Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Coke Bar, artist - GDP.
Date of issue: 10.05.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Coke Bar |
Worked the kinks out like «Look ma, no plans |
Except to milk this cow and live by the seat of my pants» |
So I have my own brand, Camo Jams |
With the D.E. |
Dead Kennedy’s symbol on my back pocket |
The progress from what it is and what it’s about to be like |
Will have whoever thought otherwise holding up peace signs |
Like maybe it ain’t register at all |
Til they see me on BET smoking dips with Marley Marl |
Like «Where you been all along?» |
On the front line, open mic at JJ’s every Wednesday night |
With Prime spinning 90's instrumentals at a coke bar |
While I flex my technique to a room full of ex-cons |
Bar sluts and assorted rap talent |
2 AM Crew would come through and bring the house down |
Til cops found out what happened when bartenders shook hands with customers |
Started sending undercovers in |
Two weeks later Che gets stabbed in the head |
I got the call at South by Southwest, puking during sound check |
Like «That's why shows get banned and fans don’t give a fuck enough to see |
their favorite artists live and CD sales are in a rut» |
It’s a dirty job but everyone wants to do it |
DD laid the blueprint, said «Make creative music» |
And then send them crews a postcard from the top of the world |
That says «You knew the rules of the game all along» |
Now ya’ll just watch me live the dream through your computer screen |
While girls are drooling on their keys and open up a magazine |
Like «That's that sketchy cat that sold us weed |
I would’ve fucked him when I had the chance but he came off as a creep» |
Last call’s at 10 to 3 but my money’s no good here |
Slip a Jackson under the coaster, it’s been a good year |
Doing what I do do, Cold Chillin' like Juice Crew |
In the Lower East Side on a fire escape sipping a deuce deuce |
(Like «Who the fuck are you») |
The reputation speaks for itself |
A masochist with incredible public speaking skills |
Check the mic, rock a crowd, roll an L |
And back to the motel with a van full of young girls I don’t know that well |
Repeat as necessary til everyone that didn’t pay attention |
Finds themselves caught up in the effervescence |
Of why it’s still important to press records |
Regardless of the tricknology or what your friends said |
And still release vinyl, new school cats |
With an old school mindset about ourselves |
Like sex cells, but my dick’s too small |
So I arrange clever rhyme schemes to spit to you all |
That’s Mr. Quotable to you, love it or leave it |
Buy it or download it, MP3s found floating through cyberspace |
Now who sounds dopest, (Don't front-) |
That white bitch got me open |
Head like a hole, face is like a nostril |
Evil Jesus out the bottle, burn my tonsils |
Hostile motherfucker, rough around the edges |
Lefty rep it like a billboard every time we session |
And I respect it like how me and the fellas make an entrance |
At least an hour late and wing the whole setlist |
And I respect it like how me and the fellas make an entrance |
At least an hour late and wing the whole setlist |