Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Sit Down, Man, artist - Das Racist. Album song Sit Down, Man, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 13.09.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Greedhead
Song language: English
Sit Down, Man |
I’m from Cop Killer |
Never killed a cop, though |
More the type to burn a spliff and eat a bag of nachos |
More the type to read a novel, maybe 'bout Navajos |
On a sunny day I’m on the block in a poncho |
Venomous, extra sick |
Tell me how my bars feel |
Talk shit, tell me how the floor of the bar feel |
Young cocoa butter |
I’m fresh as new car smell |
Cynical lasagna loving cat |
Call me Garfield |
Graffiti goes legit streets |
Spray tags for soup cans |
I paint Marine Green Newport packs |
Now who down? |
Three brown, the slim thang |
I need a brand new van |
To tour so they can make enough funds to send a Sudan |
Until I’m high enough |
To type a bunch of rhyming words |
To tell you how I’m fly and stuff |
Writing racial rants |
Craigslist, start the race war |
High as space dog, wild as three caged boars |
Mom Dukes never told me to go to my room |
A wild juvenile, she threatened to send me to Dehradun |
That’s in the motherland |
Her lover-dad hit me with a broom |
Black and blue, at school |
Where white kids call me dune coon |
I’m still living this shit |
Something like a pigeon and pissed |
Scribblin' some lip words |
To a script, literal shit |
Belittled, we get |
Hit quick, you little dick |
Kicked in, Just for giggles and shits |
Aright, what’s up? |
Papa watch me on Google Alerts, hi dad! |
I’m at the Whitney with DJ Spooky, on an iPad |
Shotgunning schlitz in a woman’s can |
And catching some catch as you can key bumps from the bug-eyed man fan |
Can, can, can you do the smarty-pants can-can? |
So you think you can dance? |
Here is your stinking advance |
Back ends, tap them, stack ends |
White people, play this for you black friends |
Black people, smack them |
Moose spoonin' with candy flippers |
Whomever the edible panties fit |
Gets the candy glass brandy-snifter |
Shake hands with fans that demand a picture |
Like, 'Hey man, hey man |
Are you Himanshu, or Victor?' |
Soul dudes, show crew, home brews, coal crew |
Kool A.D., living contradictory since '83 |
Arkansas street, like a block from the projects |
HP some more blocks from some other projects |
Tally meter so we not by the projects |
Now look at me, getting nods from my projects |
The brother’s logic is stop when you got it |
But I don’t, got it yet |
So I’m not gonna stop it |
Street freak-a-leak |
Socialize with the fetally |
Meek shall inherit the earth |
Earth shall inherit the meek |
You can stare at the street |
But the street stare back at you |
Talk greasy, somebody take a crack at you |
Act the fool, somebody finna laugh at you |
Like dude |
I don’t like your fucking attitude |
Gangster computer god |
Mind slut’s my pseudonym |
Fuck anyone giddily, giggle, simply misery |
Fellings whittle bitch pitches |
But where the juicy tag |
First to always be the great choosy Brooklyn or Lucy Brown |
Harbinger of the bum rush |
Plus oozin' away a ton of more |
Buddy cops kiss each other |
Pederasts, priests fuck whores |
Let’s set the moral compass to something a little sacrilege |
I’m Pirate Jenny this whole town |
Black Freighter, I’m maggin' this |
Nobody sleeps tonight |
Keep your car alarm evening |
Perpetual garbage track |
Annoying ice cream truck jingling |
(Hey odd world) |
Conscious got donkey-punched by aristocrats |
Maniac, brainiac, fist-fucked in a dunce cap |
Looking at it from space, you can the race is just one lap |
The tranquility now is just future anarchy, unhatched |
I’m on a new drug plus alternate reality |
Some dimensional shifting |
It’s hidden from all the cowardly |
Gypsies read the palm and they vomit |
They give me back my dollar, hollerin' |
«Oh God! |
Get out you monster!» |
Mumalo covered a song and it’s a running joke |
My comedy is common is as greymatterConverted into runny yolk |
I’m not in the mood (stop) |
A lot more to rue (raw) |
Hot rod of intoxicants (roo!) |
Gobblin' your food (gone) |
Applaud to the truthiness |
Truly I’m a lost boy |
Half-man, half-smoke |
No joke, got it on -boy |
Take your little sad poopy-pants to the corner toy |
I’m gonna bring a blaze, bleeder burn a bridge, burn a boy |
Sit down! |