Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Rooftop, artist - Das Racist. Album song Sit Down, Man, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 13.09.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Greedhead
Song language: English
Rooftop |
| Das Racist as an end to mindwash religion |
| Nowhere politics, bogus philosophies |
| Probably, possibly a mockery of monarchy |
| I’m complex like Cournot’s duopoly quantities |
| Rooftop, like we bringin' '88 back |
| White girls, Big Wheels, fortunes, Sajak |
| Mixtapes, many tapes, Mel Gibson «Payback» |
| Laid back, stay crack, eat those, stay fat |
| Engine, engine number nine |
| I’m on that New York transit line |
| I’m ill, everything I touch is a grill |
| With diamonds that’s chill, for real, I’m I’ll |
| I’m wack, like You, Me and Dupree |
| I’m ill like buy one get one free |
| I’m wack, like nobody wanna touch me |
| I’m ill like making jokes and burning Dutchies |
| I’m cliche, I feel as high as a rooftop |
| Contradict myself in raps like 2Pac |
| I ride gnarly till I’m Farley that’s dearly departed |
| And the party don’t start till I’m gettin' it started |
| When the party get started, then I’ll get with ya darlin |
| I give it cause she want it, then I dip from your darlin |
| Before the next morning, I won’t give her no warnin' |
| I’m listening to Warning, I’m out the door stormin' |
| Maybe towards like a rooftop or a barbecue or somethin' |
| Rooftop |
| Rooftop |
| Rooftop |
| Rooftop |
| Meet the man of your dreams about dyin' |
| Came up in the land of the free if y’all buyin' |
| When he ain’t cheatin' or stealin' it’s all lyin' |
| On the 108th Street in Queens you might find 'em |
| Wildin', out for the night, dusk and daytime |
| Where the fuck you find the guff to even say rhymes |
| Get yourself stuffed by three browns and a beige guy |
| Hold down the fort and raise the roof at the same time |
| Das Racist, goodness gracious |
| Great balls of 8 Balls smooshed in faces |
| Break falls with cake, ya’ll hood rich famous |
| Lifestyles is type wild, ditch the cages |
| All the rage, kid, save your dollars |
| Cop that for moms, dads, nanas, papas |
| Top hats and big wigs powdered proper |
| So on the money he’s a founding father |
| Dodger, conniver, preach to choirs |
| Lied when he said his pants was on fire |
| Ants in his pants, your uncle’s none wiser |
| Escape with a string and a toothpick, MacGyver |
| Fuck what them dumb youngster crews pop |
| Who hot? |
| Who got they shoes stepped on on whose block? |
| No one ever heard of 'em yet like they some cool cops |
| When that shit drop it hit like it fell from a |
| Heh, third verse, similar to the first two |
| Beat sounds hard like somebody finna hurt you, right? |
| Hey kids, you like Don Imus? |
| Das Racist |
| Under your eyelids, phosphenes |
| A vase clean bizarro nasty |
| See me like it’s fuckin' up your eyes, blepharoplasty |
| Wikipedia that, if you didn’t know |
| We aight but media cats think we clever though |
| Are we? |
| You may never know |
| Speedy Gonzales couldn’t see how quick the cheddar go |
| Smartest dumb guys in the room |
| Run guys, it’s the mulatto Jeff Koons |
| They taco the best balloons |
| That’s breasts, you goons |
| I’mma festoon the room |
| Like Daniel Day-Lewis |
| They couldn’t even hold a candle if they Buddhist |
| (get that? hahahahahaha) |
| Yeah we eating! |
| Aw made you soup |
| You a slave to a bleep in the beat loop |
| Play it in your Jeep, coupe, hooptie or beetroot juice-powered hippie van |
| Never really need to ask «Can he?» |
| «Yeah, Vic he can» |
| He like a Spick He-man |
| Master of the universe, nobody can doo-doo worse |
| Than I do-do |