Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Contact Sport, artist - Hieroglyphics. Date of issue: 31.08.2003
Song language: English
Contact Sport |
| Here we go |
| Souls |
| We got a show in Chicago |
| 4 hours in flight, it seem like 25 though |
| call in the promoter |
| where is the chaffeur |
| out here it’s hella cold |
| and where we from it don’t snow |
| the wind chill’ll crack a windsheild |
| waited for dude to pull up |
| packed it in and spin wheels |
| now we can blaze |
| checked into the tel and |
| take a shower and things |
| we only got an hour and change |
| Dj lets to went and bought a seagrams |
| mixed it with 7 up i had to fucking |
| took a couple moments to smoke i get to cheefin |
| knew at 6 o clock in the lobby we all meeting |
| you eat man |
| i’m hungry as fuck |
| the airplane food what’s up with peking duck or some chicken chow mein 'fore we |
| getting out on stage |
| lets do a quick about face and get down with a plate |
| i gotta energize my body with some sustenance |
| cuz i never know |
| what the fuck i’m up against |
| promoter rushing us |
| but i take my time though |
| we get there when we get there |
| nigger you know how i go |
| alive on arrival baby |
| show me your Hiero thong |
| and they playing my song |
| the crowds maniacle |
| check 1−2 |
| turn up my monitor so |
| i can catch the vibes in here it gets phenomenal |
| honey in the front row climax that’s when i feed money with the wire tap |
| ear piece behind the track |
| bored with the engineer |
| on the fringe of fear |
| as they both got |
| drenched with beer |
| to a vicious cheer |
| you could almost sense revenge was near |
| maintenance might need astringents here |
| bo! |
| and the tension just startin to grow |
| i think the crowd thinks it’s part of the show |
| i thought i left that part of the O with marvelous flow |
| like when niggers wouldn’t back up |
| now we deep on stage like |
| callin me no |
| pardon me bro pardon me bro |
| pardon me man |
| excuse me |
| get the fuck out the way |
| wuddn’t my fault know wha i’m sayin |
| i hear you |
| oh shit sierra |
| pounds drippin all on the oh 6 |
| flex respects |
| ready to throw a fit |
| so meat head frat cat with that |
| abercrombie cap flipped back |
| damn near collapsed |
| my mind recaps seeing him backstage |
| with that bootlegged ninety three till vinyl |
| tryna get us to sign it |
| i could tell by his eyes |
| not laying in why |
| he was too high |
| headed for hard times |
| kept coming from the side |
| «yo daddy this our time» |
| you interrupt the set and sparks fly |
| even real fans throw their hands |
| yo plus get his legs |
| though i saw a touque fly |
| when old knucks hit his face |
| gotta couple swings in |
| fore i felt that stingin |
| burnin sensation (my eyes) |
| either pepper spray or mace shit |
| they tore down the place |
| while we stomped that boy |
| who the fuck said hip hop aint no contact sport |