Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Lived In The Projects , by - Kool Keith. Song from the album Matthew, in the genre Иностранный рокRelease date: 26.07.2000
Record label: funky ass, Threshold
Song language: English
Lived In The Projects |
| Yeah motherfucker. |
| that’s right. |
| The motherfucker in the house. |
| Kool Keith. |
| Fuck all the bullshit, let’s get to the real shit. |
| Yeah. |
| Your rhyme touch is soft kid |
| Like a stripper’s ass with a touch of plastic |
| Writin with a local style |
| Talkin about competitive shit you never mastered |
| Youse a wannabe thug nigga, you ain’t bugged nigga |
| I cut your bitch-ass up, leave your legs under the rug nigga |
| Who want the whiplash? |
| Cigarette burns, broken face hair pinned up in a cast |
| Me standin on the top of your tour bus |
| Butt-naked with a fuckin hockey mask |
| Slicin your cashmere with a sharp 7-Up glass |
| Don’t you know I’m sick nigga? |
| Lick my dick nigga! |
| Forty-four caliber killer gun-toter |
| Hide your kneecaps in a Lexus motor |
| Pack your stomach in a compartment |
| Old dingy fucked up Bronx apartment |
| Don’t piss me off with a tec-9 loaded in a bullshit street argument |
| I don’t care how hard you get |
| You just another man that never lived in the projects poppin shit |
| You ain’t stoppin shit, fuck that Batman and Robin shit |
| And what block you with |
| Kneel down, make a nigga like you call me Big Ernest |
| Bake your intestines, throw your stomach in the furnace |
| Watch the thermostat, you ain’t no fuckin fat cat |
| Chorus: Kool Keith |
| You never lived in the projects! |
| You ain’t no drug dealer |
| Rude bwoy with a temper like a Jamaican off a Haitian boat |
| Carribean ruckus — with an Elvis wig |
| Slap the piss out of one of you untalented rap motherfuckers |
| Bodyguards won’t work |
| With a 30-shot carbine under my Dominican shirt |
| Submachine in the duffle bag |
| Watchin Sesame Street with my daughter, peepin Ernie and Bert |
| With backstage passes, wearin a long trenchcoat |
| Get Morris in your projects |
| And Jackson in a Madison Square Garden concert |
| Ready for CBS and NBC, to do a big network |
| The average guy, havin a product manager |
| And a female publicist wearin a fuckin bulletproof vest |
| I got time for motherfuckers actin like Elliot Ness |
| Winchester sawed off blow your Rolex through your fuckin chest |
| Splatted body pieces while blood drips off your girl’s dress |
| I’m ready for more progress |
| Have your head sent home |
| And a piece of your leg sittin on the record company desk |
| Extort like a mad nigga Western Union |
| You don’t have a clue men how I get through men |