Song | Styles Crew Flows Beats |
Artist | Peanut Butter Wolf |
Artist | YoungStar |
Album | My Vinyl Weighs a Ton |
作词 : Brown, Jackson, Jimenez, Manak | |
(feat. Lootpack, Quasimoto) | |
Loot Pack in the place for the 1998 to the year 2000 | |
You, ya' crew and we, we're forced to break you down 'til ya eyes can see | |
'Til the day comes when you feel that sonic drum | |
Ya' dogs can't speak, 'cause the cat got yo' tongue [Repeat] | |
[Wild Child] | |
LP, whats up you cerebellum anti-hemerick | |
Tell 'em wait, | |
You're not gonna see me kick 30 freestyle lines | |
And watch ya' ass regenerate | |
Lines I rejuvenate, jack elevates | |
Levels so thick, So ya can't even tell ya' fate | |
When my freestyle rhymes starts to recelebrate | |
I'll step back in the b-boy stance | |
Style will stop innovate | |
75% of signed niggas can't participate | |
Wait for the right time to rain on niggas, come and precipitate | |
Damn, I hate two-faced brothers always agitate | |
First thought, put ya' head on the mantle | |
And watch it decapitate | |
I rhyme early, like Lavern and Shirley | |
Ya' rapulate, sport a 'L' on my chest | |
Can ya' elegantness rapulate, jack infiltrates | |
On all you wack niggas who manipulate | |
Brothers irritate, watch a likwit emcee step up and irrigate | |
Still I wait for the right time, when Wild Child's feelin' great | |
Hungry, 'cause I got the munchies, and my rhyme style still ain't ate | |
L's in the airs, sisters yellin' Loot to the Pack | |
Closin' up and illin' and searchin' brothers right to the back | |
Before my rap attacks, ya' wack style sends you back | |
And all ya' hear from the crowd is "We wanna' hear Cracker Jack!" | |
I kick a freestyle, brother's know I don't come wack | |
Ya' already clappin' that, a dope-ass manitrack | |
Matter of fact, Wild Child known to pick up the slack | |
Known to pick up a wack emcee straight by the neck | |
Ask him why he rap | |
Cuz i might tightly strap you in a seat to win a trip to the Boomback | |
Style, if it wasn't for the style, | |
It would be hard for me to show my culture profile | |
What about the crew? If it wasn't for the crew, | |
It would be, only lonely me, payin' dues | |
Don't forget the flow, if it wasn't for the flow | |
Possibly, how could I suppose I could rock the shows | |
What about the beats? The beats.......... | |
Quasimoto | |
It's Mad Lib, he's back kid, watch out | |
DJ Romes, Peanut Butter Wolf | |
From this Stones Throw era | |
Yo' we bringin' it, West Coast | |
How we do? Mad Lib | |
[Mad Lib] | |
We drop shit like some architects | |
Spark and get, lit to make some underground hits | |
Mad Lib, the bad kid, we drop original | |
Precise, conceptual, house of wood, innovation nine thousand | |
We keepin' business like Eric in perish | |
Have you hype like '89 like we buggin' on terrace | |
Sometimes on the low-pro, styles like the no show | |
I'm comin' from the 'O', What we do? | |
[Quasimoto] | |
The Quas, representin' Quasimoto | |
Peanut Butter's on the drum set | |
I grab the mic to run rec | |
I'll have you hype like illegal gun sets | |
Plus the Beat Conductor got my back | |
Attack, whenever, whoever | |
You wanna test me? Behold and don't cry | |
The bad character you see up on the screen | |
We keep it clean, like a diamond ring | |
Or dirty like a one-night fling | |
[Quas and Lib] You gots to let us do our thing | |
We droppin' loops with static cling | |
While we steppin' on the scene | |
It's the Loot digga' | |
Man, it's the Loot digga' | |
My nigga | |
Yo', it's the Loot digga' | |
The Quas and the Pack and it's peace like Greece | |
For fried chicken (two million) or for Astro black sticken' | |
Niggas talkin' shit? Yo' watch the plot thicken | |
I'll leave y'all suckas wit yo' auditory sicken | |
(The game's on you) Like Wild Man fisher | |
If it's trouble in the West | |
We'll bring back the juice with Bishop | |
I'll smack yo' bitch up, like a pimp | |
And it's low-high, | |
And your whole zoo could get revved up, and that's no lie | |
Quasimoto and the Pack, we keep it raw like sex, | |
