Lyrics U.S. Open - Grits

U.S. Open

Knowdaverbs, make it bounce one time
Hit the U.S. open, like golf, with your rhymes
Who you is?
Knowdaverbs, the like minded minstrel
Tight should be my rhymes, siphon lyrics through my pencil
So hold on, as I strike a pose like in vogue
You can call me origami, watch as I unfold
Beat me one time, to when Jerry made curls, and ghetto lashes with TVs player
candy-girl
Exchanging, with the kids, all the Michael Jackson moves
A time of escalation, went from zips to kangaroos
The group tripped my plan, minds when y’all first premiered
Though things look grey, and paper-thin, through the years
I follow the leader, the maker, creator
The spirit’s getting warmer than it is in Grenada
Me and the boys got ill with the clippers
Fina — for the parachute pants with thirty zippers
Factors of the seven, for Christ, never get slept
Rhyme a hole in the speaker, pull the plug that we jet
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
Bonafide, get live one time
Get me U.S. Open, like golf with your rhymes
Bonafide, original emcee, rapping 'bout the deejay who’s down with me
On the fader, he’s greater, and he’s my man
As he’s flipping up the wax with the steadiest hand
While the other deejays just stand and watch while all the fly girls clock and
jock
He’s the beat creator, human record player, style originator, scratch innovator
And he’s not an imitator, and he’ll let you know
Transform the soul dif, as he rocks the show for the factors
The debonair microphones, with the masters degrees in the M.I.C.,
Jump on there, jump on there, jump on there, on there, on there
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
C.O.F.E., on the strip one time
Give the U.S. Open, life golf with you rhymes
Jack and Jill went up the hill, to fetch a pail of aqua
Jill saw it coming, and jumped in the well, while Jack got bit by a Chihuahua
Now, Jack was screaming like a little girl, in complete and utter pain
He should’ve watch his back, before he got attacked, and joined Jill in the
gutter-main
In a way, I blame Jill for not warning Jack;
what was she thinking?
Just like a girl to save her own neck, and I think that’s stinking
The moral of the story is simple and plain, you can read it like a book
When you choose a partner, make sure she got your back, or your goose is cooked
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line
Stepped through the door, headed for the floor
The records he was mixing had me wanting some more
So I grabbed the microphone and I started to rhyme, as this deejay ran it down
the line