Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Intro/Live & Direct/Brace 4 Impak, artist - Da BeatminerzDate of issue: 31.12.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Intro/Live & Direct/Brace 4 Impak |
| Dad-da |
| Dad-da da-da |
| Ma-ma |
| Ma-ma-ma |
| Ma-ma |
| Ma-ma |
| Word up, yaknowhaImsayin |
| It’s about to happen, Evil Dee in the area |
| Said it’s about to happen, said it’s about to change |
| Word up! |
| Turn that damn music down man! |
| Turn that music down man, your shakin the damn house! |
| What’s wrong with you? |
| This is not a club! |
| From Akilla to a killer, rap cats to the Catpillars |
| The hustlers, the coke, smoke, dope, and crack dealers |
| On the streets of New York you can’t find nothin realer |
| I survived gunshots, cops, and all fed squealers |
| We bled for the scrilla, chuggin shots of Tequilas |
| But now y’all gone feel us, cuz the mission is to kill ya Diamond is the slug, and thug the lifestyle |
| No matter with your love, cuz bro I’m quite wild |
| So here, take this rag and wipe your smile |
| Cuz when I pull shit, the bullshit might go down |
| I got dawgs in the ghettos, and the white boys town |
| That’ll die for the cause, I’m controllin the board |
| Through many cities abroad |
| From the counties of Cali, to C74, B I’m heavily lawed |
| I invest in, Bronx blots, from Rosedale and Creston |
| Top of that ho sale, and have my whole sale |
| Get 'em gear, a salary and hope it goes well |
| 'Til I’m shot or locked up and can’t post no bail |
| Y’all are frail, y’all niggas can’t fuck with what we into |
| Now you’ll be in parrel, and the nine is the utensil |
| Everthing official, made to get you raisin’issues |
| When the bullets blaze we hit’chu |
| Nothin less they’re grazin tissues |
| My mind designed for every rhyme you spit, I spit two |
| My nines designed to split you in two, get up in you |
| This is live and direct |
| Live and direct |
| You know what live and direct means? |
| It means live and direct |
| You motherfucker’ll get tore up and be tore |
| By the walkin bomb, that’ll blow up and reform |
| Grow up, then reborn |
| Told you that I’m a star that’s gone live forever |
| Serve a life sentence and get out and go to the bar |
| So nigga take that If I gotta go to the car |
| Or that that if I gotta throw it in park |
| The iron’ll wet you, the Mossberg pump |
| With the buckshot shells’ll turn a nigga into chinese checkers |
| I don’t even start writin 'til I’m on my 3rd fifth |
| This is what you get when Beatminerz meet the Wordsmiths |
| Everytime I go out, I cop somethin new |
| Everytime I throw this right hand, I knock somethin loose |
| Who the fuck think they can see me, might as well call the wife |
| And tell your not comin home and to take it easy |
| My guns don’t snoop, they woof, at them sissy-ass niggas |
| Type that acidentally shoot they foot |
| Desert Eagle to big for you bitch-ass niggas |
| Soft-ass punks, can’t take the cake back niggas |
| And you wonder why they suckin my dick |
| Or why I keep a suitcase with thirty grand handcuffed to my wrist |
| Or why the rocks could possibly make you lose your sight blinkin, on the wrist |
| Lookin like haledge and hazard lights blinkin |
| Royce the 5−9 and Tariq about to sprinkle gunpowder on all beef |
| Now who the fuck want it, nigga |
| Now hear this! |
| You little spit and chew out sound boy |
| If an stick you conquer my experience I will work |
| Ya must think a some kings in the CIA gettin crowned |
| No no no, no no no no way |
| Ya got to work HARD for it Don’t bring no, go up and sound until it get down |
| Come wit it! |