Ready Or Not Lyrics
| Song | Ready Or Not |
| Artist | Fugees |
| Album | Interconnectivity |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Lauryn Hill： | |
| Ready or not, Here I come, You can't hide | |
| Gonna find you, and take it slowly | |
| Ready or not, Here I come, You can't hide | |
| Gonna find you, and make you want me | |
| Wyclef: | |
| Now that I escape sleep walk awake | |
| those who correlate know the world they take | |
| Jails bars and golden gates | |
| those who fake they brake when they meet they four hundred pound mate | |
| if i could rule the world, everyone would have a gun | |
| and together of course we'd giddyup out on their horse | |
| I kick a rhyme drinking moon shine | |
| I poor sip in a concrete, but then deceased | |
| but no don't weep, Wyclef's in a state of sleep | |
| thinking about the ROBBERY that I did last WEEK | |
| Money in the bag, bank a look like a drag | |
| I wanna play like Pella cause from here to Bagdad | |
| gun blast, think fast I think I'm hit | |
| My girl pinched my hips to see if I still exist | |
| I think not, I send a letter to my friends | |
| A born-again hooligan, only to be king again | |
| Chorus | |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| yo, I play my enemies like a game of chess | |
| without rest no stress if you don't smoke cess, less | |
| i must confess my destiny's manifest | |
| to some core text and sweats I make tracks like i'm homeless | |
| Rap orgies with Porgy and Bess, | |
| capture your bounty like Elliot Ness--YES! | |
| Bless you if you represent the FU | |
| but I hex you, with some witches' brew if you doo-doo | |
| Voodo, I could do what you do, EASY! | |
| Believe me, frontin' niggaz | |
| gives me heebie-jeebies | |
| so while you imitatin' Al Capone | |
| I be Nina Simone and defacatin'g on your microphone | |
| chorus | |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| You can't run away from these styles I got | |
| Oh baby, hey baby cause I got a lot oh yeah... | |
| Anyway you go, my whole crew gonna know | |
| Oh baby, hey baby you can't hide from the black gold now... | |
| Pras: | |
| Ready or not, refugees taking over | |
| The buffalo soldier , dread like rasta | |
| On the twelve hour flyby in my bomber | |
| crews run for cover now they under pushin' up flowers | |
| Superfly, true lies do or dies | |
| toss me high only profile with my crew from Lacaille | |
| I refugee from Guatanamo Bay, | |
| dance around the border like i'm Cassius clay | |
| Chorus | |
| And yo nobody move.... | |
| Song: Zealots | |
| [CLEF] | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa | |
| [CLEF] | |
| I haunt MC's like Mephistophales | |
| Bringin swords and Damacles | |
| Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy | |
| Abstract raps simple with a street format | |
| Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax. | |
| Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion | |
| Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation. | |
| I Feel like Rockwell, "Somebody's watching me" | |
| I got no privacy whether on land or at sea. | |
| And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic | |
| Hypocrit, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit. | |
| It hurts don't it, the refugees come to your turf and take over | |
| the earth. | |
| [LAURYN]:INTERLUDE | |
| See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes | |
| That can only get down with my crew | |
| And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes | |
| We'll show you how the refugees do. | |
| [LAURYN] | |
| Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes | |
| Two MC's can't occupy the same space at the same time. | |
| It's against the laws of Physics. | |
| So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics | |
| Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile | |
| Whether jew or gentile | |
| I rank top percentile, | |
| Many styles, | |
| More powerful than gamma rays | |
| My grammar pays, | |
| Like Carlos Sanatana plays | |
| Black Magic Woman | |
| So while you fuming, I'm consuming | |
| Mango juice under Polaris, | |
| You're just embarrassed | |
| Cause it's your "Last Tango in Paris" | |
| And even after all my logic and my theory, | |
| I add a muthafuckker so you ignint niggas hear me. | |
| And you remember take notes, | |
| As I sow my rap otas | |
