WLIX

Tha Alkaholiks & Declaime & Lootpack - Rap, Posse Cut
WLIX
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Duration: 5:53
Lyrics
[Verse 1: Wildchild] Ya dumb dunce, it goes – once upon the rhyme, Jack is out to clench a fist And drop flows that gets deep like The Abyss All in this – freestyle's wild when I'm throwin' this Non-bogus brothers, shake the hip and toe, and just – get involved Roll with the soul, make the head nod Look at the bash, slash back, I kick the abstract Make brothers say "Damn, that rap's fat," recline that ass back A smack-back and slap from Wildchild with the ramshack I used to pick up the damn slack bed on the ramps back In the days, when Eric, was in the, honey phase Nowadays, turn in applications Rockin' the Appalachians with the ladies with the sexy activations On the Blackwatch, I own a black watch, although I'm Black, watch You want to – confront who? A microphone check, one, two Complicated for ya (Yeah) I got the naps that break the picks Plus the props from The Liks Ha haa, Loot Pack's on the rise Sayin' "Liks, Liks, Liks, boy – run your backside" Yo, J-Ro, Madlib, my man Just – get on the mic and please arise the jam [Verse 2: Madlib & J-Ro] I bust the animated suspension, vocabulary wack MC prevention My division is itchin' for the switch Pitchin' upon the West coast, the best brag and boast Braggadocious, ferocious emotional osmosis I skip like a stone when I lake over a break I rip microphones and I take over the fake creWWWs I wish I could sing like Smokey do But I'm vocally loc'ing with the Loot Pack crew I'm Madlib the bad kid, brothers try to do what I did Back in junior high, 'cause I'm fly with my Vocabulary tradition, total chaos Rhythmatic static, in fact, they case erase, so stay off 'Cause nobody knows how it goes with the flows And rows of hoes froze, chosen, bust erosion on the lows when The ill speak, plus Tha Liks knot thick Mad quick to rock ya lip, like Hip-Hop to grits But yo, freak this, I come with uniqueness I'm like Pepé Le Pew, you hoes are my weakness Back in high school, you didn't think I could get nifty Now I'm on your magazine rack down at Thrifty Since '83, I been housin' folks All the way from Orange Country out to Thousand Oaks It ain't a-nother rapper in the country that can crunch me If you don't believe me – run up and try to punch me I flip the funk like Monk Higgins when I'm diggin' I'm swiggin' on a Snapple, 'cause my crew be wicked when we gig it I rock the mad vocab, when my toe jabs, I'm so bad I make you flow bad, like when I blow lads to pieces [Verse 3: Tash] No releases on the two steel wheels Comes the lyrical skills that kills more ducks than oil spills My niggas run for the hills, I can track 'em through the mountains Rico kick that kind of shit that got more bounce than Roger Troutman So pass the weed to the top top-seed With lyrics as deadly as the VD's that make ya lungs bleed Plus, I dig like coal miners, through the crates of old-timers I be blowin' up the spots, like dynamite, with one-liners Oh, reminder – to my ex-bitch, when I find ya I'ma smack you for them times I had to star-69 ya So D-Loc, my nigga with the hat to the back Get on the mic and show these niggas where you at [Verse 4: Declaime] Here I am, doing shows, wall to wall Eight stacks tall, I still won't fall Never will I be sell-out poverty, some don't believe in me Still I get my verbs on, my verse on, I raps long You're dead wrong, all in all, should say the sale starts When A&R says go, you start with the dope verse And you're sold, now you're on clearance when the record starts sellin' But I'm not willin', to be uncovered from the depths of the under I'm under, for the duration The past, present, future revelation I gain the trunks of those who comprehend Because they know I send niggas through the other end Of this industry, commercial side envies me Females are freakin' me, no time for 'em At least not yet, just a few that I will call bitch I'm not a player, strict rhyme sayer, say your prayers Now I lay me down to sleep Don't sleep, I'm on the creep To invade the homes of the ill-minded I find it's fat, rewind it back – slack, not here, boy Wack to the skull-crack when I attack Unleashin' crazy chaos, you're way off, so stay off I'm about to blast off
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Credits
- Writers
- Wildchild of Lootpack
- Declaime
- Tash (Tha Alkaholiks)
- Madlib
- J-Ro