If I took three punks I do em like Chuckie doin Queens | |
| Suckin on a steel, got em shittin out the beans | |
| So Rich, bring em back, so we can smack em up | |
| Yo, the track's the shit, so yo, I pick the slack up | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Verse 3: Cage] | |
| My cuts are hell! Leave a hooker strung up by the ankles | |
| Stripped in meaty chunks, all that dangles in the bangle | |
| From a certain angle she's resembling my momma | |
| I'm in it for the trauma, no comma can force my bomber | |
| I Timberland my limbs when I stick vics in | |
| My kids are fistful of maggots ain't even my sickest habit | |
| Blood spat in my chest, pressed in my teeth | |
| I feast like I'm a vulture, destined cannibal culture | |
| So check this, you get to be another dead miss or mister | |
| With the pistol up inside your sister's belly | |
| The master of a million molestings | |
| Believe you try and breathe and I'm a blast your ass to jelly | |
| I swear, with everyone's life in my career | |
| That if my family was burning only joy would push out tears | |
| Leave me all alone up in the attic, I got an automatic | |
| With three caps and two money for static | |
| With my father, my mother, the lesbian for the other | |
| On the side of me, two of my little sisters say goodbye to me | |
| BLAST! I'm burning in the middle of the Earth | |
| Got no self-worth, I'm dragging pussies by the head at birth | |
| No retribution, miss my execution | |
| You sucking out the hose of bad clothes you producing | |
| Could wait to bite my way free from out the muzzle piece | |
| Spit blood in my 40, waste no ducats so I guzzle it | |
| Strive to stay alive and I thrive on humans screaming | |
| Got the semen of a demon, mom dukes is so demeaning | |
| Can't wait to spatter my bladder I'm on the drinking | |
| No play fair, your bloodstains be in my sink and | |
| Two rats is acting me deaf, don't be a fact to me | |
| The misses gets a hystorectimy for disrespecting me | |
| Fiddle with a spell until my grandfather fell | |
| Swell, I'm looking forward to burning in hell |
| zuo ci : Lawson, Nash | |
| feat. Cage | |
| If anyone knows who the first rapper is, let us know | |
| Verse 1: nbsp??? | |
| Check it 12, check it, undercover as I wreck it | |
| Liver than a limb on a cripple, but still I rep it | |
| The voodoo master, last of the Mohicans | |
| Tomahawkin heads for my peeps that I be freaking | |
| Despicable, I hit you with the quick blow | |
| Stick you with the hyperdermic lyric in your blood flow | |
| I reanimated the chip off your shoulder | |
| Stick it up your ass, now you' re the holder of a boulder | |
| Mo' money folder, from the streets soldier | |
| Flippin it on the 12, I twist, ya then I roll ya | |
| I move on the dl, conceal like a smuggler | |
| Peepin out the process, and then I go for jugular | |
| A misdirected man with the taste to be prolific | |
| The person and the verbs that are droppin and I' m lifted | |
| So Rich, bring em back from the borough of the Brooklyn | |
| Folding all the dough like a hooker who be hookin | |
| Chorus: | |
| Bring it back on the rhyme | |
| Bring it back one more time | |
| Yeah, Rich chop the beat | |
| Type of music that starts getting G' s | |
| Verse 2: Pete Nice | |
| Who' s that, the master of the ill flow | |
| Heard him on a mix show, vocabs and lingo | |
| I' m flippin around a dollar boy, I' m a check Bobbito | |
| And then I get my dose, and I' m out to sleep benito | |
| Full of bigger bats in my belfry because I' m Edgar Alan Poe, like | |
| This and like that and eh please grab my dick right | |
| My funk like the Groove Merchant label representin | |
| Daddy Rich bringin em back, stingin em like a henchman | |
| So step, cause you never, never fuck with me hops | |
| Sippin on a 40 as I listen to the dreadnots | |
| What' s that, you thought you got the heartbeat | |
| But yo, I got mysery for you and your punks, see | |
| If I took three punks I do em like Chuckie doin Queens | |
| Suckin on a steel, got em shittin out the beans | |
| So Rich, bring em back, so we can smack em up | |
| Yo, the track' s the shit, so yo, I pick the slack up | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 3: Cage | |
| My cuts are hell! Leave a hooker strung up by the ankles | |
| Stripped in meaty chunks, all that dangles in the bangle | |
| From a certain angle she' s resembling my momma | |
| I' m in it for the trauma, no comma can force my bomber | |
| I Timberland my limbs when I stick vics in | |
| My kids are fistful of maggots ain' t even my sickest habit | |
| Blood spat in my chest, pressed in my teeth | |
| I feast like I' m a vulture, destined cannibal culture | |
| So check this, you get to be another dead miss or mister | |
| With the pistol up inside your sister' s belly | |
| The master of a million molestings | |
| Believe you try and breathe and I' m a blast your ass to jelly | |
| I swear, with everyone' s life in my career | |
| That if my family was burning only joy would push out tears | |
