| Back in the days, my pops said Right on
|
| (Right on, right on)
|
| All the street poets in the house, write on
|
| (Write on, write on)
|
| Black people, right on, right one
|
| (Right on, right on)
|
| All my niggas rollin Chevy’s on deep-dish chrome, ride on ride on
|
| (Ride on, ride on)
|
| I still rock the party till the needle starts skippin
|
| I’m trippin like Pippen, Spice Rum sippin
|
| We’re mentally fastest, head of all our classes
|
| You couldn’t pass us wit a rocket like NASA
|
| We all up in the house like cocky-roaches
|
| Snatchin MC’s out the game like hockey coaches
|
| Fuck it, I’ll break you down like a bucket
|
| I like the bass hittin like a?
|
| Close Encounters of the Likwit Kind
|
| I’m sick wit mine, writin rhymes on picket signs
|
| It’s the J-R-O, you didn’t know?
|
| Goin off in your face like a dirty pist-ol
|
| You in the house of brews, crime scenes wit no clues
|
| You walkin home bruised, confused wit no shoes
|
| YOU LOSE! |
| Cuz you got the Dilated blues
|
| Here’s some news, my DJ rock the mic and the one’s and two’s
|
| And I’m out
|
| And I’m in My words are like swords cuttin the paper wit the pen
|
| Yo, Dilated could never be Annihilated
|
| I waited two albums too long, somebody violated
|
| We migrated to global positioning
|
| All the DJ’s listenin, Babu mixin it I pass the mic to Evidence for the assist
|
| Then I’m ooouuut
|
| And I’m in My Appetite For Destruction will eat you up for dinn
|
| Yo only one meal, get sliced to four courses
|
| I’d take me serious, collect your man and forces
|
| I strictly run off select input
|
| Played yourself, don’t have to shoot you in the foot
|
| Cuz you stepped outta bounds without making your rounds
|
| Now you come to my town
|
| Ask Rak (Yo you On Deadly Ground)
|
| These last four bars, I’ma heal all my scars
|
| I’m a underground cat but still like money and cars
|
| A Cali classic, that’s my word, and my word’s my bond
|
| Dilated Peoples, Alkaholiks, this joint’s Right On My homie King T told me Big Tash, right on So I’ma (right on, right on)
|
| To all my forty-downin homies in the house tonight
|
| (Right on, right on)
|
| To all the sexy-ass ladies if you feelin alright
|
| (Right on, right on)
|
| To my Dilated homies that be rippin the mic
|
| (Right on, right on)
|
| Whether you writin or ridin, right on Fresh MC’s must write on Even if you skateboardin, ride on Some of these freestylers need to write on like my homie Tash
|
| I got my write on late at night
|
| Burst a verse until they flow right
|
| My rhymes be action-packed, I wrote these lyrics to a strobe light
|
| I’m Tashy, the flashy nigga jumpin out that fast shit
|
| Your rhymes won’t impress me if you said em doin backflips
|
| I crack whips on phones, blow smoke out nose
|
| Niggas peepin out the style, hoes peepin the clothes
|
| A million flows off the slang, bizz-a-pow, bizz-a-bang
|
| Likwit crew is in this bitch, my click be off the chain
|
| Rap off the plane while crackin champagne
|
| Tash for president, you know my campaign
|
| First things first to get ya’ll niggas off the street
|
| You get twenty-five years if you part wit wack beats
|
| You coulda came to Ev, you coulda came to Swift
|
| That’s why we escalatin while ya’ll niggas need a lift
|
| So give me two secs while I crack this Beck’s
|
| And once I drop the mic, my nigga Rak is up next
|
| And I’m out
|
| And I’m in I pick it up for everybody in the house that spins
|
| My name is Rakaa, innovator of rhyme communication
|
| Wit Data like Star Trek: The Next Generation
|
| It’s Dilation, fan appreciation
|
| Connected nationwide, worldwide Likwidation
|
| Cali hard-hitters, we bump like car fenders
|
| (It's all chips) We only get boo’s from bartenders
|
| Better be sure, aim high, we top gunnin
|
| When we touch down, we hit the ground runnin
|
| Feds pull strings and watch me like Truman
|
| But I can’t front, I Love L.A. like Randy Newman
|
| To all the homies locked up writin home, write on c’mon
|
| (Write on, write on)
|
| Grafiti artists around the world, write on c’mon
|
| (Write on, write on)
|
| To niggas rollin on Katanas, quickly ride on c’mon
|
| (Ride on, ride on)
|
| To all the women out there raisin kids alone
|
| Right on (right on) right on (right on)
|
| Yeah!
|
| Broadcastin live from Southern California
|
| Where we at?
|
| Broadcastin live from Southern California *Cut up by Babs*
|
| Dilated Peoples
|
| Represent wit Tha Liks |