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Interpret:
Ice T
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| Personal
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%09
Emcees no time out,its time to rhyme out
Youve dug your own grave,now you must climb out
Dig out,crawl out,hide from the fallout
Cause when I get mad I go all out
ICE cooler than the coldest cube,dude
And when Im micin,boy,Im know to get rude
Criminal background,its time to get down
I use a silencer,dont like the loud sound
Off my mic blast,you better run fast
The last punk that popped junk passed
Spit on his grave,laughed,jumped in my stretch
Signed his bitch an autograph
Syndicate boy,I dont fool out
Youre full grown,schools out
You try to diss?..I think you better cool out
Cause your butt is smoke,if we ever duel out
This jam is directed,to all of those who expected
For me to cold be rejected,but now Im highly respected
And now their ears are infected
With dollar signs Ive collected
Jealous punks,I said it!
Personal
Take a personal
Take it personal,punk,Im talkin to you
And if they agree with you,then your crew too
I never diss an emcee,I wishem all good luck
But if you diss me to my face,duck
My style dont ramble,you shouldnt gamble
With your grill,I got a fist like an anvil
I write a record,lock it on the topic
EVIL and IZ dog the track,then we drop it
Record stores rock it,stock it,fans buy it
People that never heard of ICE-T try it
Then you try to diss? You got gall
I got gold on my neck and gold on my wall
Gold in my fingers,gold in my ear
When this jams spinnin,golds what you hear
Toy,this aint Christimas,no time to play
I aint no child,punk,youll get sprayed
Illin on a mega-villan
You must want a pine box to go chill in
Buried deep,creep,no one will weep
Cause the next night with your bitch Ill sleep
Personal
Take it personal
I aint East Coast,West Coast,new style,or old style
You wanna know about me? Check police files
Get out my face or you might have a bruised one
Brass knuckle prints? Yes,I used some
I aint here to boast,I dont do that
When I talk its straight dope,pure facts
I rock hard but still called a new jack
But talk shit,youre sure to get heard cracked
I dont drink or smoke or do dumb drugs
But my posses still labeled street thugs
L.A.P.Ds got all my boys mugs
Cant use my phone for the damn bugs
I live in privacy,dont like suckers hawking me
News reporters,some think they can talk for me
Lies,misquotes,changin all my words around
But if I catchem on the street theyll get beat down
They get money for hype-type publicity
They dont think twice,about dissin me
But thats a mistake,with tha SYNDICATE you shoudnt mess
I hope those punk reporters wear vests!
Personal
Take that personal
Now the words I speak to some may sound radical
But Ill explain,its simply mathematical
You diss,I diss,this is creates an equal
You reply to my diss,this is called a sequel
I reply to your diss,this is called a battle
Not intelligent,not very adult
So I dont battle,I just put heads out
A straight line is always the direct route
I write lyrics clear,to leave no doubt
Dont even have to say who Im speakin about
You know who you are,you just jealous
Cause you hear my records are million sellers
Try to say Im wack,out on the streets
While your whole crew is jockin my beats
See me on T.V. and in the papers
See me at a jam,and catch vapors!
Personal |
Eingetragen |
12.Oct.2001 23:10:52 |
Letzer Aufruf |
13.May.2004 01:05:46 |
Besucher |
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