Song | 3 to the Dome |
Artist | Sway & King Tech |
Album | This or That |
作曲 : Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL ... | |
(feat. Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL, Kool G. Rap) | |
[carried over from previous song] | |
[Kool G Rap] | |
Aiyyo check it out yo, this is Kool G Rap | |
Lettin you know from the foundation, Road to the Riches | |
Sway & Tech represented for a cat | |
The next album, Wanted Dead Or Alive | |
My man Sway & Tech represented, yaknamsayin | |
The next album, Live And Let Die | |
What goes on from 4,5,6 | |
And now The Roots Of Evil | |
They kept it real through all the freestyles | |
Wit me, Big Daddy Kane, KRS-One | |
Namean?, the list goes on and on | |
No doubt, namsayin? | |
[Big Daddy Kane] | |
Uh-huh, you in the perils of the lyrical heroes | |
That rule just like the pharoahes | |
Robert DeNiro's got it covered just like sombreros | |
Seek shelter, here comes the warpath | |
Anyone who's tryin to reign, I change the whole forecast | |
If I slip, half a herd he learned | |
This murder he earned ?in turn? ? turned his body to third-degree burns | |
You're purely pathetic, I won't let it | |
And once I set it, the after-party's in the paramedics | |
Vulgars, come back when you're older | |
Talkin like you're grown, you cats is small soldiers | |
Enough of them as the god muscle in, it's puzzlin | |
You couldn't carry weight if you was hustlin | |
Style ain't even de-cent, them not gonna squeeze none | |
Please dun, give me one rea-son | |
What I, say in a verse will be slayin you worse | |
As I wet em up just for the sake of obeying my thirst | |
Anytime anywhere, without any fair | |
I'll do it with any hair, what da deal, ain't he there? wha what | |
What I do will be crucially brutally | |
Usually legal and rippin stupidly, ain't nuttin new to me | |
What I spit attract felons, crack melons | |
Leave the chickenheads back swellin | |
Game tight wit the way I'm livin | |
I bag birds and I stuff em like Thanksgiving | |
My bad self, get more love than tennis | |
>From New York to Venice | |
Black as a dentist here to represent to live wit the menace | |
To win the apprentice, if your heart shows stealth | |
You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health | |
Cuz then the props here baby, you ain't gettin | |
You better recognize, the true and livin | |
You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass | |
What I meant? Arcades done went up to fifty cent | |
[Chino XL] | |
That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of | |
Wit one verse, shittin on a whole label roster sampler | |
My first name:Chino, my last name:Went There | |
Leavin rappers curled up and dyed like Immature's hair | |
Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit | |
My style like AIDS, half a y'all got it just none of y'all is sayin shit | |
I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi | |
Jesus came in the vocal booth, like "Nigga, you the next me!" | |
So test me, battle and you will become a dead man | |
And there's a lot of fake Chino's like Craig Mack's a fake Redman | |
But I'm above the surface of this rap circus | |
Writin more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose | |
You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun | |
I'm God's bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun | |
I hate you wit a passion, make white chicks faint like I'm Hanson | |
Historically know for bringin down the house like I'm Samson | |
My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there's a bad curse that hurts | |
I'm leavin wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse | |
Escapin the wrath of Jerse | |
It's a sad earth when my pen dirts | |
Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words | |
I'm past blurs, I smack herbs | |
Gritty-green eyes like Badu | |
Leavin minds fucked up like Maxwell's hair-do | |
And I'ma be the sickest till I'm dead | |
The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL's head | |
My new album is Flo-Jo's heart, watch it blow up | |
You ain't just wack, you're what wack wants to be when it grows up | |
[Kool G Rap] | |
The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka | |
Funer-als crowded like soccer while I'm watchin opera | |
Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca | |
Binoculars is how I'm watchin droppin from the chopper | |
Mafia imposter | |
You're left for dead wit your face inside of your plate of pasta | |
?Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper (salute) | |
You know how we do, we icepick the boulder | |
You get dabbed over glasses of ice wit the Bolla | |
Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra | |
Keepin the heater wit the toasters | |
Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers | |
We bullet-proof the Rovers, pimp-smack you sober | |
Our whole crew is ?skippin? lieutenants and soldiers | |
Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola | |
Condition vulgar holdin on blowers older than Yoda | |
Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga | |
Colder than the caps that's in the Polar, bubble like soda | |
?Been in Egypt for loader foreliners over? | |
Cross me, cut our your momma's ovaries | |
Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin like potpourri | |
On the low-key, ship keys to over-seas | |
My shit gets sold quicker than groceries | |
