Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song House And The Rising Son, artist - House Of Pain. Album song House of Pain (Fine Malt Lyrics), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.07.1992
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tommy Boy
Song language: English
House And The Rising Son |
I rock the ill shit, ya know I kill shit |
And then I build shit, get off my dillsnick |
Cause I don’t play that, my style goes way back |
I kick my shit one time through, fuck the playback |
I go off my head, you know I shave my shit |
And ya don’t quit, I say you don’t quit |
Cause I’m the Prodigal Son |
Ya get well done, just like a steak |
'Gimme a Break! |
Like Nell Carter |
There’s tarter on your teeth, homeboy ya got beef |
Well then ya get broke, because my crew’s no joke |
The House Of Pain |
Is kickin' up dirt and therefore inside the jam |
Ya know we’re liftin' up skirts, grabbin' on the snatch |
Feelin' on the skin, I’m knockin' on your door |
Honey let me in |
Cause I’m down with the «Freak Mode» baby |
I’m at my sexual peak, young lady |
Ain’t nobody cooler than my man Son Dueler |
Don’t ya fuck around, I’ll smack your knuckles with a ruler |
Just like a nun from a Catholic school |
I’ll make ya drool, and play the fool |
Snatch ya by the ears, smack ya up like a queer |
Take a puff off my blunt, and then sip my beer |
Kick the mean style, leave bodies in a pile |
Everlast is my name, I’m from the House Of Pain |
You know that I never play the punk role |
Cause I’m a white Irish man with a funk soul |
That’s what it is y’all, that’s what it is (That's what it is) |
Smooth like Beretta, quicker than a Jettta |
You’re soft like a feather, you little bed wetter |
Baby, baby, I heard you caught the rabies |
Bitin' on my shit, I have to say maybe |
Son’ll be rockin' until tomorrow |
Cause I’ve got the right one, like Ray Charles |
Follow, swallow, the funk pass the bottle |
Cause I get wrecked like if I crashed my auto |
I’ll play it, I’ll win it |
I’ve done it, I did it |
Some say I’m kiddin' |
But right at this minute |
I’ll freak it, I’ll funk it |
And like a country bumpkin |
From Alberquerque, who’s gonna carve the turkey |
Ready, serve, entertain like Merv |
Griffin, sniffin' panties, I’m a perv |
The Doobie funk fellow, smooth like a jello |
Some say mellow, complicated like a dello |
The freakin' who’s speakin' |
Freaks it every weekend |
Cause I’ll be trick or treatin' |
I used to drive a Lincoln |
Drivin', speedin', hey rid, I’m readin' |
I make more money than that kid Alex Keaton |
I rip flesh, yes y’all, run for the mess hall |
And get your grub while I’m rhymin' on your dub |
Gettin' play at the club, then I step to the pub |
And crack a brew, what the fuck ya gonna do? |
(Nothing) |
I rip shit, kill it, cut your gut and spill it |
Treat ya like a gas tank, take your ass and fill it |
And take ya for a ride to where I reside |
Put your face in my pillow, and have ya weepin' like a willow |
I tax that butt, wax that ass |
Bust a nut in your teeth, then wait for you to beef |