Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Rip Off, artist - Canibus. Album song "c" True Hollywood Stories, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 21.11.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
The Rip Off |
Can-i-bus, Can-i-bus, Can-i-bus |
Can-i-bus, Can-i-bus, Can-i-bus |
Can I rip it? |
(Yes you can!) |
Can I rip it? |
(Yes you can!) |
Can I rip it? |
(Yes you can!) |
Well I’m gone (Ohhhhhh!) |
Yo, my brain races to create these lyrical mosaics like paintings |
To me record store and art galleries are merely the same thing |
I feel like I’m Rembrandt and my man Van Gogh is amazin |
Canibus is not some average rap patron, have some patience |
I went through changes, not being with the majors and all |
'Til my man Louie Lombard gave me a call |
And talked about some other way to cake off |
I thought hmmm. |
I could make more, he said «Sure» |
«I could put you in about three thousand stores |
And get at least fifty thousand orders» |
«Maybe more 'Bus, who knows your fanbase is enormous» |
Well of course, look who I’ve toured with; |
Wyclef |
I didn’t sell twenty million cuz it wasn’t my time yet |
I’m satisfied with the line up I rhyme with |
Kool G Rap, Pharoahe Monch, and Rakim |
Including future superstars I’ve worked with thus far |
Like Free, from 106 and Park |
You need to understand somethin, Bis is raw |
Raw to the floor, raw like reservoir dogs |
And mechanical mandible jaws, split you in half |
Addicted to rippin jackers, but I rip a jackass |
Before we battle, there’s two questions I have to ask |
Are you carrying any firearms, and did you pack your bags? |
Cool, cuz I’mma make you feel real bad |
And I’mma make you so mad, you’ll probably spazz |
I can see you tryna get me like they got Biggie |
Somewhere in the city, on a pretty day when I dressed in Jiggy |
And I got security with me |
I’ll give you a buck-fifty so quickly |
You won’t even know that ya nose dripping |
So much blood on the floor, you might as well be pretending |
To be mudwrestling a dozen bitches PMSing |
Sounds kinda tempting, doesn’t it? |
Dissing me wasn’t really worth it, was it? |
I’m buggin, I know a lot of y’all loved it |
And tried to convince the public to say fuck 'Bus |
But just think, I played y’all like a bunch of puppets |
You play Russian Roulette with a musket |
And got busted in your own nugget |
A twenty-one gun salute with no bullets and no trumpets |
While the rain pours and the storm thunders |
Your rotten carcass smells so pungent, it turns my stomach |
Attracts the buzzards, on Fox Eyewitness News coverage |
Rip the Jacker’s on the loose in London |
He slipped through US customs and flew to Dublin |
Frontin as a janitor in a school or somethin |
Workin for little or nothin, I’m warnin you DON’T TRUST HIM |
He’s a complete risk to the American public |
And don’t ever call the law cuz he thinks he’s above it |
Let’s get one thing straight; |
you can’t touch him |
Outsmart him, out muscle him, or out hustle him |
You can’t beat 'em — join 'em, you can’t join 'em — fuck 'em |
Can-I-Bus, either ya hate him or ya love him |
Yeah yeah, I seen you at Ruby Tuesday’s |
With a toupee, talkin on ya two-way -- you look gay |
Nigga I don’t give a fuck about the games you play |
I gnaw on ya bones 'til my teeth turn blue-gray |
Or turn yellow like I ain’t brushed in a few days |
And the blood starts to taste like red toothpaste |
Nigga this ain’t communion and that ain’t Kool-Aid |
Delicacies the FDA won’t approve in the states |
Like a little witch’s brew in your vanilla latte |
Or perhaps Filet of Dog in a Malaysian cafe |
If I was a cook I would probably take a half day |
Clock out and never come back, you keep the back pay |
That’s some metaphorical shit, all you have A |
Is that why all you weirdos all attracted to me? |
Look at yourself, why you even listen to me? |
Listen to yourself, your constantly dissin me |
Well listen to this bitch, get off my D |
If you don’t think that I’m the illest, that’s cool I don’t agree |
I proved myself, time and time again |
Grippin mics like Heinekens, who want me to rhyme again? |
You could never expire the fire within |
Killin me with a gun is easy, try a pen |
For the use it was intended |
I don’t like to be the one to start the drama nigga |
But I know how to end it |
Kill yourself I’ll take the credit — get it? |
You see that way, things couldn’t work out more pleasant |