N.E. Season

Lyrics

Natural Elements - "N.E. Season" [Emcee(s): L-Swift, Mr. Voodoo, and A-Butta] [Producer(s): Sebb] [Intro: L-Swift] Yeah, huh, uh huh. It's NE Season, bwoy! We've been on a little vacation. We just landed, you know? Yo [Verse 1: L-Swift] 45, no number could run at you worse. I'm So high—no wonder I'm fucking a bird. I'm So fly, flow vulture, I'll rummage the Earth. I'm So live, more coming as rushing a surge and Low tides. I sit on a beach and wait 'til it rise I get on my feet and take it in stride, I shit on a freak I'm making her cry. My dick on her cheek, I piss in Her eyes. I'm sick of the speech, I'm hating the lies Should I go on further? I need to call the defendant. See, if The song is a murder, I'm leaving all the forensics We could ball for the pendant 'cause only champions celebrate, plus Most of them camp in the Everglades, what? Toast in My hand 'til it bred/bread the cake, bake you a loaf Through the land, you could tread, the weight make you afloat Through the sand, you could get to the base, straight to the coast Use a plan, choose the Element way, stay in a boat, motherfucker [Interlude: Mr. Voodoo] Yeah, yeah, yo, L, that was dope, but I'm about to get into it like this. Check it out. Yeah, yeah, yeah [Verse 2: Mr. Voodoo] Microphone Hogger, Scarface side, the culture bomber, Nica- -ragua to a Brooklyn kitchen, boiling bricks and agua, fuck with Hoes and divas, low leaders that hold heaters Blast and make your blood flow in liters, lay in the cut Like Sandinistas, block your interest like Federales The man in visas with criminal plans and thesis. Y'all niggas Can't see us. With gats, we're like sheist killers, we max Even dykes feel us. With stacks, we're like Christ killers, we're crafty Like trife dealers, carry flame, wetting Face up, married to the game, bake a wedding up, drop more Gems than Jacob, nines double-m pop, leave you Blazed up from the shoelace or calling jakes up and white-chalked Get traced up. Any crew dare us too careless Any crew feel us Unbreakable like Bruce Willis Voo the realest, cats are soft, I'm a symbol of terror To America like Taliban with Kalashnikovs [Verse 3: A-Butta] Y'all could call me El Diablo or El Mariachi of Rap, who's Tatted up like the cap from Memento. Un momento Mami, let me pencil you into my schedule 'Cause it's NE Season and we're due some revenue I gleams in the face of my adversaries, on my waist Is a capillary decomposer, had these rap folks Screaming like clones of Zach De La Rocha React with no soda with gats with no holsters Blast for my cronies, mash with my codies It's NE Season. Is there any reason that you Can't comprehend what I'm speaking? I'm conquering your allegiance Confident as a preacher who's Godsent from a demon Prosperous Puerto Rican, hot to the point that I'm steaming Got me a joint with some weed in it. I'm devious And equipped to spit an ingenious sixteen for kids Quit dreaming, man. It's NE Season—take this