Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Five Deadly Venoms, artist - Chubb Rock. Album song The One, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 09.05.1991
Record label: Select
Song language: English
The Five Deadly Venoms |
Aiyyo ??, I got the batter, get the mixer |
As the trickster will fix ya a batch of rhymes |
You know that soothes, like an elixir |
And sticks your ribs so let the cheese and wine |
Or rather wine and cheese |
Cause I aim to please with ease hope the crowd sees |
That I’m, the man that loves to flam |
And when I step into a jam I just slam like Jordan |
And this is the world, accordin to me |
Rockin, heavenly hype and ?? |
steadily |
When I come in to rock’n’roll, I’m sure you will agree |
That I got a hype type of style a family |
But Diggy Doc gave it to Rob to rock and Howie Tee |
Now, I’m talkin about Omega Psi Phi fraternity |
Givin a little history |
For some people, their lucky number’s 7 |
For Q-Dogs, it’s 1911 |
November 17th, underneath the ceilings |
Behind the walls of Thirkield Hall |
This is a family affair, rather a gathering of the brothers |
United we stand, we’re not divided like the others |
And when I mention the word divided, you know what I’m meaning |
Show a brother something they don’t have they start fiending |
First the ear-grabbin, then the back-stabbin |
This from brothers that I call friends, I’m not havin |
The other negative things in a friendship |
An occasional whipser, gossip, a loose lip |
I once trusted a brother with an eyeful |
He told the next man, cause he’s livin trifle |
But now I’m not worried cause I’m part of a family |
United til death simply cause we choose to be |
An occasional joke, a diss, or a crowd pleaser |
Callin your moms a ?? |
look-a-like skeezer |
Whoever wins the diss battle, respect is given |
Fightin over words is not how we are livin |
Then there’s ?? |
word I almost forgot |
Three-on-one, no heat, but the rumor’s still hot |
The bro’s get a ho that you know is totally widdit |
There’s no need to be discrete cause you know she won’t admit it |
When I think back on the memories |
Just like these — is it a wonder that I love the 80's |
Well I’m Rob, a.k.a. as the Swinga |
Comedic at times, and a stone-cold thriller |
I got somethin to say I’ll make it short and sweet |
Me I’m the Swinga I’ma swing it to this beat |
Now I talk to a lot of people with the large vocabulary |
Colloquial language I’ll use that’s secondary |
And then there is slang and I would use that third |
And I’ll say outrageous things that might sound absurd |
But — right back into my large vocabulary |
I’m the type of guy that’ll always be primary |
Never secondary, to any adversary |
If they want to be like me, on the contrary |
They try to compete, but I will always delete |
I’ll leave them cryin from the agony, of defeat |
And when they try to return to repeat |
I make them hold on peace signs, say «Swinga I retreat» |
Well the Toad is immensely strong on the instrumental |
The lyric can hit and shock the pure metal |
Chubb Rock has a weak spot, creatin |
An iron maiden cannot pierce my skin when I hit top 10 |
Run for shelter, cause you’re gonna fear this tune |
More than you feared the age of Helter Skelter |
Watch how we behave, Diggity Dog and Dave |
The Roadrunner and Swinga always sayin that smegma |
Is the product of ten intense games of balls under balls |
I have Professor Paul’s |
Kicking ability, the Snake’s agility |
The ricochet speed of the Centipede |
And the devilish mind of the Scorpion |
The Lizard is unrealistic and simplistic |
And loitering is prohibit, the tune is illiterate |
Diggy Doc no, Ed Lover forever my brothers in crime |
They watch my back at the drop of a dime. |
when we climb |
And work and work hard and struggle to stay alive |
And strive, the Venoms, the Five — check this out. |
The Roadrunner |
Yo Chubbs can we make a little gravy and shit |
Can we get ours, whassup man? |
Niggas is takin caravans all the way to North Carolina n shit |
Whassup wit dat shit? |
Niggas don’t respect my situation |
Yo can we make a little gravy chief, whassup? |