Lyrics You Get Yours - Kool Keith, Kutmasta Kurt

You Get Yours

Yo Keith, what up?
This is DJ Kutmasta Kurt
You know I get about 82 thousand 3 million records in the mail
But now I can only play about 2, what’s up with that?
There are 8 billion 2 thousand white black records
They on my scrotum they should be on whack records
I know the industry is wet like a labia
Everybody’s crazy, gone hysterical
Def Jam flopped, the whole Epic was a miracle
M.C.'s came psycho, toy like Tyco
Poppin' that weak shit like Myers, you ain’t Michael
I left my sons in space behind years ago
Coco puffs, your crew remind me of a Cheerio
You’re like a condom, an old piece of dried up sperm
Don’t try to mess with me, you rappin' fuckin' germ
M.C.'s come up they call themself now Papa
I’m entertained watchin' prime time do do droppa
You dissed the naked man, you ain’t the boss man
I run over panties and heads with a Range Rover
I kidnap Amy, grab my tapes back from Marc Genova
And stick an enema pipe right into Faith Newman
You think I’m Lincoln, Abraham or Harry Truman
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
One two, one two copycats sound like my wife
You on my balls kiddie style man sound like Phife
I’m illin' tonight, you see me stand with Suge Knight
You rappers are scared, now wet rectums get tight
You might as well sing a simple song like you’re Brandy
You wanna be down, put panties on I’ll call you Sandy
Like Stu watchin' his back, yo that shit is fine
Hold 'em and piss David Berk wanna blow his mind
Shootin' the jizm, M.C.'s lightin' stinkin' Izm
Awe that stink put that out, man that blunt shit
I’m on some cunnalingus, women know that cunt shit
Gimmick experts your logo’s won’t make it work
As Monica Lynch about the Flinstones
Niggas still lickin' my dick like chicken bones
Who’s on wax with pumps on wack soundtracks?
Lisa Cortez or Ed shoulda called me
Russell and Lyor, Andre know that shit would bore me
Look in your Rolodex Naked Man, I come and flex
Tie up your anus rectum piece, brothers heads are next
Girl rappers lick my ass before they’re most famous
You name 'em all I gave abortions with hangers
Spread 'em easy people, this won’t hurt
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You ran to Pete Rock, you ran to Premier
With New York sounds, Professor couldn’t save your career
Watch your ass Ducket, play me out like Dave Gossit
M.C.'s should quit or sign with Tuff City
I left management and Alex, fuckin' tough titty
I went to Hammers house some people didn’t know me
Dave Jacobson was lying, what the fuck he just told me?
Lookin' back at Tom Silverman’s convention
Money was made and counted for, not to mention
Laminates don’t cost much, that shit is cheap
Like nigga’s tryin' front at Jack the Rapper every week
Don’t try that hand shake shit my dick is more legit
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You puppets on Jive with budget tryin' a stay alive
Suckin' the dick twice of owner kid Barry Weiss
You like red dirt the two faced alcoholic
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
You get yours, cum smeared all in your face
You get yours, tell me how it tastes?
Sunday 11:37 pm
Yeah, now that’s what I’m talkin' about
I think I should just take these records
And start an ash tray business
Or maybe I’ll uh just donate 'em to the Goodwill
(Huh, huh)
Atleast it’s a tax write off, aight man, peace