Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hit 'Em Up , by - Da Bush Babees. Release date: 05.12.1994
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hit 'Em Up |
| All hail the chaos |
| I can crush a man with my bare hands |
| First up to creep up so check out the bad man |
| (Ooh child) |
| When I get wild ya get done |
| Yo I don’t talk bull but like John I’ll pack son/Paxson |
| Straight from the motormouth, yo watch me wreck it |
| Sometimes I repeat myself like a broken record |
| Like a broken (what?) |
| Like a broken (what?) |
| Like a broken (what?) |
| So check it, got your girl tied up butt naked |
| Let it hit ya |
| While I quote the scripture (oh my God) |
| It ain’t hard, tell 'em what you say (bloodclot!) |
| Well it’s better, top biller, Ledzilla |
| Rap dealer like Dominos I deliver |
| Something, that’ll make you run and call the cops |
| Yo Sin up to flex knock a man out the box |
| Simply the boot knocking, rocking niggas nasty |
| Hell is the barbarian, brother I scratch the plastic |
| Corny MC’s, punk ass niggas who acting ill, chill I… |
| Murder and kill and murder and kill |
| Need a tough neck meaning rough neck to put it simple |
| I’m down to flex, I give a Shirley to the Temple |
| Eeeh, eeh, ehh em so check it as I clear my phlegm |
| Punks and chumps don’t like me and me no like them |
| The bad man, and rugged ripping flows |
| Snotty attitude kid I gotta blow my nose |
| Liver than a socket, can I rock it? |
| Kick it, like ring a ding ding, whitey grab hold and come wicked |
| Shoot 'em up die, shoot 'em up pull the trigger |
| Shoot 'em up die, shoot 'em up pull the trigger |
| Shoot 'em up die, shoot 'em up pull the trigger |
| Yo I’m the hands that rocked the cradle bring the finger that pulled the trigger |
| I was cursed at birth, pistol whipped by the nurse |
| I pop a punk bringing the funk chump, I even pop a Cert too |
| Trapped a sucker punk, yo sort of a bad motherfucker blood sucker |
| Son mud slinger |
| By the nub of my nine, nigga pucker |
| Mentally deranged sledge, criminally insane friends |
| Dude I cut your wrist with the end |
| I’m gonna slurp the blood outta your girlfriend |
| Punk/chump, put you in a comma |
| My blood thirst is worse I need to pick up a blood donor |
| Then I out |
| Boom bye bye bye bye in my hydraulic hearse |
| This is curfew time Mr. Man go berserk |
| Once again |
| I said I’m operational |
| The ill malfunctional, multi stational |
| Reverb victorious |
| Lyrically scandalistical |
| So heat up the grill for real verbalistical |
| Analistical, no critical individual |
| Rowdy, sarcastical, dread is bombastical |
| Funk-aphonic |
| A brother who technological |
| Annualically pass so add my name to the chronicle |
| Bionically ridiculous |
| Nervous reactional |
| Trackunally annical |
| Frantic when I’m acting ill |
| Open up your door before I come down your chimney with an ice pick |
| And beat off your toe with my vice grip |
| A biter’s in the corduroy, cat in the sandbox |
| Now it’s over cause that’s how it is when Mr. Man rocks |