Lyrics Nottz - Ultramagnetic MC's

Nottz

Yeah~!
Hehehehe, uh-huh, uh-huh
We bouts to get gutter
You know what I’m talkin 'bout son, we takin this back to the STREETS
(To the streets.) on some Ultramagnetic heat (caliente)
Ced Gee, Kool Keith (Goody-2) drop it
Yo, feel me, here we go
Check it, uhh
We gotta rock, Nottz is in our pocket
I’m more tragic with the treats than a cheap critic
On the net, talkin shit, downloadin beats
Piss on the type of nigga that won’t go the distance
Take his girl to the World Serious, I’m behind homeplate
You thrifty bastards, sit in the bleacher seats
With secondhand pre-washed jeans, and hippie coats on
Alternative clothes, I never seen
That shit ain’t the STREET!
All you discount bargain hunters fuck up the game, and make rap weak
The previous albums, those are the tracks I leak
I save all my good stuff
Little pieces of shit don’t deserve to hear me at my peak
Mountain niggas with climbin gear, suck my dick
And hop in the back of your Cherokee Jeep with Cherokee beeps!
I know I come steep, the Ranger Rover
Play Sesame Street niggas out like Oscar the Grouch and Grover
See bitches wigs in the middle intersection
Back up the track and I roll over
You know me!
I don’t give a fuck who you wit
I murder you, your crew, and all those fools you wit
I blast shots from my 9, 'til I move ya kid
Aim one for your head, then three to your ribs
You talk a good one son, but all that shit is fibs
Your time is up in this game, you got a short time to live
Your whole career, was nuttin but hype
Your whole career, you talked about your silver and called it ice
Your whole career, was sold out for a very low price
Your whole career, your stupid ass couldn’t get your couple of weak lines right
Son are you tryin to fuck with me tonight?
(Nahh Ced, they ain’t fuckin with you tonight)
Goody-2
You say you loco, think weed out pojo
Four cuatro, a couple of rhinos in the barrel
I don’t think this asshole is gonna be here tomorrow
Definitely, I be reppin the Boogie Down Bronx
My method will be, lethal weapons of word destruction
And I’m growin up lyrically
Y’all niggas can’t do shit to me
Y’all can’t leave dawg, your girl be missin me
Pissin me off, have her go back, cryin to your door
I won’t stand there stressed, especially for broads
I’m not the nicest, I’m one of the best
You fuck with me I put exaggerated holes in your chest
I make your lung feel the wrath of my lyrical flow
And the heat of the beat by who do you know, you know
I said fuck all you bitches that don’t think I’m the one
If you pass by my block then I’m pressin you son
I understand why this shit is so hard to grasp
You in my class, I’m goin fast, leavin you last
Look at me now, 285 pounds — cats is weak — ohhh