Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song We Da SH, artist - Lee Scott. Date of issue: 20.10.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
We Da SH |
| Chewin' the fat with me mouth open, scopin' the room |
| Like I’m shroomin' on crack, and eyeballin' you at the back |
| I haven’t heard you rap and I’m assuming you’re whack |
| I don’t even drop me brew to attack when I lose it and snap |
| (Then!) Stop to nonchalantly lob Scooby a snack |
| The confusion was pre-planned, I sit back calmy |
| Powder me weak hand, then pimp slap Barbie |
| And kill Ken, then I smash the pot and bill Ben |
| Then write about it with a Dodo feather quill pen |
| At the bottom of the Hill, jacking Jill’s friend |
| And I’m workin' on a new bible but until then |
| I’m plannin' to beat Adam into a permanent sleep |
| And to put Eve to work on the street |
| As her ruler and saviour |
| Force-feeding her the forbidden fruits of her labor |
| So do me a favour, don’t do me a favour |
| Lee’s the shit, a one man gang givin' the leader lip |
| There’s no I in team but there’s a me in it |
| The Bad Meaning Good Samaritan |
| Pickin' up your filthy habits and lookin' after ‘em |
| Your whole crew gets smacked with one swing |
| For sayin the wrong thing, like «this tin foil’s not bling» |
| Jesus, Mary and Joseph doin' piley-ons |
| I’m an innovator like The Gonz… |
| Stood on one foot gettin' head |
| Smokin' a blunt while I’m rewiring bombs |
| One for the road, double the dose |
| Develop telepathy to avoid the bugs in my phone |
| Emotionless, no lump in my throat |
| 'Less I’m coming through customs, smuggling bundles of coke |
| You’re uncomfortably close, smart ass |
| Quit with your wisecracks, or become the butt of the joke |
| Your soul up for parole, suggests you hold your breath |
| Or I’ll steal it right from under you nose |
| White Lotus Sect, came here to pose a threat |
| Flown the nest with box cutter and explosive vest |
| Lightsaber glowing red, chew off cobra heads |
| Overstepped the mark, leave here with broken legs |
| Hip hop’s vigilante group, hangman’s noose |
| Slipknot, tamper-proof, motherfucker choke to death |
| Awoken at the Crack of Doom |
| Last known address, 412 Ocean Avenue |
| Creature of the black lagoon, write bars |
| With a pen and padded room, doing bank jobs in scramble suits |
| I am absolute, your significance amounts |
| To a phantom pregnancy in a barren womb |
| You’re wack, stay sat on the shelf, don’t flatter yourself |
| You haven’t made a single track that I’ve felt |
| Steadily getting it in while you’re losing count |
| Of imaginary notches on your chastity belt |