Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song You Have to Ride the Wave, artist - Heems. Date of issue: 16.01.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
You Have to Ride the Wave |
| «.and we grew up outside the realm of all protections that society chose to |
| offer it’s members |
| And so at a very young age one was aware of the fact that you were not going to |
| be given those protections |
| And you… you had to constantly try to understand what was going on and how to |
| survive in this space |
| Uh… and how not to… to go under. |
| You’re on your own, and then, |
| politics is in your life |
| You have to ride the wave.» |
| Loose bogies with parolees tthat got locked up when Kobe had an afro |
| Look bitch, it’s Daniel |
| Eat it like a cantaloupe |
| Bitches treat the demon like a youth potion antidote |
| No bitch, we can’t elope |
| But we can hit the slopes |
| Doing so much snow, like skiing with your eyes closed |
| Extraterrestrial, extra with groupies |
| Got 'em eating coochie in a downtown condo |
| Ya bitch look like Rondo, and mine Jane Fonda |
| Hit you with a hundred slaps nigga, E Honda |
| Niggas see me always give me dap, but they don’t wanta |
| Hoes always talk behind my back and be frontin' |
| Bitch, see I’m stuntin' |
| All your vintage clothes |
| Thrifting with your girlfriend, let her try my dick on |
| Nigga you a sitcom, about to get cancelled |
| Napping at the bull run, about to get trampled |
| First try to play me, make a man example |
| These ain’t came out yet, they hit me with the sample |
| Rap Louis C. K |
| Bored with having three-ways, about to have a foursome |
| And all of them Asian |
| Smoking on some haze got me looking just like 'em |
| Head in the hotel, watching Teen Titans |
| Zoned off that Vicodin |
| After we finished and they wanna try again? |
| #Style! |
| Ayo, this nigga ain’t even send me my fucking beats, son… |
| Ayo, first of all… |
| Fuck Mike Finito for making this beat |
| He said he got me, but he never send no fuckin' heat to me |
| So now you’re dead to me, you’re history |
| You see me, don’t say shit to me |
| You bring your girlfriend to Das Racist’s show she getting dick from me |
| They say I’m such a mystery |
| I’m ghetto yet articulate |
| Some how this guy from out the projects live, but still find time to read |
| Dostoevsky, Howard Zinn, Donald Goines, Phillip K. Dick, and Dr. |
| Seuss and use the moral as a muse |
| Obtuse, left angle |
| I’m mentally bent, mangled |
| Untangling my brain |
| With that Swedish Fish PINNACLE |
| I mix it with pineapple |
| Vic twistin' that white rhino |
| We fixin' to stick dick in two bitches thats albino |
| Ridiculous shit |
| Niggas need chips from this shit |
| Some rotten chicken and empty Entenmans ini mi fridge… |
| Enter my inner enemy, into my insecurities |
| Intent on ending any, intentions of being happy ya think? |
| …and life is a cigarette, death is an ash tray |
| Sound like one of them lines Lil Wayne’d say |
| My impersonation |
| My interpretation (HEEMS!) |
| I bring you Heems without further lyrication |
| Hindu Ralph Ellison, yo you can’t see me |
| I’m in a silk robe at the bank copping CDs |
| With guap that I made by selling these CDs |
| And guap that I saved by having a great CV |
| Yo yo yo yo yo, that’s a Curriculum Vitae |
| I could always say, «I did it my way.» |
| Got Vagabond shoes, and they stray all day |
| The St. John’s Way, to Bombay Project hallways |
| If there ever is a problem |
| Heems’ll want to solve 'em |
| My partner then’ll solve him |
| The jury’ll absolve him |
| The sentence of a mobster |
| I can sense it, it’s something like the Doppler |
| Radar |
| You’re on my gay friend’s gaydar |
| Something like a leper, you can’t touch me |
| Never turn my brain off, it never get dusty |
| Your chicks is busted, my chicks is busty |
| Up late on Twitter, I talk to Salman Rushdie |
| Like it’s just me and him |
| I got dirt on you, doggie |
| You like She & Him |
| Schemin' and |
| All the biddies say to me, «You're swell.» |
| She got a beautiful box, Joesph Cornell |
| Got a lisp like Stewart, that’s Kordell |
| And she from the west, that’s like Cornell |
| Your chick look like Oprah, mixed with Sammy Sosa |
| And she got a dick where there’s supposed to be a chocha |
| Yo yo yo (Himanshu) |
| Yo yo, peace to Danny Brown |
| Peace to the Bruiser Brigade (#Style!) |
| Peace to Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire (Brooklyn) |
| Peace to Arundhati Roy talking to Howard Zinn at the beginning of the joint |
| Produced by the one and only Mike Finito, my man since I was fourteen (Richmond |
| Hill) |
| Third World Fam, you know what it is (Corona, Glenn Oaks, Melrose) |
| (?) Squad |
| OTK, Out to Kill (Flushing) |
| Aaron Elmont (?) |
| Long Island and Queens ((?), Elmhurst) |
| You know, of course, Cardozo Bayside |
| Van Buren, John Bowne, Stuyvesant |
| You know (All of Queens) |
| All the Indian people in Queens |
| Minke Finito (Alright) |
| One (one) |