| Elzhi
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| J Dilla rock on
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| (Elzhi)
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| Yo I heard you was lookin for me
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| Well its sort a like you lookin to be in the wrong place
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| With your arms waving getting took for ya things
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| That ice emblem ya Benjamin and ya Timberland
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| My raps finish 'em like strokes to black citizens
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| Attack ya women friend
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| Pull her hair til its straight like she half Indian
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| Collapse many men doing laps around meridian
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| Aim for ya chest like I’m a titty man
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| Wit a fetish for feelin him wit a iron fist that lift like helium
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| What y’all niggas want shock therapy
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| Ya pop barely and fold up
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| Ya never blow up no
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| You full of hot air to me
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| Another rapper claimin he hot
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| But couldn’t be if he was Damien’s pop
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| That was once an angel from God
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| Get my jock out ya mouth now that I’m hot
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| Can’t believe nigga’s a stoop so low til they limbo with the cock
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| Well I’m
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| Tryin to get over like a Alche to sober nights
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| Y’all niggas ain’t spittin y’all just soakin mic
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| Getting hot headed
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| But my shoulders ice that’s why I catch the cold eye
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| That’s why you catchin holes guy inside ya four door ride
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| I left four more slide from out the barrel
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| Then my niggas speed a punch you in ya back to knock you out apparel
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| (J Dilla)
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| (Elzhi)
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| You lookin for me under a rock, a bush, or a tree
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| I jump on ya block and stomp you til my foot is asleep
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| (J Dilla)
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| (Elzhi)
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| You lookin for me run in ya spot bullet and heat
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| I bust off a Glock and snuff you til you put in the deep
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| If you want it, come and get it
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| (Elzhi)
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| Get ya best nigga out ya brigade
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| Bet everything becomes vague
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| Clothes become beige
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| And hearing sweet serenades and grenades
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| I bomb like Saddam twice
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| Smoke fills the room like the intercom vice
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| I’m wicked enough to punch you in your inner mind’s eye
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| Until you black out and wake up within the land of Mt. Zion
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| Whack niggas get screamed on
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| And highly retire
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| I got the eye of the tiger like Rocky’s theme song
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| Step in the concrete jungle
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| I bust you til you see doubles
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| Then watch all four of me reach for you
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| The heat bubble ready to cock back
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| I’m aimin shots at any nigga
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| I even got midgets wit triggers hidden inside of top hats
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| Ready to kill ya
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| We fully armed like Dr. Octagon
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| Skinny limbs that flip cocky arm
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| Cough up lung if you wanna tango
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| Best run ya ankles
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| You ain’t fly
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| Ya vocals sound dry like they under rain coats
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| And the same niggas that’s still after me
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| They get chills when it get back to me
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| Then peel back they feet like an athelete
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| Then when they turn they back to me dramatically
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| Them and the ground collide til they pop up on the other side wit the Japanese
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| I mean business
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| To oppose would be suicide
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| Ya middle name would be mud like kalauah slide
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| All you hear is slugs
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| So you move and dodge
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| And try to run for cover
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| I’m on some other, other, other
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| Skip ya level I’m above that
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| So what you love rap and you want mine
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| I make ya very punchline sound like love taps
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| They don’t hit right
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| Throw ya fist right
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| I fist fight with a mic
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| To submit like
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| To ya insight
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| Then I’m a leave ya area walked you
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| Arogant dogs
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| They claim you carryin sparks but couldn’t bury a corpse
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| (J Dilla)
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| Ha huh say
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| (Elzhi)
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| You lookin for me under a rock, a bush or a tree
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| I jump on ya block and stomp you til my foot is asleep
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| (J Dilla)
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| What you want, what you want, where you at, where you at
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| (Elzhi)
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| You lookin for me run in ya spot bullet and heat
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| I bust off a Glock and snuff you til you put in the deep
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| Say uh
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| (*If you want it come and get it*) |