| Leave me all alone up in the attic, I got an automatic | |
| With three caps and two money for static | |
| With my father, my mother, the lesbian for the other | |
| On the side of me, two of my little sisters say goodbye to me | |
| BLAST! I' m burning in the middle of the Earth | |
| Got no selfworth, I' m dragging pussies by the head at birth | |
| No retribution, miss my execution | |
| You sucking out the hose of bad clothes you producing | |
| Could wait to bite my way free from out the muzzle piece | |
| Spit blood in my 40, waste no ducats so I guzzle it | |
| Strive to stay alive and I thrive on humans screaming | |
| Got the semen of a demon, mom dukes is so demeaning | |
| Can' t wait to spatter my bladder I' m on the drinking | |
| No play fair, your bloodstains be in my sink and | |
| Two rats is acting me deaf, don' t be a fact to me | |
| The misses gets a hystorectimy for disrespecting me | |
| Fiddle with a spell until my grandfather fell | |
| Swell, I' m looking forward to burning in hell |
| zuò cí : Lawson, Nash | |
| feat. Cage | |
| If anyone knows who the first rapper is, let us know | |
| Verse 1: nbsp??? | |
| Check it 12, check it, undercover as I wreck it | |
| Liver than a limb on a cripple, but still I rep it | |
| The voodoo master, last of the Mohicans | |
| Tomahawkin heads for my peeps that I be freaking | |
| Despicable, I hit you with the quick blow | |
| Stick you with the hyperdermic lyric in your blood flow | |
| I reanimated the chip off your shoulder | |
| Stick it up your ass, now you' re the holder of a boulder | |
| Mo' money folder, from the streets soldier | |
| Flippin it on the 12, I twist, ya then I roll ya | |
| I move on the dl, conceal like a smuggler | |
| Peepin out the process, and then I go for jugular | |
| A misdirected man with the taste to be prolific | |
| The person and the verbs that are droppin and I' m lifted | |
| So Rich, bring em back from the borough of the Brooklyn | |
| Folding all the dough like a hooker who be hookin | |
| Chorus: | |
| Bring it back on the rhyme | |
| Bring it back one more time | |
| Yeah, Rich chop the beat | |
| Type of music that starts getting G' s | |
| Verse 2: Pete Nice | |
| Who' s that, the master of the ill flow | |
| Heard him on a mix show, vocabs and lingo | |
| I' m flippin around a dollar boy, I' m a check Bobbito | |
| And then I get my dose, and I' m out to sleep benito | |
| Full of bigger bats in my belfry because I' m Edgar Alan Poe, like | |
| This and like that and eh please grab my dick right | |
| My funk like the Groove Merchant label representin | |
| Daddy Rich bringin em back, stingin em like a henchman | |
| So step, cause you never, never fuck with me hops | |
| Sippin on a 40 as I listen to the dreadnots | |
| What' s that, you thought you got the heartbeat | |
| But yo, I got mysery for you and your punks, see | |
| If I took three punks I do em like Chuckie doin Queens | |
| Suckin on a steel, got em shittin out the beans | |
| So Rich, bring em back, so we can smack em up | |
| Yo, the track' s the shit, so yo, I pick the slack up | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 3: Cage | |
| My cuts are hell! Leave a hooker strung up by the ankles | |
| Stripped in meaty chunks, all that dangles in the bangle | |
| From a certain angle she' s resembling my momma | |
| I' m in it for the trauma, no comma can force my bomber | |
| I Timberland my limbs when I stick vics in | |
| My kids are fistful of maggots ain' t even my sickest habit | |
| Blood spat in my chest, pressed in my teeth | |
| I feast like I' m a vulture, destined cannibal culture | |
| So check this, you get to be another dead miss or mister | |
| With the pistol up inside your sister' s belly | |
| The master of a million molestings | |
| Believe you try and breathe and I' m a blast your ass to jelly | |
| I swear, with everyone' s life in my career | |
| That if my family was burning only joy would push out tears | |
| Leave me all alone up in the attic, I got an automatic | |
| With three caps and two money for static | |
| With my father, my mother, the lesbian for the other | |
| On the side of me, two of my little sisters say goodbye to me | |
| BLAST! I' m burning in the middle of the Earth | |
| Got no selfworth, I' m dragging pussies by the head at birth | |
| No retribution, miss my execution | |
| You sucking out the hose of bad clothes you producing | |
| Could wait to bite my way free from out the muzzle piece | |
| Spit blood in my 40, waste no ducats so I guzzle it | |
| Strive to stay alive and I thrive on humans screaming | |
| Got the semen of a demon, mom dukes is so demeaning | |
| Can' t wait to spatter my bladder I' m on the drinking | |
| No play fair, your bloodstains be in my sink and | |
| Two rats is acting me deaf, don' t be a fact to me | |
| The misses gets a hystorectimy for disrespecting me | |
| Fiddle with a spell until my grandfather fell | |
| Swell, I' m looking forward to burning in hell |
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