Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Up Get Down, artist - Coolio. Album song Gangsta's Paradise, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 30.10.1995
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Atlantic, Warner Strategic Marketing
Song language: English
Get Up Get Down |
Yeap, the diction is on point |
Causin' friction when I flex up the jaw to hit the joint |
That can actually give a blood mob like Gotti |
Like the body cool, keep the strap up by the naughties |
Niggie trippin' why you beam us, I don’t step up with no bullshit |
See that there, it’s clip for this stickup on the hip |
Peep the correct way to get your pimp on |
Let me hit the bong, oh, and my mind’s quite strong |
Wreck it nice and proper, if it’s on I’m finsta to stop her |
If I’m swingin' for the knockout, best believe I’m fits to drop her |
Ninety-five's on poppin', representin' I keep stompin' |
Throw up my fists just like this when I’m mobbin' |
I killed the last, killed the ass with my ninety-five drive |
I’m deep like Denzel with my Crimson Tide, nigga |
Like Chaka Khan, I tell you something good |
I’m Hi-C like Spike Lee within tales from the hood |
You need it, I’ll feed it, baby, check the size |
Have you goin' down like Mary J. Blige |
When it’s poppin' like this you can’t be a coward |
Shorty freaks fuckin' beats like Adina Howard |
My squad is hard with players and hustlers |
No toleration, for fakers and busters |
Fuckin' with me with all honesty |
You get bombed rap songs comin' constantly |
Bumpin' G-15's, Westside scene |
Killin' the competition while making a fuckin' green |
So ring, around the rosie and mosey to the Rosie |
And I want you to know G |
We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us? |
So what’s the time? |
It’s time to get real |
Why you bust your rhyme? |
'Cuz I got skills |
We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us? |
So what’s the time? |
It’s time to get real |
Why you bust your rhyme? |
'Cuz that’s how I bail |
Watch me, swallow this nickel and shit five pennies |
I’m the loc’est of them all though the rat is kinda skinny |
How many linny and squidgy think they can see me? |
I’m from Compton where even in the summer niggaz wear beanies |
Bustin' lyrics sharper than razor blades, catch it from head to toe |
If you’re shocked, then amazed |
When you see me at my stage show |
For my stage show beat 'em up |
40 Thevz gettin' busy, rockin' coast to coast |
Dogs the most rap, the hoes then rocks 'em up |
Givin' it up for hip-hop victims how should I drop 'em and then pop 'em |
For poppin' like to get what I got, and I ain’t got a whole lot of nuthin' |
'Cuz I been ruffin' and scuffin', so give it up when I’m bustin' |
Or get to duckin' 'cuz I ain’t given 'em nuthin' |
Fools can’t get none, so fuck 'em |
Let me rock the motherfuckin' mic |
Smoke a whole stick of dynamite, then fight all night |
I got jabs like a welterweight champion |
The pocket-pincher purse-snatcher pistol-packin' |
Quick to get it crackin' |
Went from jackin' to rappin' to runnin' with a pack of mad men |
Pull a trick out my sleeve like Aladdin |
Some fool tried to play me for a punk |
I had to have him like lunch or dinner, he’s just a beginner |
Fuckin' with a winner, number one contender top dog |
Head nigga in charge runnin' with a group of hogs |
40 Thevz, MAAD Circle, Cat, and Crowbar |
Best to put your daughter, wack ass rappers get tossed up |
Trying to come in here with that garbage |
My crew see the dopest and the hardest |
So clear the path or get your punk ass bogarted |
We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us? |
So what’s the time? |
It’s time to get real |
Why you bust your rhyme? |
'Cuz I got skills |
We bust and cuss and kick up dust |
Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us? |
I peep game and get recognized |
Buyin' all the hard liquor, toothpick and beedy-dyin' |
Bitch, you got dealt, peeled your cap the other way |
Like a reversible Louis-Vitton Gucci belt and ain’t nothin' crackin' |
For them niggaz steppin' up with the funk, I’m packin' Tinactin |
'Cuz I be earnin' stripes in tight bunches |
All the homies carry nines, I carry rhymes in sucker punches |
What? |
Tootsie, my knees don’t bend |
Just like that actor Hoffman, I be dustin' off men often |
Jaywalkin' over your coffin with an eleven shot loss |
And John wrecked that Austin won’t soften |
You’re lost and see arson, to exterminate the flyest nigga like Orkin |
Stalkin' lofts men to New York and in between |
So take caution, leave the flossin' for dental hygeine |
Mental plus my gene equals nasty young bastard |
The raps be lung mastered takin' vinyl’s virginity |
Coincidentally I run shit like Walter Payton |
Niggaz player hatin' 'cuz I spoke like a Dayton |
I kick the bass like Ron Carter at the Carter |
When C and B came strollin' |
Blowin' niggaz up like when Mookie’s stupid ass got caught smokin' |
Figure, your stigma is lack of enigma |
So bitch-ass niggaz better step like the Delta Sigma Thetas |
We don’t give a fuck, fools better duck |
39 deep in the back of Wino’s truck |
Like robbin' in the paint, fool think I ain’t? |
Your crew is on stank, that’s why I’m pullin' rank |
I rev like a motor float on like a boat to kick a style |
Like Tical from here to North Dakota |
The ambassador of funk with amps in the trunk |
And when it’s time to rock a mic I won’t be no punk |
I bring death to the evil and power to the people |
My name ain’t Steve Miller but I fly like an eagle |
Don’t play me for a chump, I get around like Gump |
And I got more con in my verse than Chuck |
And you don’t want no motherfuckin' problems here |
'Cuz I can round up a posse like Paul Revere |
Your whole crew’ll get took out, turned out, shook out |
Burned up like a cookout, so fools better look out |
Fresh out the penalty box |
Sportin' a stockin' cap, cut off dickies |
And some high-top striped socks |
The freestyle fanatic psychosomatic back at it causin' static |
With lyrics still as tight as a straight jacket |
The last in line but one of the first to get wit' cha |
Bringin' more terror to MC’s than a Michigan militia |
Click, click boom, nigga fuck your crew |
It’s the chanky hip-hopper, takin' over pissin' in your stage monitor |
Socket you think that you can fuck with mine in your wildest dreams |
You best to wake up and apologize |
Niggaz penetentiary yearn me 'cuz I burn like Parker |
But anyway, half of y’all couldn’t see me with a pair of Blu Blockers |
The lyrical night stalker stalkin' at night in a pair of creased Khakis |
Chuck Taylors, my pistol grip tight |
Dub-C, that nigga from Westside mad circle |
Ay man, ay ay, what’s up Wino? |
Uh, like loc, it’s like late, let’s get the fuck up out of here |
Are we out? |
Yeah, yeah, fuck it |
Fuck it, mad circle bitch |