Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tha Proem, artist - DJ Quik. Album song Under Tha Influence, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: mad science
Song language: English
Tha Proem |
This my nigga DJ motherfuckin Quik |
We gon' take this shit back to the Mixmaster days |
And put it all in your jawmeat |
And wiggle it around a little bit, hahaha |
YouknowhatI’msayin? |
Party favors nigga |
Ahh yeah, y’all need a couple of 'em |
We ain’t playin witcho' bitch-ass either |
YouknowhatI’msayin? |
Niggas try to walk the walk, talk the talk |
But that bullshit ain’t nothin man |
I said that bullshit ain’t nothin man! |
Niggas can’t do what we do |
Damn; |
so what you need to do. |
is. |
. |
shut the fuck up and listen for a minute |
Pay attention — might learn somethin |
Don’t you carry yo' ass in the studio fuckin wit dem boys neither |
Or they put knots all UPSIDE ya motherfuckin head with the beats! |
That’s my nigga Q. I call him. |
Quik-a-lodeon |
Yeah. |
huh? |
Yeah. |
Talk. |
spit it |
Yeah. |
ooh! |
Haha, yeah |
Now off of two-fifths of drank (drank drank) |
They got yo' boy lookin for a bitch to spank (spank spank) |
Baby you can kick it but ya sister cain’t (nah nah) |
Runnin 'round smellin like a septic tank (ewwwahh) |
Girl you need to stop you know your ass is stank (stank stank) |
Runnin 'round beggin all the baller for bank (bank bank) |
Tryin to hit a lick but like that you cain’t (nah nah) |
Cause everytime your ass come around I faint (wooo!) |
People get to passin out; |
I’ma give you one more chance but yo' ass is out |
Now don’t you bring yo' ass back smellin like raw trout (trout) |
Cause everytime I see you I’ma bust you out! |
(Here she come, look out!) |
And you niggas with the demos (demos) |
Man you just as bad as dem hoes (hoes) |
Talkin bout your record comin out (out out) |
But you need to put some gum in your mouth (hell yes) |
Cause before I hear you rhyme or you get a beat from Quik |
Yo yo this Shyheim, and y’all can suck my DICK! |
Son you owe me, fuck the dough I want it in blood |
You was my homey, showed me nuttin but thug love |
Put me on to the game, bought me my first chain |
Let me ride shotgun, in your Benz and Range |
I’m thinkin how this big nigga gon', go against the grain |
Hit him up when it’s foggy outside, about to rain |
It’s about to rain teflon cop-killers |
But we ride teflon can’t-stop-killers |
I thought you was fam 'til you switched the love |
Now you, rich and fuck, you forget the thug? |
Heard you on the radio, but I ain’t get no plug |
And if you come around the way, I should get you stuck |
I wish you luck, I’ma make you kiss the gun |
And I ain’t gon' stop until my justice done |
What you wanna be labelled as, a coward or a duck? |
What powder you cut, you wanted that building for what? |
When you rep that building, what you said for that building |
If it wasn’t for me, you woulda been DEAD in that building |
You don’t know what it feel like to say I own that building |
Get dough in that building, or control that building |
You don’t know that feeling, you ain’t condone that killing |
Cause when the cops came, you was like, «Shy in that building» |
I remember the days when you was shook in them buildings |
You in front of these buildings, frontin like you build them |
When Scrams was home, you was on his dick |
And you gave that bitch money cause you always been a trick |
You know Shy Da Kid, I’m back on the block |
Bought the crack in the spot, spit back in the block |
Fuckin clap at the cops, if I’m rappin or not |
Whatchu gon' do nigga? |
Shoot or get shot |
I’m hot on the block like new Glocks out the box |
All y’all fulla dope, at the bow (?). |
what? |
Yeah yeah. |
yo |
Kweli, I’m rock this body and so forth and so on |
You can get the dick, one to grow on or one to blow on |
Bet you Quik get his dough on, I spit kick the flow on |
Got swift shit I throw on, cause I’ma leave what I float on |
Plus I get my roll on like Baby and Mannie Fresh |
After I go on y’all niggas’ll never bust like tantric sex |
The universal nigga that represent the planet best |
How I manifest from Brooklyn to Los Angeles — people! |
We hold this down like wherever you’re from |
Got my name all in your mouth like you pierced your tongue |
Pimped the game so hard we leave them whores numb |
The more I come, Kweli, I’m bout to blow like George Young |
I’m the Don Cheadle of rap, dope like arms and needles of crack |
My lyrics attack and arm the people like gats |
In Cali studios we rest the heat up on the console |
Peep Hollywood niggas who think it’s sweet like Comanco |
Claimin they gangster and street like they lookin for beef |
But with a gun in they teeth they just MC’s lookin for beats |
Y’all don’t want trouble, we pop bubbles and flex muscle |
Niggas don’t respect the lyrics, they respect your hustle |
The industry is like Kinko’s, makin copies while you wait |
And the people always scream for NEW SHIT, like Clue tapes |
Y’all speed this in your face, slow down like Screw tape |
Cause as long as you rockin with Quik, nigga you straight |