| And for you biting zealots, here's a quote. | |
| [CLEF]:(Chorus) | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa | |
| [CLEF] | |
| You can try but you can't divide the tri | |
| These cats can't rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe | |
| The magazine says the girl should have gone solo, | |
| The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo. | |
| Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part | |
| As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start, | |
| For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp | |
| Do a cameo while everybody do the dance. | |
| Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka | |
| Playin' Mr. Big, I'm gonna get you sucka. | |
| While you munchin at your luncheon, I'll be planning your | |
| assassination | |
| Then hit you like the Dutchmen | |
| [PRAZ] | |
| I compress sound sets with my rap DBX | |
| Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEX | |
| Bring terror to the shop of horror, | |
| As she cries "Mi amor" | |
| The phantom dies in the opera | |
| And to the youngin's who carry gadgets | |
| And kill 6 days a week then rest on the Sabbath. | |
| Violence ain't necessary, unless you provoke me | |
| Then get buried like the great Mussolini | |
| And for you bitin' Zealots | |
| Your rap styles are relics | |
| No matter who you damage | |
| Your still a false prophet. | |
| [CLEF]:(Chorus) | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don't let him bury me, whoa |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| Ready or not, Here I come, You can' t hide | |
| Gonna find you, and take it slowly | |
| Ready or not, Here I come, You can' t hide | |
| Gonna find you, and make you want me | |
| Wyclef: | |
| Now that I escape sleep walk awake | |
| those who correlate know the world they take | |
| Jails bars and golden gates | |
| those who fake they brake when they meet they four hundred pound mate | |
| if i could rule the world, everyone would have a gun | |
| and together of course we' d giddyup out on their horse | |
| I kick a rhyme drinking moon shine | |
| I poor sip in a concrete, but then deceased | |
| but no don' t weep, Wyclef' s in a state of sleep | |
| thinking about the ROBBERY that I did last WEEK | |
| Money in the bag, bank a look like a drag | |
| I wanna play like Pella cause from here to Bagdad | |
| gun blast, think fast I think I' m hit | |
| My girl pinched my hips to see if I still exist | |
| I think not, I send a letter to my friends | |
| A bornagain hooligan, only to be king again | |
| Chorus | |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| yo, I play my enemies like a game of chess | |
| without rest no stress if you don' t smoke cess, less | |
| i must confess my destiny' s manifest | |
| to some core text and sweats I make tracks like i' m homeless | |
| Rap orgies with Porgy and Bess, | |
| capture your bounty like Elliot NessYES! | |
| Bless you if you represent the FU | |
| but I hex you, with some witches' brew if you doodoo | |
| Voodo, I could do what you do, EASY! | |
| Believe me, frontin' niggaz | |
| gives me heebiejeebies | |
| so while you imitatin' Al Capone | |
| I be Nina Simone and defacatin' g on your microphone | |
| chorus | |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| You can' t run away from these styles I got | |
| Oh baby, hey baby cause I got a lot oh yeah... | |
| Anyway you go, my whole crew gonna know | |
| Oh baby, hey baby you can' t hide from the black gold now... | |
| Pras: | |
| Ready or not, refugees taking over | |
| The buffalo soldier , dread like rasta | |
| On the twelve hour flyby in my bomber | |
| crews run for cover now they under pushin' up flowers | |
| Superfly, true lies do or dies | |
| toss me high only profile with my crew from Lacaille | |
| I refugee from Guatanamo Bay, | |
| dance around the border like i' m Cassius clay | |
| Chorus | |
| And yo nobody move.... | |
| Song: Zealots | |
| CLEF | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don' t let him bury me, whoa | |
| CLEF | |
| I haunt MC' s like Mephistophales | |
| Bringin swords and Damacles | |
| Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy | |
| Abstract raps simple with a street format | |
| Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax. | |
| Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion | |
| Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation. | |
| I Feel like Rockwell, " Somebody' s watching me" | |
| I got no privacy whether on land or at sea. | |
| And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic | |
| Hypocrit, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit. | |
| It hurts don' t it, the refugees come to your turf and take over | |
| the earth. | |
| LAURYN: INTERLUDE | |
| See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes | |
| That can only get down with my crew | |
| And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes | |
| We' ll show you how the refugees do. | |
| LAURYN | |
| Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes | |
| Two MC' s can' t occupy the same space at the same time. | |
| It' s against the laws of Physics. | |
| So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics | |
| Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile | |
| Whether jew or gentile | |
| I rank top percentile, | |
| Many styles, | |
| More powerful than gamma rays | |
| My grammar pays, | |
| Like Carlos Sanatana plays | |
| Black Magic Woman | |
| So while you fuming, I' m consuming | |
| Mango juice under Polaris, | |
| You' re just embarrassed | |
| Cause it' s your " Last Tango in Paris" | |
| And even after all my logic and my theory, | |
| I add a muthafuckker so you ignint niggas hear me. | |
| And you remember take notes, | |
| As I sow my rap otas | |
| And for you biting zealots, here' s a quote. | |
| CLEF: Chorus | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don' t let him bury me, whoa | |
| CLEF | |
| You can try but you can' t divide the tri | |
| These cats can' t rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe | |
| The magazine says the girl should have gone solo, | |
| The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo. | |
| Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part | |
| As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start, | |
| For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp | |
| Do a cameo while everybody do the dance. | |
| Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka | |
| Playin' Mr. Big, I' m gonna get you sucka. | |
| While you munchin at your luncheon, I' ll be planning your | |
| assassination | |
| Then hit you like the Dutchmen | |
| PRAZ | |
| I compress sound sets with my rap DBX | |
| Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEX | |
| Bring terror to the shop of horror, | |
| As she cries " Mi amor" | |
| The phantom dies in the opera | |
| And to the youngin' s who carry gadgets | |
| And kill 6 days a week then rest on the Sabbath. | |
| Violence ain' t necessary, unless you provoke me | |
| Then get buried like the great Mussolini | |
| And for you bitin' Zealots | |
| Your rap styles are relics | |
| No matter who you damage | |
| Your still a false prophet. | |
| CLEF: Chorus | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don' t let him bury me, whoa |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| Ready or not, Here I come, You can' t hide | |
| Gonna find you, and take it slowly | |
| Ready or not, Here I come, You can' t hide | |
| Gonna find you, and make you want me | |
| Wyclef: | |
| Now that I escape sleep walk awake | |
| those who correlate know the world they take | |
| Jails bars and golden gates | |
| those who fake they brake when they meet they four hundred pound mate | |
| if i could rule the world, everyone would have a gun | |
| and together of course we' d giddyup out on their horse | |
| I kick a rhyme drinking moon shine | |
| I poor sip in a concrete, but then deceased | |
| but no don' t weep, Wyclef' s in a state of sleep | |
| thinking about the ROBBERY that I did last WEEK | |
| Money in the bag, bank a look like a drag | |
| I wanna play like Pella cause from here to Bagdad | |
| gun blast, think fast I think I' m hit | |
| My girl pinched my hips to see if I still exist | |
| I think not, I send a letter to my friends | |
| A bornagain hooligan, only to be king again | |
| Chorus | |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| yo, I play my enemies like a game of chess | |
| without rest no stress if you don' t smoke cess, less | |
| i must confess my destiny' s manifest | |
| to some core text and sweats I make tracks like i' m homeless | |
| Rap orgies with Porgy and Bess, | |
