Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Buckingham Palace, artist - Canibus. Album song Can-i-bus, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Buckingham Palace |
Aiyyo I stand outside the gates of Buckingham Palace |
Selling reefer, puffin the chalice with the Beefeaters |
Gettin so high that whenever I drop shit |
it’ll land on the window of your airplane cockpit |
Canibus with the hot shit, Crazy I. Click |
Niggaz is bloody idiots thinkin that they can stop this |
I’ll increase my strength, to a super human extent |
Nigga your rhyme ain’t worth sixpence |
And if you can hear, smell, see, touch, and taste |
then you don’t need six senses to feel me punch you in the face |
From Brixton, to Clapham Common, my lyrics invade Europe |
like Joseph Stalin, and murder niggaz for rhymin |
Spittin fire, with gasoline for saliva |
As drunk as Lady Diana’s driver wit reporters behind her |
Alcohol in the hands of a minor |
I got you panickin like bombs, with 30 second timers |
Clear the buildin, evacuate women and children |
Fuck what you feelin nigga, I came here to kill em Straight shittin, from New York to Great Britain |
And when we do shows we make the Queen pay admission, what! |
Chorus: Canibus (and crowd) |
When I say Can-I you say Bus |
Can-I (BUS!) Can-I (BUS!) |
Yo, when I say Can-I you say Bus |
Can-I (BUS!) Can-I (BUS!) |
Yo. |
yo. |
Yo prepare for the worst |
This next verse is the face of death |
Me without lyrics is like a porn flick without sex |
Illmatic, my lyrical skills are Jurassic |
With more flavor then Skittles when I’m digitally mastered |
I go off like a cannon and blow up the planet |
with No Fear, like them clothes white boys be wearin |
I’m tougher than denim, lethal like venomous snake bites |
The marijuana makes my eyes bright red like brake lights |
There ain’t a party I couldn’t rock, believe that |
There ain’t a microphone brave enough to give me feedback |
I’m strong, my word is Bond like James |
Niggaz be tryin to test, but they 'week'like seven days |
MC’s run away when I kick it; |
they act so chicken |
they should come with a large drink and a biscuit |
My style’s radioactive, massive atomic |
I plan to push the Earth in front of Halley’s Comet |
Breakin the +Facts of Life+ down like Tudy, I’m raw like sushi |
with more +Vocab+, than three fuckin Fugees |
So recognize or be hospitalized |
cause lyrically on a scale of one to ten I’m twenty-five |
Yo, yo, a little bit of weed and some Henessey |
got me ready to set it with kinetic energy |
See I need much more energy then my enemies |
If I wanna make more Bill’s then Bellamy |
So I could be on MTV |
with women constantly tellin me I resemble Billy Dee |
I make fly rhymes to get my name on the scene |
Then when I’m on the scene I do shows to get the green |
Then I take the green, buy a automobile machine |
for that thing on page 43, in Jet Magazine |
Canibus is the ultimate executioner’s dream |
Swingin the guillotine, cause whenever the head is severed |
from the human body with a sharp enough weapon |
the brain remains conscious for ten seconds |
Long enough for me to give you one last message |
And when you get to Hell you can tell Lucifer I said it Don’t ever get it confused, fuckin with Canibus |
the human Rubix Cube like you got somethin to prove |
Yo, whoever grabs the mic after me’ll get booed |
Get everything in the club thrown at you and your crew |
From Moet bottles to bar stools, fruits and foods |
You got a album out, you get hit with your CD too |
Runnin outside, cryin, lyin, denyin |
that you ain’t The Gay Rapper, but you got fucked by him |
What’s the difference? |
Y’all niggaz still ain’t in lyrical fitness |
Too busy mixin your bid’ness with your bitches |
While I be in the lab composin forbidden scriptures |
So wicked I got, Satan ejaculatin on his fingers |
Like Dirk Diggler, in the middle of +Boogie Nights+ |
Sniffin white, livin the hype, he ruined his life |
But I’m a MC of a different type, yeah that’s right |
Make sure your shit is tight, or I’ma snatch yo’mic, nigga! |