Lyrics Come Get It [Street] - DJ Hurricane, Rah Digga, RAMPAGE

Come Get It [Street]

Land-Lord, up in the house *COME GET IT*
Rah Digga, up in the house *COME GET IT*
Rampage, up in the house *COME GET IT*
What?
Baby come get it (Rah: What? Nigga come get it)
Chorus: Lord Have Mercy, Rah Digga
L: Turn the heat up
Cause we about to creep up *COME GET IT*
L: It’s off the meter
Plus we tear the street up *COME GET IT*
R: Ladies G’d up, what?
Don’t smoke the weed up *COME GET IT*
L: What?
Baby come get it (Rah: What? Nigga come get it)
Check it, I come in sweeter than La Femme Nikita
Be all up in your hood like I’m a C&C two liter
The little honey that be doin her she thing
On some Mya shit, like «It's All About Me» see?
I bleed things, blunt slicer on my keyrings
Bra top, lots of G-strings, havin weed dreams
I’d be Queen if this the 1900's
Cause niggas gon get it, and E’RYBODY want it
I’m totin bags, eyes redder than a photo lab
The spins on your single, won’t even top my promo ad
Hard drops quicker than jackers at the car lots
Couldn’t get no harder if you went to School of Hard Knocks
The grimy bitch, sometime be punchliney bitch
So don’t make me go there!
(*starts singing to «The P is Free"*)
Because the groupies are free, but the rhymes cost money.
OH YEAH!
All my Flipmode niggas just bounce to this
All my Rampage niggas just bounce to this
All my Hurricane niggas just bounce to this
All my niggas if you with me just, bounce with this
Okay, this is how it goes, pimpin all you, hoes
Catch em outside the shows, time to get the dough
Up in the studio, smokin the hydro
Writin the hot shit, you waitin for me to go
Threw on the Ram' bounce, just shakin yo' ass yo
Bump this in your Lex Coupe or your Expo'
Flipmode Squad, we the ones in them videos
Catch us with the fly shit, but you don’t hear me doe
Rampage, professional, just move your feet
We bout to make you do the jerk, get out your seats
Seven days a week and we the Squad that don’t sleep
Catch me in the street I’m on the midnight creep, so what?
I walk the path, that Allah made, +Smooth+, like Sade
Got pickup trucks -- high-beam with the fog rays
International capital, checks cashed in full
Damage your hood, natural, spend grands for goods
Traditional niggas know -- scream on these players like
DJ call in some mo', invincible pretty flow
Grammar God, swing like gold from Panama
Twenty-four carat charms, with smooth cuts like Sarah Vaughn
Here we go, here we go -- attitude
Spit the vocals hotter than soul food from Baton Rouge
Come, sharp-tongued like Malcolm, on any album
Some got chrome like Sly Stone, what you about son?
Here it is, here it is -- handcraft the raw
Who the boss?
Human torch any Fantastic Four
Player, I be a point guard, controllin things
In the 4th quarter, it’s all water like Poland Spring
DJ Hurricane in the place baby c’mon
Flip--mode, up in the spot baby c’mon
Ram--page, up in the place baby c’mon
Rah, Digga up in the house baby c’mon
Lord Have Mercy in the place baby c’mon
Busta Rhymes is in the house baby c’mon
Whylin out, for the night yeah c’mon
Hollis crew, represent baby c’mon
DJ Hurricane represent baby c’mon
All the ladies c’mon, shake it baby c’mon
All the females c’mon, shake it baby c’mon.