Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hypnotize (Feat. Redman) , by - Luniz. Release date: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hypnotize (Feat. Redman) |
| Aiyyo, dot dot dot who is it the prime wizard |
| Erykah Badu-izm smoker, vocal chord woof choker |
| Now who block is this? |
| (Yo yo yo no no chill chill |
| Nah nah hold up homie) We takin over! |
| Gimme your girl, gimme your keys, to your four do' Explorer |
| Yo Lu-Nile, crack their composure |
| (We decompose your crowd) We layin down tighter than plaques |
| When I blast I wild like them two bitches from Baps |
| Yo, the Hong Kong Fooey, human tornado like Rudy |
| Turning your bomb-ba-zee into doobies |
| Platinum overseas like the Fugees, Japanese |
| Germany groupies, mooshi mooshi, sniffin lines |
| Off each other’s booty love the Luniz |
| I went from smokin dubs to QP’s |
| Make hits for thugs that bankin hoopies |
| And aimin uzis, at who dirty mackin my loochie |
| Come clost cock the toast and make you see Ghost-s like Whoopi |
| Have you ever seen a nigga get snatched up by his drawers |
| And wonder the cause, cuz big dope had his balls |
| Got small methamphetimes with colors to be Cray-ola |
| Took the drunkest O-A, and let the X take shit over |
| No need to get juiced cause it’s the anti-depressant |
| Smile now but trip later, and put your hand out for the present |
| Lay down for fifteen, so your body can feel rest |
| Kick your feet up, and start makin beats on your chest and think |
| Chorus: Redman and Luniz |
| Sex, money, drugs, music |
| Lies, these are the things that keep niggas… |
| «I was hyp-no-tized!» |
| «I'd like to break it down down» |
| «Cold turn the party out» «I'd like to, I’d like to break it down down» |
| «Cold turn the party out» |
| Ahh ahh, I smoke Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday |
| Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Satur-dayyyyyyah! |
| Two lay ya blunt, players with cream |
| If I die my spirit will jump inside machines |
| Runnin niggas over like Christine (sorry) |
| I mix the green with the last piece of hashish, ass-burning |
| Hoes in my black mink, your baby momma lovin my backseat |
| Freak nasty got me slappin the ass cheeks of Blackstreet |
| So high, I’m so high I feel like I’m wearin a disguise |
| Superman type of, with Kryptonite eyes |
| Not knowin I’m trippin, I walks out to my vehic' |
| Buckle up for safety on my way to get some cheap shit |
| I’m out the parkin lot, sideways on two wheels |
| Vision is double, trouble to me is bein real |
| Listen to my big block bill cause in the town that’s a earful |
| Shares and mo' shares, swang if it’s good |
| Now how I get dollars, I be the rap artist blue collar |
| School scholars on knowledge to move dollars |
| I do gotta motion chirp, like Impalas |
| For niggas who rock Timbs, Gortex, or new Walla’s |
| You’re facin, the Cochise of operation |
| And if you ain’t tastin you should steady observations |
| Doctor/patient, leavin mics with laceratons |
| Love to stay bent with my doggs rollin adjacent (woof!) |
| And when they bark they turn your sunny days to dark |
| You play the back like Rosa Parks when the arc sparks |
| I bang rawly, do you orally |
| My horny sounds will pound more heavy than E-40 |
| I’m gettin money y’all, I’m gettin money nigga |
| Bend your back like Long Isle Iced Teas with five liquors |
| Knew about the cheddar since I took my child picture |
| SDial 900-Do-Away-With-All-Snitches |
| Stop complaining, the game is for entertainment |
| What is it when niggas heads gettin covered with blankets? |
| It’s just a one-eight-seven on your motherfuckin crew |
| I’ll have your brains doin donuts like you in a rental |
| Flip fools with credentials, nasty like havin sex with kinfolk |
| Blaze high, then smoke |
| Drunk-a-Lot, stays on top, that’s why we roll |
| Two and two, four deep makes a crew |
| Red Yuk and Num with the sidekick Hennesey |
| Fuzzy, wuzza, fuzzy, little friend of me |
| Hitters on the payroll, secure because we practice |
| Pure ass-kick cures for who’s acting drastic |
| Drank and buddha blast, callin shots on Motorolas |
| One step shy, so I’mma drank until it’s over |
| Kick this for the fake Versace wearin fake Donna Karan Mossino |
| Players we know, ain’t no gambino |
| Peons be watchin too much Casino, wannabe Nino Brown with the uzi |
| But clown you more like Downtown Judy |
| Niggas can’t fool me, I love the way you ball outta control |
| In your rhyme, then see you in person without a dime |
| But I’m global, with Reggie Noble man blazin |
| Dive in a crowd like Method Man and Van Halen |
| Chorus (repeat to fade) |