Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song It's My Thang '99, artist - DJ Clue. Date of issue: 31.12.1997
Song language: English
It's My Thang '99 |
| Aiyyo, we got these hoes spreaded out like mustard |
| The Squad go to war like General Custer |
| I just lost my a-alike, and I’m takin it hard |
| And havin bad dreams of spooky voices and graveyards |
| First of all, I’m the E of EPMD |
| Rockin the Player Way like Eightball & MJG |
| Squadron, my click be fully armed |
| I got dough, my account be fat and formed |
| Drinkin a Beck’s, all day I think about sex |
| Got the gaze to knock the «A» off your 'Virex |
| Who am I? |
| D-O, my M-O is fuck P-O |
| Luv ta Fuck Ya, fuck ya, fuck ya, fuck ya |
| Aiyyo I detonate on impact |
| So niggas better get back |
| The playahaters stay off the dick, P ain’t wit that |
| The blunt, I split that, bust a four wit the kick back |
| No need to stress that chickenhead nigga, already hit that |
| I put the pow in the wow like gun to the powder |
| Give the hardcore niggas something they could be proud of |
| I get out of hand like I lost my arm |
| Decipher the head of c-cipher like Voltron |
| Who got wins? |
| those that be hard pretend |
| You got skills? |
| come here, let me tap that chin |
| Bing, my style ropa-dope around the ring |
| I’m well promoted, and don’t even know Don King |
| Call me the Sam Cassell, shots two minute on the clock |
| Cops know the SL handle well |
| Can tell by the nails you frail |
| We can battle till your girl big ass feet out them Chanels |
| Aiyyo my brain attack this hip hop shit aggressively |
| My recipe, mixed wit stress and niggas testin me |
| Consecutively, five golds so technically |
| You niggas got a long way to go to catch the PMD |
| Aiyyo we put you to the test, put it through your chest |
| Make a mothafucker catch a cardiac arrest |
| Live out the Fresh Fest, one of the best |
| I asked my nigga Red Alert, he said «YEESSSSS» |
| I intimidate MC’s from the throwing of my vocal tone |
| It don’t work, I show em the chrome and flash the greens |
| Coincide wit the red beam, and hear about it all day on Street Scene |
| I Welcome niggas like Kotter to the night marauder |
| Pull out my gat, you’ll be like «AAAGH!!» |
| like Godfather |
| I hang small, but when I’m hard I’m gigantic |
| In fact, my big-ass dick sunk the Titanic |
| An MC massacre, got a click and crew ready to blast at ya |
| (Why these niggas mad, P?) cuz we the masters (CLUE!!) |
| We catch you niggas wit glass, and who you gon askin |
| Like you gaspin, backin up while P’s blastin |
| I’ll be like «ROOF!!» |
| Get At Me Dog like DMX |
| Keith Murray pack a black tech |
| And I don’t give a fuck, I can’t be touched |
| Females jump in my flow like double-dutch |
| My technique, knock niggas off they feet (why) |
| I’m Ultimate, like the fuckin break beat |
| It’s My Thing, back wit the sequel |
| Hold my Squad down wit the chrome desert eagle |
| Yo, I go back like straps, puttin Lee patch where your knee at |
| Puff wit mi-das, and no Civics wit the ski racks |
| Shut niggas down that be tryin to win |
| I’ll be like «Wha What What!» |
| like I’m from CNN |
| So peep the Thriller of Manilla, wreck shit like Godzilla |
| Drink Old English, can not stand Miller |
| MC’s cold rockin till the party’s through |
| Then they tap me on the shoulder and say «This Bud’s for you» |
| *echoing* |
| DJ Clue, The Professional, uh-huh |