Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Beasts From The East, artist - Lost Boyz. Album song Love, Peace & Nappiness, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Beasts From The East |
Yo, we come through like bulls, nigga take two puffs and pass, |
Nigga, watch your back once you talk out your ass |
I back up 3−80 and my stash for protection, |
Family is raged, the world is acting crazed |
I never thought Id make it, it was hectic when I scrambled |
On point like a knife Im takin life as a gamble |
And living in the rotten apple, yo where every core is rotten |
All my niggas rest in peace ya see you gone but not forgotten |
Now my main wifey, dead as shaded chicks, |
Official lost boyz since the year of 86 |
And fuck these crooked niggas I could kill em with a passion, |
At times I feel like slashing in jamaican queens fashion |
You think you can fuck around, but kid youre just thinking |
Its over when Im sober, imagine when Im drinking |
Without blinking man, Ill tare your crew like pages |
Ill rip you from the backyard of? |
… |
A plus the lyrically superb one, spittin rhymes |
Off the top of the tongue to burn ya ear drums |
Rotten shit, make the opposite team call a time out, |
Knockin niggas three times my size out |
The crowd loves me, so when I aint around they ask for me, |
I buckle up to kick rap like a crash dummy |
For the fast money, I get up in that ass money |
The fact you tryin to test me kinda bugs me I leave crews fed up, like handicap niggas tryin to get up Emcees get wet up with lyrical gun pillars, |
I blow up the spot when its time to rock |
I speak through a mic my voice peak out at a hundred watts |
Who wanna cipha, I get dumb |
Word to my mother the father the holy ghost and rev. |
run |
When its all said and done, I end the service |
To cop the type of verses that average emcees seem to worship |
My style is milk of magnesia, clutch divide speeding bust |
The more the merrier, secure the area, my life familiar |
Is ultimate superior we dont jack cars |
We jack for aircraft carriers |
I bounce like tr&olines, when I be blowing the feces to pieces |
Hymn em like sewing machines and jesus |
When the shadows of the barrel pointing out my (?) camarro |
I get punished like pharaoh for splittin |
Youre better off singing christmas carols for christmas, |
Because Im on point like bow and arrow equipment |
The president of chicken head conventions |
I give you a deluxe ku klux lynchin |
I got a headache from the stress, success not wearing a vest |
5−11 for being dirty and quarts of 9−30 |
Yo, mr. |
cheeks, I made this bitch call police |
She tried swallowing a nine piece |
Forgot the warrantee on false teeth |
I return like makaveli on 18 inch pirellis |
Assault and battery like my palms was ever ready |
Sharp as machetes |
Matter of fact I slap (?) … |
Canibus brings the sickest drama, |
Fierce enough to pierce the thickest armor |
I smack bitches who try to suck dick through a condom |
Playing with the mic is something I wont do My only concern when I approach you, is to roast you |
I smoke you and whoever you standing close to And make every man in your crew deny that he knows you |
Defeating, niggas like segal steven, |
Putting emcees in, positions to prevent em from breathing |
Ill make you question any and everything youve ever believed in By peeping your deepest secrets like psychic readers, |
Whats the matter with yall, I splatter yall |
Against the mutha fuckin wall with these raw lyrics I catapult |
None of yall got the balls big enough to battle, |
I go on &on like erika badu |
A hundred times nicer than the best there is Twice as african as krs is, who wanna test this |
Fuck yall you dont impress me and no one can test me An emcee so ill, I got aids scared to catch me All that shit you poppin will stop, when I put you in a headlock, |
And apply pressure until I crush your mutha fuckin noggin |
I grab mics and push niggas to the left |
So fast their hearts end up on the right side of their chests |
My hypothesis, is that nobody can see this |
Lyrical genius, I got it sown like a seamstress |
But if you want to battle, Im down, |
If you got nine lives, Ill take eight of them off your hands right now |
Step up and get your neck cut from ear to ear |
If you survive, then you can cover your scar with a beard |
Im the illest from queens to the new jerusalem briddicks |
Anyone who aint feeling my shidick can suck my didick |
You need to quit it, if you aint spitten |
More than 50 bars per minute cause you aint in lyrical fitness |
Kickin boring raps with metaphors thats wack |
All of yall mutha fuckas need nordictrack |
To get ya weight up, fuckin with canibus you get ate up Get beat down and sprayed up, just for bringing my name up Been rockin longer than niggas twice my age |
Back in the days before bob marley was rockin a fade |
Before honest abe signed the paper that freed slaves |
Before neanderthals was drawing on walls in caves |
I existed, in the garden of eden gettin lifted |
Stickin dick to eve before she was adams mistress |
Before christ created christmas, I been in lyrical fitness |
The canibus is spitten till hes spitless |
50 bars of total sickness, you wont forget this |
Im puttin every wack emcee alive on my shit list |
Verbally vicious, tele-connectically gifted |
Took you a minute, to exhibit that Im sick wit it Now you tell me who you think is damaging shit |
Going once, going twice |
Sold to that nigga name canibus |
Me and mr. |
cheeks, a-plus, and funk doctor |
Hopping out the hue helicopter to suey chop ya |