Mic check on the sex | |
[Cuts 'til fade] |
zuò cí : Brown, Jackson, Jimenez, Manak | |
feat. Lootpack, Quasimoto | |
Loot Pack in the place for the 1998 to the year 2000 | |
You, ya' crew and we, we' re forced to break you down ' til ya eyes can see | |
' Til the day comes when you feel that sonic drum | |
Ya' dogs can' t speak, ' cause the cat got yo' tongue Repeat | |
Wild Child | |
LP, whats up you cerebellum antihemerick | |
Tell ' em wait, | |
You' re not gonna see me kick 30 freestyle lines | |
And watch ya' ass regenerate | |
Lines I rejuvenate, jack elevates | |
Levels so thick, So ya can' t even tell ya' fate | |
When my freestyle rhymes starts to recelebrate | |
I' ll step back in the bboy stance | |
Style will stop innovate | |
75 of signed niggas can' t participate | |
Wait for the right time to rain on niggas, come and precipitate | |
Damn, I hate twofaced brothers always agitate | |
First thought, put ya' head on the mantle | |
And watch it decapitate | |
I rhyme early, like Lavern and Shirley | |
Ya' rapulate, sport a ' L' on my chest | |
Can ya' elegantness rapulate, jack infiltrates | |
On all you wack niggas who manipulate | |
Brothers irritate, watch a likwit emcee step up and irrigate | |
Still I wait for the right time, when Wild Child' s feelin' great | |
Hungry, ' cause I got the munchies, and my rhyme style still ain' t ate | |
L' s in the airs, sisters yellin' Loot to the Pack | |
Closin' up and illin' and searchin' brothers right to the back | |
Before my rap attacks, ya' wack style sends you back | |
And all ya' hear from the crowd is " We wanna' hear Cracker Jack!" | |
I kick a freestyle, brother' s know I don' t come wack | |
Ya' already clappin' that, a dopeass manitrack | |
Matter of fact, Wild Child known to pick up the slack | |
Known to pick up a wack emcee straight by the neck | |
Ask him why he rap | |
Cuz i might tightly strap you in a seat to win a trip to the Boomback | |
Style, if it wasn' t for the style, | |
It would be hard for me to show my culture profile | |
What about the crew? If it wasn' t for the crew, | |
It would be, only lonely me, payin' dues | |
Don' t forget the flow, if it wasn' t for the flow | |
Possibly, how could I suppose I could rock the shows | |
What about the beats? The beats.......... | |
Quasimoto | |
It' s Mad Lib, he' s back kid, watch out | |
DJ Romes, Peanut Butter Wolf | |
From this Stones Throw era | |
Yo' we bringin' it, West Coast | |
How we do? Mad Lib | |
Mad Lib | |
We drop shit like some architects | |
Spark and get, lit to make some underground hits | |
Mad Lib, the bad kid, we drop original | |
Precise, conceptual, house of wood, innovation nine thousand | |
We keepin' business like Eric in perish | |
Have you hype like ' 89 like we buggin' on terrace | |
Sometimes on the lowpro, styles like the no show | |
I' m comin' from the ' O', What we do? | |
Quasimoto | |
The Quas, representin' Quasimoto | |
Peanut Butter' s on the drum set | |
I grab the mic to run rec | |
I' ll have you hype like illegal gun sets | |
Plus the Beat Conductor got my back | |
Attack, whenever, whoever | |
You wanna test me? Behold and don' t cry | |
The bad character you see up on the screen | |
We keep it clean, like a diamond ring | |
Or dirty like a onenight fling | |
Quas and Lib You gots to let us do our thing | |
We droppin' loops with static cling | |
While we steppin' on the scene | |
It' s the Loot digga' | |
Man, it' s the Loot digga' | |
My nigga | |
Yo', it' s the Loot digga' | |
The Quas and the Pack and it' s peace like Greece | |
For fried chicken two million or for Astro black sticken' | |
Niggas talkin' shit? Yo' watch the plot thicken | |
I' ll leave y' all suckas wit yo' auditory sicken | |
The game' s on you Like Wild Man fisher | |
If it' s trouble in the West | |
We' ll bring back the juice with Bishop | |
I' ll smack yo' bitch up, like a pimp | |
And it' s lowhigh, | |
And your whole zoo could get revved up, and that' s no lie | |
Quasimoto and the Pack, we keep it raw like sex, | |
Mic check on the sex | |
Cuts ' til fade |