Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Monkey Suit, artist - Madvillain. Album song Madvillainy 2: The Madlib Remix, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 29.09.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Stones Throw
Song language: English
Monkey Suit |
Villain hold a mic like he’s mean and his tummy hurt |
In a clean pair, ripped jeans and a bummy shirt |
Wonderin' would you clap your hands if he was friendly? |
Dapper Dan dipped and pretend to be Fendi and gold sellin' |
No tellin', slap a fan hand down, tell 'em «no yellin'» |
DOOM, all capitals, no trick spellin' |
Got what it take to get it through your thick melon |
(Woopwoosh) Fresh witty city skits |
When he get wreck, pretty emcees catch titty fits |
Told them call the cops, just don’t hold your breath for the ball to drop |
Better yet, hold on to your halter top |
Kept reppin', steppin' in hotta |
Ignoring pigs like Bigs Top Shotta |
Survivor of a live crew, not out to jive you |
It stings when he laugh when he at the bank drive-thru |
Wylin', get me every red penny |
Sold a lonely only child an imaginary enemy |
When he sees the mask and the microphone gizmo |
He’s the broke host, this is like his own quiz show |
This go out to all my brothers doin' long bids and sisters |
Who got brothers bein' fathers to the wrong kids |
Stay strong and ride like the funky flute |
Won’t find the Villain in the street inside no monkey suit |
Or either at the bar in no gorilly bra |
Nor raceway park scoring on no silly car |
Ask the stranger he knows who you really are |
Behind the mask face stay dark, no boring willy star |
Gleaming, dreaming, screaming- he’ll be off the heezy soon |
Cunning live rats drive at your steaming greasy spoon |
In participating places tip your waitresses |
A sure fire way to wire, trip the matrices |
Skip ya laces, all black tennis miniature |
Ball stack, gall tall pack, Guinness minister |
Tussle the hustle, cut your dank with dirt |
Won’t be in the club in a muscle tank shirt |
You could find 'em in the pub with the grub stain |
Chuggin' on a small tub of pain to his bugged brain |
Sane, some say he plum crazy |
Amazed at how he still get paid but dumb lazy |
That’s for him to know and for you to guess |
Won’t be caught in a suit vest at no computer desk |
A suede front, maybe may stunt khaki dig |
Not in no braids or no lace-front yaki wig |