| Yo Keith man
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| I just turned off the TV man
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| Kids out there be thinkin they hardcore man
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| We gotta do somethin man, yo
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| Do it
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| You got nine cars, tons of champagne, by the cases
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| Two thousand people killed, fake murder cases
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| Videos exaggerate things you never make
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| Your style is all tissue, chocolate fudge cream cake
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| The companies back you, people out there wanna slap you
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| Original fraud, funny with a mic cord
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| Persuadin kids that you hard, every stage you tour
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| Cold scared you in a motel, you can’t come out
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| After the show, with panties on, you hurry run out
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| You petrified hallucinatin thinkin hardcore
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| You got the style now, you have to roll with 50 people
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| Lookin hard and mean, you ain’t pullin triggers
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| Did you pay your bodyguards, for actin hard?
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| You get pistol-whipped, booty tapped, face scarred
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| Down and out, with camouflage gear, and no war
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| You ain’t in the army kid.
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| Now your show’s packed up, you’re gassed up
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| I’m there you’re scared
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| You just turned trois, looked away feelin weird
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| You on the walkie talkie standin close near the door
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| Thinkin bout your records how you pop doo-doo more
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| Posses wait in Texas, Detroit for the bumrush
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| You bringin rubber, your crew is nervous smokin dust
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| You perpetrate your front, show your teeth, smokin blunts
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| Rappers cancel shows, ran away with stunts
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| Your manager scared, with ghetto mugs starin at him
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| Your crew pressured more, to even act harder
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| You took New York, down South them folks, wasn’t havin that
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| Three kids from D.C. pulled out, what you laughin at?
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| You ran out, funny style, girl style, panty style
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| Freestyle the same style last week
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| You was bitin off that kid Bo Peep
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| With no panties on, your rectum got torn
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| Rearranged, I caught you after the show
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| Naked out, butt out, cracked out, with two rolls of film
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| Tryin to sell pictures of your lover
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| With you, molestin your little brother
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| I smacked you and stole your pistols
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| Tommy, didn’t I raise you to go to Catholic school?
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| But mom, I gotta keep this up, this is all a front
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| This is just gimmicks to sell my records
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| The people don’t have to know
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| I mean really, that’s just me, even though we’re soft
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| Me and my friends all of us
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| We just make money, that’s all, it’s a gimmick |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Little Girls , by - Kool Keith. Song from the album Sex Style, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп