2-3 Break
Title | 2-3 Break |
---|---|
Artist | The Beatnuts |
Album | The Beatnuts: Street Level |
Release Date | 1994-06-21 |
Description | ? |
Lyrics | [Intro] You know what? [Verse 1: Psycho Les] People call me the drunk, or the thick funk distributor Looter, bag your whole store like my shooter Click back, put a hollow point cap in your temple We get caught, it's strictly mental A stone crook, I don't go by the book You can't fool me with your gangster look I truncate a Judas on my turf for wet pay When I roll a blunt, they better rollerblade out And don't try talking bold 'Cause I'll smack you with a bat like "Walking Tall" What? You punk, who's gonna defend you? When I bum rush your ass and stick an icepick in you? Quick, your bitch caught a splinter from my dick 'Cause she gave me a woodie in the parking lot behind (McDonald's) The bed slammer can stick a ho With my king-size dick, and Don King sized hand again [Interlude] Two, three, break! [Verse 2: Fashion] I got so much of this style coming from my lips while Washed-up ducks get dumped in motherfucking shit piles Bang, I got my own thang, gang, ain't it proper? Drop a hollow-point shelly on a copper (C'mon) Let 'em fucking know who's the Kool, where I'm coming from Slept for a while on my style now I'm stunning 'em Bagging 'em, plus I hit they hoes in the mean (Yee-haw) 'Cause all I ever want is fame, bitches, and the green Seen crazy niggas get lost in the shuffle With dreams turned to rubble then bust like a bubble Ta-dow, now (Ha), that's how it's falling Whether I'm hitting skins or I'm motherfucking balling Hanging with my crew on the Peekskill plain I throw my shit when laying a bitch so get off my dick Trick, you know my style, no, it ain't no use 'Cause I can keep your ho wet like a fucking douche (It's like that) [Interlude] Two, three, break! [Verse 3: JuJu & Gab] Taking the mic, no haps, I be the owner My rhymes will make niggas collapse into a coma Product of a concrete hell, I'm on a mission Deadly with intent to shell the opposition (Yeah) Fucking with this flow, come on, yo, that's treason Niggas fuck around and get shot for no reason Junkyard nigga, represent every time Corona's in the house and, yo, Gab (Off the Richter Scale) My rhymes quake up to a 9.4, ready for war, come forth I'll floss my fronts with your spinal cord Thought he got the drop, I possessed inside Better off trying to survive under a cyanide landslide But that ain't nothing like a penny in the vault (What?) 'Cause I assault niggas who couldn't launch shit with catapults So if you ever hear the name Gab One Don't even sweat it, the worst hasn't even begun (Kid) You might also like[Outro: JuJu] Word up, it's like that, Beatnuts, Triflicts in the house, yeah Nineteen (Nineteen), gettin' money (Gettin' money) You know what I'm sayin'? (You know what I'm sayin'?) Word (Word) |