Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song R.A.K.I.M, artist - J-Love. Album song Legends Vol 1.2, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.05.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: J Love Enterprise, Money Maker Entertainment
Song language: English
R.A.K.I.M |
R: Rugged and rough that’s how I do it |
A: Allah who I praise to the fullest |
K: Keep it moving |
I, Stand alone |
M: It’s my crown, my world, my throne |
Aiyyo when Rakim Allah attack, it’s a wrap y’all relax |
The almanac, just show me where the party’s at |
Seminars and tracks, whores, comas, and cardiacs |
Broads and cats screaming «Oh my God he’s back» |
Just imagine, I hit the lab and get it crackin' |
A thousand styles in one verse, rhythms will switch patterns |
Chicks get stabbed in the back, till they get spasms |
Known to spit a magnum, or split an atom |
Who woulda known that Jesus would come back to the ghetto |
On that level, and that thorough, like a black hero |
And pack metal, so rap rebels, will back pedal |
The pharaoh of five boroughs, and take over the rap world |
Gettin' bizarre, hardcore, this is for y’all |
The crib or the park, play it when you get in the car |
Chill at the bar, sip somethin' or split a cigar |
Get with your dogs, don’t be alarmed, this kid is the bomb |
It’s the… |
R: Rugged and rough that’s how I do it |
A: Allah who I praise to the fullest |
K: Keep it moving |
I, Stand alone |
M: It’s my crown, my world, my throne |
Uh, yeah yo, I used to paint this flow, on ancient scrolls |
And learn ta, make this dough, where gangstas roll |
Think like the late great Capone when the bank is closed |
It’s cats that claim they bold, but they ain’t this cold |
I’m from New York City, even pretty chicks act up |
Niggas get clapped up, you stack up, they stick that up |
Put the strap up, you think my name was «Kid back up» |
Big niggas (spittin' noise) pick that up, or lift that up |
Raised by gangstas and gamblers, hustlers, con artists |
And convicts, killers and dons |
Drug dealers, playas and pimps, smooth talkers |
Stick up kids, thugs, real niggas and gods |
Haunted by every soul that lay dead in the turf |
Cursed by every spirit, that never made it to birth |
Since the Moon separated from Earth |
That’s why they say I’m the greatest that ever orchestrated a verse |
It’s the |
R: Rugged and rough that’s how I do it |
A: Allah who I praise to the fullest |
K: Keep it moving |
I, Stand alone |
M: It’s my crown, my world, my throne |
Ay yo, we toast to that, it’s the cat that broke backs |
To a soul clap, a smoke a track, how dope is that |
Poet for rap, wrote backs that most slack |
That know rap before they turned coke to crack |
To my dogs hearin' sirens on and firearms |
Outcome die in wars or behind iron bars |
The boulevard, tire frauds when I evolve |
Try and rob, my dialogue, I am God |
Chicks moan just to get next to my throne |
And sniff my cologne and get Ra alone |
Sex spot’s at home, I’m testosterone |
Caress spots, stress drops, bedrock’s the bone |
Hit the floor, it’s hot for 2003 |
Hit’s galore, who rock a style as wild as me |
Rest assure, when I rock dance crowds and scream |
Bismillah Ir-Rahman Ir-Rahim it’s the |
R: Rugged and rough that’s how I do it |
A: Allah who I praise to the fullest |
K: Keep it moving |
I, Stand alone |
M: It’s my crown, my world, my throne |