Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song If Headz Only Knew..., artist - Heather b. Album song Takin Mine, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 10.06.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Capitol
Song language: English
If Headz Only Knew... |
Ah, ahhh, huh. |
Ain’t no shorts gon' be taken, word up |
If headz only knew how I felt about the rap game |
They’d know — I ain’t goin out |
If headz only knew how I felt about the rap game |
They’d know — I ain’t goin out |
«I'm Every Woman,» like Whitney, and Chaka |
I sparks the green lye, the choc' thai, that good ganja |
I stay mad bent, twisted up like a pretzel |
Rainin on hoes in weak shows like Tempest Bledsoe |
My head so heavy, heavy-headed, heavy-handed |
It be these wild niggas that I roll and stand with |
I be rhymin 'til dusk, bout trials and triumph |
My grill be like what? |
Niggas know, I don’t give a fuck |
I stay in touch with the streets, the corners |
Employed by the people, start slackin, a goner |
You wanna know why I keep it real, cause it’s easy |
Fuck the fancy shit, it’s the simple things that please me |
I sports fat gear, along with no name shit |
As long as I got me some cash, I don’t care who name on my hip |
I’m doin shit for noventa-seis |
That’s nine-six in Spanish, why don’t your wack ass vanish |
Demolition done, competition none |
Reputation unsung strong long ground what |
I got verbals, got herbals, and antihistamines |
I’m herbally and verbally distributin you listenin |
It’s more to it, than a Lex and duplex |
Don’t sell sex or 'mote sex sells, I got more respect |
Dressed in jeans, Gortex and striped rugbies |
With the strength of fifty-four niggas, word, that love me |
Hoes ain’t ready for the shit I got |
And when I finally rock they’ll see I turned it up a notch |
No more comin, but yo' crack is wide open |
Or try to be hardcore, claimin, you totin |
I hope that you be hopin, when I’m rhymin, I’m jokin |
My tech', is more complex than weed smokin |
Senile, it’s time that I get more agile |
Style versatile, FUCK doin a minute, in the penile |
Attitude hostile, intelligently hostile |
Not just the rhymes but my frame of mind will drop you |
To all the doubters, givin they opinion |
My rhyme style winnin so I’ll just keep spittin |
Yeah, I’m just nasty like that and I don’t give a fuck no more |
Fuck that herb and his whore, cause yo |
In my last game of freestylin I dropped fifty |
They did me none, mad jump shots and add ones |
And then the tech', for bringin bitches down by they neck |
Yo stop it, now there’s no need to get wrecked |
You play wild, but my style was flagrant and it’s foul |
I’ll have you wipin shit wit’cho white towel |
I crashed yo' bust cause you don’t think when you shoot |
That made it way back downcourt and caught a ill alley-oop |
OOH! |
Heather B, y’all ain’t know I get up |
Plus I make my lay-ups, so all you heffers shut the FUCK UP |
A team player, strategy the full court press up |
Fat jersey and a baggy short Guess |
Yeah, I even spotted 'em ten and did damage |
Let them pick the refs plus they had home court advantage |
But even then, I’m not one to underestimate |
So the whole forty-eight I banged out in the paint |
And when it all, was put on the line |
Tied score, second left in double overtime |
These bitches went and fouled me, they must not know |
That in the clutch, Heather B was gon' sink both free throws |