Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Jam , by - Jean Grae. Release date: 03.10.2005
Song language: English
The Jam |
| All right, let’s get down to business |
| Pour out some Guinness |
| Khrysis, get on the jack and tell them they’re so finished |
| Christ to the Jesus, the Jeanius came back as a Phoenix |
| 9th like, «Yo Jean, I got some heaters» |
| Well, I got some lines that turn grown men |
| Back into the fetus position with they penis pissing |
| Didn’t mean to be the meanest spitting |
| It just happened, you know? |
| Like getting drunk and then you slip and you’re cheating (oh!) |
| It’s been a crazy year -- brought back the doorknockers |
| Baby hair, one sleeve up like Slim Shady’s gear |
| I’m writing with Afeni’s baby work ethic |
| Plus I’m Aileen Wuornos… minus the murder record |
| Plus I’m highly unconcerned -- you can find me, mouth turned |
| Like the smiley up on AOL (you're a fucking nerd!) |
| Fuck it -- so? |
| You fucks with it, though |
| The structureless flow |
| The seemingly haphazard, really exact patterns |
| So Jean is Jean Travers, y’all is just jackasses |
| By and large, the fact of the matter that I’m in charge, that rapper |
| That’s accurate, spectacular, fantastic |
| Scrumtrulescent, uncontested funky, bitch |
| You all steppin' cause this is the fucking jam |
| People turning the beat up, my people clap their hands |
| My niggas keep truckin', my ladies throw up your hands |
| Dance to the record, just dance to the record girl |
| You all steppin' cause this is the fucking jam |
| People turning the beat up, my people clap their hands |
| My niggas keep truckin', my ladies throw up your hands |
| Dance to the record boy, dance to the record boy |
| I need a private insane asylum to grant asylum to me |
| It could get violent quickly if you don’t believe me, God forgive me |
| An honorary anonymous superstar |
| Followed by the very time I salute where the stupid fall |
| A low road, but no going back |
| Not when you’ve got a fucking logo in the promo rack |
| Signing records, taking pictures -- you can no-no that |
| Gotta finish, gotta win; |
| as God as my witness, I’m in… |
| And y’all’ll have to jump me out of this bitch |
| I’m talking Eastsiders, Westsiders, Blood-ers, and Crips |
| All them Decepts, at least three sets and grips |
| And I’ll reset -- until then, it’s recess, bitch |
| So c’mon |