No Clue

Lyrics

[Intro: Chocolate Ty] Yeah... yeah... we about to bring it to yo' ass Herut... Chop Shop Choc, what? [Verse 1: Defari] Yo, what you rhyme about a lot? Are you that smooth cat Pop? R&B body clot? Are you that outer space off beat who fuck the beat up? You know you think you so deep, but you can't keep up I can't fade it when I hear a lot of bullshit That's why when I grab the mic, I unload a full clip – of lyrics Big up to Grams down in Venice Defari starts this shit, Chocolate Tye will finish [Verse 2: Chocolate Ty & Defari] Yo, yo, the lyrical Dennis, The Menace Fuck up more by the minute Leave the scene, grinnin' Defari got you spendin' money lavish Doin' damage, so many below average Not from Dallas, but I roll with plenty of Mavericks See, bad habits leave you empty-handed, stranded And I can't have it Wack MCs take this shit for granted, and And you lose, get bruised when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue Of what this amounts to Strictly fam, rip the program Peace to the Ro-gram I can't let no man withstand the plan in hand Bonified Likwit fam In the Barbershop, I get the fresh cuts So what – ya wanna do? This the last time I'm warning you In regards to whom it may concern I burn crews with loose screws Choose your weapon, or keep steppin' 'Cause right now, kid, I think you slippin' [Chorus: Defari & Chocolate Ty] And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue [Verse 3: Defari & Chocolate Ty] Defari Herut – pure as 24 karats Blind n****s like ______ when he 28th the barracks The rare kid, rare style, uprock flare style Comparing yourself to us is not fair, child This underground comp Is guaranteed to pump And give crews exactly what they want No time to front, come flyin' From the begin, for my neegins I know kids, weekdays to weekends Don't front, Quest hit you with the bumps Nothing change, I'm always watchin' for these shady ass chumps You wanna face off? You treble, with the bass off No Dolby, in other words, you don't even know me Tryin' to show me different patternings, like my Saturn, and On the low key, really only out to smoke me Can't hold me Wack niggas think they can out-flow me Shake my hand, then watch they man try to throw me A beat, when he ain't got no soul That's why everything I do, I stay close to home Like 20 inch chrome, Defari splash on the streets, bringin' heat Surround myself with nothing but my peeps Like Kings, Queens, and diamond earrings On a do-or-die angle like a bishop Turn the fifth up, hiccup Pass it to Ty for lyrical stick-ups Get ripped up, keep your lip zipped up Get tipped up (Tied up) 'Cause all along, you was sized up Surprised up, now your ride's up Brains fried up, wake up Go take a shower, take off that make-up All this space stuff can't break up this tight unit Chocolate Tye, Defari – got tight flows like fluid Through a faucet Remember, "paid is what the boss gets" [Chorus: Defari & Chocolate Ty] And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue And you loose, get bruised, when you come through Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and still don't have a clue [Outro: Defari, (Chocolate Ty)] (Nigga!) What?! (And you lose!) Peace to Tha Alkaholiks (And you lose!) King T (Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, and don't have a clue) Word up, Phil Tha Ag' (And you lose!) The whole Lootpack (And you lose!) X To Tha Z, no doubt (Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, without have a clue) All the way to the Lowlands, baby All my niggas – Inglewood... down in Venice... out to Carson Uh, out to Compton (Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, you still don't have a clue) Up to Pacoima, word up (Puffin' blunts, twistin' brews, don't have a clue)