Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Be OK, artist - Bahamadia. Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Be OK |
| Mediocre rappers gettin all this play |
| While the underground rappers stay around the way |
| Even up and coming heads gettin lead astray |
| But us female rappers gon' be OK |
| Yo, this is the orifice to mythical mindstate |
| I’m pure as opposed to the fakes y’all makin legends of |
| It’s ridiculous, showin wack niggas and chickens love |
| Cause they playin in rotation and constantly gets buzz |
| But it’s aight though, majority rule for this hype so |
| I play the background until it’s my turn to blow |
| Never jeal', record it like I see it cause my vision swirl |
| Minus the weave and nails you gettin rawness from Illadelph |
| Uhh, I bounce the Reebok’s, and smoke Hawaiian cheebas |
| With the ese’s, with Pepe’s, and the mida’s, with Fila’s |
| And come back to lay the vocals |
| Milky like Total, tighter than Krunch’s |
| I showstop they homegrown like contraceptive sponges |
| With cutthroat raps, plus I’m fuckin with the SP-1200's |
| And 950's, when C-Low's fuckin with me |
| Loop kick snare link it up with the semi |
| I set warfare like when the doctor yell «Clear!» |
| Hits below the belt but no bitin on the ear |
| I’m worser than a Colt boy with punchlines trife |
| Battle 40 MC’s and make em take they own life |
| Now what’s this talk about a marketing scheme? |
| Nigga please, I crush all MC’s ?sardi deez? |
| Dead or as they take em, you faker than Muslims eatin bacon |
| Or growin' some dreads, now you Jamaican (bwoy) |
| My thoughts lose you, in the logic that they glue to |
| Diverse channels they move through when I will spit influential |
| Workin on your mental sort of like sermons at holy temples |
| Neotepic and nimble when deeper than baby dimples |
| Style the vulture, I laced it so you could observe closely |
| These opuses unfolding insuring the heads quote me |
| Off the top of written each time I finesse it I be shittin skill |
| Infinite, bask in the eloquence internet |
| You know the repoitoire, ghetto platinum rap star |
| Sixteen bars of inspiration from Allah rightfully God |
| And these Goddess poetics, reflectin off geocentric |
| 720 essence promoted to Earth lesson |
| I shine like flourescent whenever I’m blessin it |
| Fuckin with these independents now and lovin it |
| Yeah, cataclysmic, Rah Digga be the rhythmic |
| Cutie who can shit raps, like government get kickbacks |
| Hit em overseas with the hellified remix |
| Cause everything I hustle, like Blaj and Jay-Z shit |
| I want my videos filmed on location |
| Blow up the station if I ain’t in rotation (yeah) |
| Knee deep in patients, on a cowboy ranch |
| Now I found a new branch, Golden Girl like Blanche |
| Out to take niggas bank, make em walk the plank |
| Spot’s yanked when I make it Big like Tom Hanks |
| Fuck East, fuck West, I’m comin from up North |
| Baby tryin to see Glory like the 54th |
| And I, even set it on all y’all she-rappers |
| Get out of line I make you look like Wee Papa, Girls |
| My MC skills are for building |
| Ship a million, shit square like Sicilian |
| Motion 360 nor-mal |
| Chick pals, Lord Chief Kamange, X2 |
| Nine-eight, Rah Digga, Bahamadia |