Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Graffiti, artist - Digable Planets. Album song Blowout Comb, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 17.10.1994
Record label: Capitol
Song language: English
Graffiti |
| I got the concrete under my feet |
| I got the shotty right next to my body |
| I got the hood notes so street get your float on |
| I got the ease back style, watch out what I’m typin |
| Noise, noise, noise, noise (x4) |
| To summarize a lick at the man with the stick |
| Come strategy fight act like new york |
| Pieces can squeeze deep of the way |
| Why g mayors sonnies dis it |
| We latitude sway we determine the prey |
| He swings the whole sphere in original |
| Scare steelo’s weak soul scream and a whisper |
| Blow the house right over black people grow |
| We make |
| Noise, noise, noise, noise (x2) |
| I got the buck wild style that make you get hyper |
| I got the knowledge of god, sevens all in my cipher |
| I got the new york hip hop so it goes on and on |
| Use my mind, pen and paper then the rhymes is not |
| Mind held down well so you can’t touch it |
| When I discharge fools pray for peace |
| Beats all on my back it’s just like that in Brooklyn |
| So I vibrate and shake em off like fleas |
| Electromagnetic radiation, radio waves |
| Changing frequency |
| Here in NYC we get busy |
| Raps and peas, street smarts, no college degrees |
| Too many degrees the freeze not fakin |
| Fake snakes are bacon, honeys hips are shakin |
| It ain’t no joke so get your boys |
| This afu! |
| 'Ru what we do? |
| We make |
| Noise, noise, noise, noise (x2) |
| I got the power for twenty four hours |
| I got the love pump, Brooklyn don’t front |
| I got the fly joints packed, like that, like that |
| I got the slow motion got my float, got my clique |
| I gets live when I feel the positive vibe, uh |
| The seven gets eleven when I’m filled with the vibes |
| Now i’m flyin high through the seventh dimension |
| As I travel uptown to get a piece of the action |
| Then I’m maxin with the actual facts men |
| As we relax to a black ceaser flick and third vision |
| My movements is precision, supreme mathematician |
| Indeed I’m true and livin when I’m givin |
| What? |
| That |
| Noise, noise, noise, noise (x4) |
| Brothers with the blowouts develop your envelopes |
| Stamp it, amp it, raise your razor blade |
| Found downtown in the land of crooks |
| My pops say books, I say sneaks and name buckles |
| Pigs say «Freeze boy,» shit, I just chuckles |
| Fence alley |
| Walkin by them fronts from my jip in the flatty |
| Everthing cherry cause george just stole a caddy |
| Who bust dex was the question next |
| Dres said |
| Northbound |
| Then he sipped his becks |
| Then he clipped his vex, display the context |
| Beep code, street clothes and all the nose candy |
| Hotter microphone, heater the chrome jammy |
| My family consists one honey |
| Comrades, ghetto streets, more gods than greeks |
| The seven twos eleven till death toy |
| Now you understand what I’m talking about |
| Now you understand what my walk is about |
| Now you understand what New York is about |
| We make |
| Noise, noise, noise, noise |
| It’s just |
| Noise, noise, noise, noise (x4) |
| They keep lying together like fingers on the can |
| No outsiders ever, never |