Lyrics I Know I Got Skillz - Shaquille O'Neal

I Know I Got Skillz

Yo Jef, why don’t you give me a hoopa beat or something
Something I can go to the park to
Yeah, there you go, alright
I like that, I like that
It sound dope
Bust 'em in the eye, Shaq!
You wanna fight?
Come fight me!
I’ll hit ya with the «Wa-psh-psh-psh-psh-psh!»
See, see?
I get dirty after dark
I’ll treat you like Spielberg, you’ll get your ass kicked in in a park (Ooh!)
You don’t believe me?
The proof is in the puddin'
Been a boy in the hood way before Cuba Gooding
I flip scripts with the mad pa-style, freeze
(Shhh) Music, please!
I dribble rhymes like Basketball-em's
People call me E.T.
(What's that, Shaq man?), Extra-Tallem's
You better than Shaq-tack, fool, shut up, liar!
I lean on the Statue of Liberty when I get tired
Than I’ll punch you in the stomach, I don’t give a heck
(Hey yo, why you booger hook like that?) Yo, she breath on my neck!
People walk around like, yo, they got charged!
But I’m big like Gorilla, 6'7 ain’t large!
I kick rhymes like Moo Duk Kwan Do
I smoke-smoke the mic-mic like Cheech and Chong do
You don’t like Shaq?
Frankly, I don’t give a damn
I know I got skills man, I know I got skills man
Surprise, look who’s back, not a prize from a Cracker Jack
Look at that, it’s Def Jef with the Shaq Attack
Flexin', I’ll be crackin your back with the boom-boom bap
Pass that mic over here, you ain’t gon' want it back
Everybody say I got fat, yep, but so did my wallet
Still ripping rhymes and dropping bombs like Khalid Muhammad
Do yourself a solid, don’t flex, you go sex
You know the time, get the high-hat, the Rolex
The way I see, if I was wack like you, I’d be at me
The way I hold it down, you’d swear my name was Gravity
Def Jef with the funk, Def Jef don’t front, you know how the name is spelt
I’m making it vital, and jackin' the title, fool, break yourself
Attack the track like Shaq on a whack broad
Coming up with the hits, and I’m coming down with the backboard
Don’t fake the funk, just make the sound’s up from the trunk
The reason your tape ain’t hit the deck is because your hits don’t bump
So get back, ain’t no hassle, cause you ain’t holding nothin'
Keep sticking around, you get beat down like you stole something
Sleep on me and the Shaq and jump your own hand
Cause I know I got skills man, I know I got skills man
Ah yeah, yeah, y’all don’t know nothing about this
The Shaq Man and The Arsenal
What’s up like that?
Double XL in the nine-ohs kid
Skills to make mills
Big up, Flava Unit, Funky Town pros, upstate, yeah ???
ya large
So check this out Shaq man, we gon' let this beat play right here, let all
The brothers and sister know…
Nah, nah, let me continue
I’m a be like Pete Rock and see what’s next on the menu
Mic-checka, the rim and rhyme wrecka, rocks from here to Mecca
(Boom!) Boom shack-a-lack-a-lack-a
I got a hand that’ll rock ya cradle
Cream you like cheese, spread you on my bagel
My Ford Explorer boomin' with the trunk of funk
All you jealous punks can’t stop my dunks
The brand new like Heavy, built like Chevy, Impala
But Shaq’s a smooth balla
(Yeah, but what about rhymin'?) I can hold my own
Knick-knack, Shaq-attack, give a dog a bone
Rhymin is like hoopin', I’m already a legend
Back in the days in the food stamp section
Used to kick rhymes like, «Baby, baby, baby!»
«Every once, every twice, three times a lady»
Is what I listened to, ridin' with my moms
How you like me now?
I drop bombs!
When you see me, please tap my hands
I know I got skills man, I know I got skills man
I’d like to give a shout-out to my boy Uzi, Def Jef, Little Swany, Meech
Ron Mac, and my other cousin Ron
This is another rough shot from the arsenal
And you know what?
Booty rappers, stay booty
Ha-ha-ha, and we out
Ahhh ha ha ha ha
Ahhhhh ha ha ha ha
Ahhhh… sike!