Letters

Lyrics

[Intro] "What are you going to do?" (x2) "Nigga!" "The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters" "My mic sound nice, check one" "The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters" "Sound nice" (cut and scratched) [Verse 1] Rougher than Gotti, in tone Got a body harder than Flintstone Your girl got her skins boned I'm diggin' her down with my skin-tone It's Brown-er than Bobby 'cause humpin' is my hobby Down in the endzone, with mens makin' her friends moan Listen and learn and turn on your tuners If you looneys try to commence, I break Bang zoom, like Honeymooners I don't want singers, but finger snappers The speaker slapper, the weaker the rapper; The dapper rapper's when I flap my trapper Got that ass gassed by Amoco, you know you ain't man to go Dead up, head up, so I set up to slam a ho I don't give a heck, but I don't peck on a redneck You wanna pull cards? You're a dead deck, bed check Lead from my TEC, come and step up and get your head wrecked Wait a sec, you comin to see what's left? I gotta catch my breath Rappers slayed; like played like Jeff to the left And none of you nitwits can get with this hip shit You dipsticks, even miss kiss with no lipstick I don't run a style, but a mile, gut-bust a child Big ol' snappy happy rappers smile like Gomer Pyle Hell, I'm ringin' bells with a ding-dong I'll play you like ping pong You're swingin' on my ding-a-ling, King Kong I pop bad cops, I got a pig-a-day habit Bing, bing, BING! Just like the Ricochet Rabbit Grab it, your sound is just like a lady, baby Maybe you're old as Grady, still in the 80's Metaphors poorer than Haiti I pop to the top, now the hip-hop Glock pop rocks Whenever it drops, I run over rappers at the record shop You name your best, I'll say "Who?" like owls Pass me a towel, and I'mma move my bowels all over his vowels Bring ten men, then I'll send my venom in 'em You ain't gonna win 'em, 'cause he got a woman's momentum And I don't wanna hear from a square 'Cause one of these niggas just doesn't belong here My rhymes are like a 9mm Beretta 'Cause anythin' rappers could do, yo, I could do it better [Hook] "The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters" "My mic sound nice, check two" "The K, the double-O, the L, the G-R-A-P letters" "Sound nice" (cut and scratched) [Verse 2] You no-frills slow toy, cheap thrills, no joy My lyrical skills give me Pillsbury Doughboy Back, I'm packin' 'em up like Jack the Ripper Some pally'll pull on the zipper Finger popped, the better the batter or flipper You're out of date, you must be the Late Show, I hate, though Push on the brakes slow, uh-oh! Better get Maaco Dead on head-on collision, bad decision You wanna see me, nigga? You better check your vision It ain't 20/20, money, silly bunny, you're funny Your ass'll get smashed just like a crash test dummy Retire, an MC that Oscar Mayer could take Some of you wacky rappers just play anyway That's B-O-L-O-G-N-A So come and swing wild, mild child, and get your style hurt HEY, HEY, HEY! Shit I say is Fatter than Albert Play at your own risk if you diss Got a lotta hot groups turnin' cold Better go and sip on some Swiss Miss Inner city, actin' like bitties, you're pussy So here, kitty kitty, come get some milk from my ho's titties Cross at the green, not in between, or get hit, G Red light, green light, one, two, three Out for the dash, but in a flash, you shoulda let me pass But crashed, now that ass is in a body-cast Every time I put out my records and tapes Motherfuckers go bananas like this was Planet of the Apes Grapes, I bust 'em like cherries and lay down Bitches purchase tickets to ride the dick And sit down on it like a Greyhound Down with the clowns actin' like killers As good as wooden soldiers See, niggas, you ain't even Magilla Gorillas Bass in your face, stingin' like mace I'm bringin' the right taste, hangin' like waist Pick up the pace