| capture your bounty like Elliot NessYES! | |
| Bless you if you represent the FU | |
| but I hex you, with some witches' brew if you doodoo | |
| Voodo, I could do what you do, EASY! | |
| Believe me, frontin' niggaz | |
| gives me heebiejeebies | |
| so while you imitatin' Al Capone | |
| I be Nina Simone and defacatin' g on your microphone | |
| chorus | |
| Lauryn Hill: | |
| You can' t run away from these styles I got | |
| Oh baby, hey baby cause I got a lot oh yeah... | |
| Anyway you go, my whole crew gonna know | |
| Oh baby, hey baby you can' t hide from the black gold now... | |
| Pras: | |
| Ready or not, refugees taking over | |
| The buffalo soldier , dread like rasta | |
| On the twelve hour flyby in my bomber | |
| crews run for cover now they under pushin' up flowers | |
| Superfly, true lies do or dies | |
| toss me high only profile with my crew from Lacaille | |
| I refugee from Guatanamo Bay, | |
| dance around the border like i' m Cassius clay | |
| Chorus | |
| And yo nobody move.... | |
| Song: Zealots | |
| CLEF | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don' t let him bury me, whoa | |
| CLEF | |
| I haunt MC' s like Mephistophales | |
| Bringin swords and Damacles | |
| Secret service keep a close watch as if my name was Kennedy | |
| Abstract raps simple with a street format | |
| Gaze into the sky and measure planets by parallax. | |
| Check out the retrograde motion, kill the notion | |
| Of biting and recycling and calling it your own creation. | |
| I Feel like Rockwell, " Somebody' s watching me" | |
| I got no privacy whether on land or at sea. | |
| And for you biting zealots, your raps are cacophonic | |
| Hypocrit, critic, but deep inside you wish you had the pop hit. | |
| It hurts don' t it, the refugees come to your turf and take over | |
| the earth. | |
| LAURYN: INTERLUDE | |
| See my rhymes are the type of fly rhymes | |
| That can only get down with my crew | |
| And if you try to take lines or bite rhymes | |
| We' ll show you how the refugees do. | |
| LAURYN | |
| Behold, as my odes, manifold on your rhymes | |
| Two MC' s can' t occupy the same space at the same time. | |
| It' s against the laws of Physics. | |
| So weep as your sweet dreams break up like Eurythmics | |
| Rap rejects my tape deck, ejects projectile | |
| Whether jew or gentile | |
| I rank top percentile, | |
| Many styles, | |
| More powerful than gamma rays | |
| My grammar pays, | |
| Like Carlos Sanatana plays | |
| Black Magic Woman | |
| So while you fuming, I' m consuming | |
| Mango juice under Polaris, | |
| You' re just embarrassed | |
| Cause it' s your " Last Tango in Paris" | |
| And even after all my logic and my theory, | |
| I add a muthafuckker so you ignint niggas hear me. | |
| And you remember take notes, | |
| As I sow my rap otas | |
| And for you biting zealots, here' s a quote. | |
| CLEF: Chorus | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don' t let him bury me, whoa | |
| CLEF | |
| You can try but you can' t divide the tri | |
| These cats can' t rap, Mr. Author I feel no Vibe | |
| The magazine says the girl should have gone solo, | |
| The guys should stop rapping, vanish like Menudo. | |
| Took it to the heart, but every actor plays his part | |
| As long as someone was listening, I knew it was a start, | |
| For me to get a chance, grab my pen and revamp | |
| Do a cameo while everybody do the dance. | |
| Quick now, cause you runnin' out of lucka | |
| Playin' Mr. Big, I' m gonna get you sucka. | |
| While you munchin at your luncheon, I' ll be planning your | |
| assassination | |
| Then hit you like the Dutchmen | |
| PRAZ | |
| I compress sound sets with my rap DBX | |
| Then drop vocals on my 456 AMPEX | |
| Bring terror to the shop of horror, | |
| As she cries " Mi amor" | |
| The phantom dies in the opera | |
| And to the youngin' s who carry gadgets | |
| And kill 6 days a week then rest on the Sabbath. | |
| Violence ain' t necessary, unless you provoke me | |
| Then get buried like the great Mussolini | |
| And for you bitin' Zealots | |
| Your rap styles are relics | |
| No matter who you damage | |
| Your still a false prophet. | |
| CLEF: Chorus | |
| Another MC lose his life tonight, lord | |
| I beg that you pray to Jesus Christ, why | |
| O lord, father don' t let him bury me, whoa |
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