K-double-O-L-and-G, you know it's me |
zuò qǔ : Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL ... | |
feat. Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL, Kool G. Rap | |
carried over from previous song | |
Kool G Rap | |
Aiyyo check it out yo, this is Kool G Rap | |
Lettin you know from the foundation, Road to the Riches | |
Sway Tech represented for a cat | |
The next album, Wanted Dead Or Alive | |
My man Sway Tech represented, yaknamsayin | |
The next album, Live And Let Die | |
What goes on from 4, 5, 6 | |
And now The Roots Of Evil | |
They kept it real through all the freestyles | |
Wit me, Big Daddy Kane, KRSOne | |
Namean?, the list goes on and on | |
No doubt, namsayin? | |
Big Daddy Kane | |
Uhhuh, you in the perils of the lyrical heroes | |
That rule just like the pharoahes | |
Robert DeNiro' s got it covered just like sombreros | |
Seek shelter, here comes the warpath | |
Anyone who' s tryin to reign, I change the whole forecast | |
If I slip, half a herd he learned | |
This murder he earned nbsp? in turn? nbsp? turned his body to thirddegree burns | |
You' re purely pathetic, I won' t let it | |
And once I set it, the afterparty' s in the paramedics | |
Vulgars, come back when you' re older | |
Talkin like you' re grown, you cats is small soldiers | |
Enough of them as the god muscle in, it' s puzzlin | |
You couldn' t carry weight if you was hustlin | |
Style ain' t even decent, them not gonna squeeze none | |
Please dun, give me one reason | |
What I, say in a verse will be slayin you worse | |
As I wet em up just for the sake of obeying my thirst | |
Anytime anywhere, without any fair | |
I' ll do it with any hair, what da deal, ain' t he there? wha what | |
What I do will be crucially brutally | |
Usually legal and rippin stupidly, ain' t nuttin new to me | |
What I spit attract felons, crack melons | |
Leave the chickenheads back swellin | |
Game tight wit the way I' m livin | |
I bag birds and I stuff em like Thanksgiving | |
My bad self, get more love than tennis | |
From New York to Venice | |
Black as a dentist here to represent to live wit the menace | |
To win the apprentice, if your heart shows stealth | |
You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health | |
Cuz then the props here baby, you ain' t gettin | |
You better recognize, the true and livin | |
You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass | |
What I meant? Arcades done went up to fifty cent | |
Chino XL | |
That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of | |
Wit one verse, shittin on a whole label roster sampler | |
My first name: Chino, my last name: Went There | |
Leavin rappers curled up and dyed like Immature' s hair | |
Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit | |
My style like AIDS, half a y' all got it just none of y' all is sayin shit | |
I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi | |
Jesus came in the vocal booth, like " Nigga, you the next me!" | |
So test me, battle and you will become a dead man | |
And there' s a lot of fake Chino' s like Craig Mack' s a fake Redman | |
But I' m above the surface of this rap circus | |
Writin more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose | |
You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun | |
I' m God' s bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun | |
I hate you wit a passion, make white chicks faint like I' m Hanson | |
Historically know for bringin down the house like I' m Samson | |
My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there' s a bad curse that hurts | |
I' m leavin wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse | |
Escapin the wrath of Jerse | |
It' s a sad earth when my pen dirts | |
Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words | |
I' m past blurs, I smack herbs | |
Grittygreen eyes like Badu | |
Leavin minds fucked up like Maxwell' s hairdo | |
And I' ma be the sickest till I' m dead | |
The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL' s head | |
My new album is FloJo' s heart, watch it blow up | |
You ain' t just wack, you' re what wack wants to be when it grows up | |
Kool G Rap | |
The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka | |
Funerals crowded like soccer while I' m watchin opera | |
Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca | |
Binoculars is how I' m watchin droppin from the chopper | |
Mafia imposter | |
You' re left for dead wit your face inside of your plate of pasta | |
? Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper salute | |
You know how we do, we icepick the boulder | |
You get dabbed over glasses of ice wit the Bolla | |
Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra | |
Keepin the heater wit the toasters | |
Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers | |
We bulletproof the Rovers, pimpsmack you sober | |
Our whole crew is nbsp? skippin? lieutenants and soldiers | |
Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola | |
Condition vulgar holdin on blowers older than Yoda | |
Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga | |
Colder than the caps that' s in the Polar, bubble like soda | |
? Been in Egypt for loader foreliners over? | |
Cross me, cut our your momma' s ovaries | |
Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin like potpourri | |
On the lowkey, ship keys to overseas | |
My shit gets sold quicker than groceries | |
KdoubleOLandG, you know it' s me |