Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Olde English, artist - Dilated Peoples. Album song 20/20, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Capitol
Song language: English
Olde English |
Yeah… |
I’m a L.A. brawler, Gracie Academy hallway loiterer |
More shows get my pre-orders up |
Six deep, packed in a Ford Explorer |
I toured the whole world but never been to Florida |
They holdin my shit, all winter |
By the time the shit drop, I done already been there |
The game’s fucked, a thousand soundalikes, it’s sad |
Hard to tell the difference like they fake Louis bags |
I don’t fuck with that industry flow |
What I do fuck with, is that industry dough |
BMI, EMI, gimme all that |
A side deal with who? |
Why not, where I sign at? |
I used to do unto others, this the difference |
This year fuck with things in my best interest |
This ain’t the new, it’s the old from way back |
«Click it or Ticket,» man they forcin us to stay strapped |
Act like you know, right now if not ASAP |
This way was different shit, I ain’t afraid to face that |
This time, made up my mind, on my grind |
On some James Brown, it’s the Big Payback |
Four by four, eight by eight |
Twenty by twenty bars I demonstrate |
Still blastin away |
Spit and put the cash away, passion to play |
Mashin my way through this Babylon |
Out the gate I get up, I’m the one to gamble on |
Luxury lyrics I give free of charge |
Yeah right — my daughters don’t starve |
Holdin me down, pride and truth |
The immaculate Dilated Peoples crew |
Four by four, eight by eight |
Twenty by twenty bars I demonstrate |
Beat this down the block and you’ll be like G’s |
Movin on up like George and Louise |
On the low, in the cut, all about my cheese |
My folks, came up, in these L.A. streets |
I knock, and I bump, like 8:15's |
They lock, brothers up, for eight fifteens |
Defari is a method of truth |
If you wanna know proper etiquette in the booth |
(uh-huh) Hey 'Ru is the bomb |
Pure like sunshine, just one rhyme |
I’m on that Richard Pryor, Bruce Lee, Muhammad Ali |
Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Salvador Dali |
Now we rap Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou |
Out the disco Xanadu, hip-hop for the streets |
Now the beat swing numchuk style |
I’m like Jim Kelly tellin sucker MC’s duck down |
Heavy artillery with the heavenly spittery |
And third strike energy, rockin cleverly pitchin heat |
Fernando Valenzuela, original slangster |
Lost Angels, Atzlan to beautiful danger |
Call my travel agent, have her arrange |
South America, South Africa and Southeast Asia |
Then back to Mid-City we stack and get busy |
In fact, Drev’s barbecuse and Hustle got 'gnac |
The way I manhandle bully muscle the track |
Thank God I never focused on hustlin CRACK! |
It’s Rakaa with that educated animal rap |
I still fight back and question when they handin me scraps |
In the fresh denim jacket with the sheepskin black |
With the «Rest in Peace, Rob One» piece on the back, yeah |
— scratched to end |