Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Connect , by - DJ HurricaneRelease date: 09.10.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Connect |
| East, west, check this out |
| Check it, ye-yeah, ye-yeah |
| East east, west west, south south. |
| I got that east coast connect, west coast connect |
| Dirty south connect, so show some respect |
| When my niggaz comin through you see we comin correct |
| Who are you, what you do, who you tryin to threat? |
| I’m the wrong cat to call out; |
| we fall out |
| The police gon’have some dead bodies to haul out |
| All out in the open for the world to see |
| Avire-x to the z-i, b-i-t |
| V.i.p., you’re small time, three on three |
| Cause you can’t ball accurately, tackle the beast |
| Stomp it down, slap it with heat, bitch behave |
| Shit, we blaze to make a nigga act his age |
| I’m tryin to write the phrase that pays |
| You kick it with gays, dykes, and all type of wackness |
| Preach what you practice |
| Here we seperate the real niggaz from the actors |
| A&r's, mc searchin, suck my cactus! |
| Blackness surround your sight and sound |
| As xzibit hit you and you hit the ground |
| My chips ain’t never gon’be down, watch me smoke |
| And flatline the first nigga to cross this line |
| It’s the gipp goodie, we kick the soul slang |
| To yo’block, or they streets, we all gon’hang |
| We like to shine and ride, bump corners in our bumper cars |
| Top down, with the candy paint job |
| Import export up and down the highway |
| Old ladies transportin straight through the skyways |
| In the corner in the five (?) i got purple haze |
| Fat knot short sess with the tree ton (?) |
| These streets we run, rapper refund |
| You ridin up but we want yo’flows old like girbauds |
| We hold, everything it takes to create the odes |
| To north to the west to the south again |
| If it’s war that you want just pull the pin |
| Rules we don’t break 'em, we refuse to bend |
| If you don’t build right you better take yo’ass home |
| Cause some catch stray bullets all alone |
| I got the chevy impala shit, street scholar with |
| Collarless, japanese aikido with, rottweiler mixed |
| Top dollar dick now, swallow my whole nut rap |
| Gun in my mouth, pop shit, still sayin, «fuck that» |
| You have to listen, brew, trapped in a tragic addiction |
| Styles, multiply like japanese mathematicians |
| Cut cause chaos — my kicks kill criminals |
| I’m the subliminal adolf |
| I’m the bomb that’s attached to the time of a ticker |
| Figure or swastika |
| Quicker to pick a form of execution, pull it Bullet, to the head instead of eletrocution |
| The rambunctious, bump in yo’trunk shit |
| Totally insane, hurricane with pharoahe monch, gipp |
| Xzibit the west coast (??) (??) we got |
| New york wearin slippers and the south wearin hoodies |
| Ye-yeah, uh-huh, ye-yeah |
| Give it up, uh-huh (dirty south) ye-yeah, ye-yeah |
| Give it up, uh-huh, give it up, shake it Uh-huh, kick it (dirty south) uh-huh |
| Shake it. |
| uh-huh, shake it |
| C’mon, give it up (dirty south) |