Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Scared Straight, artist - Masters Of IllusionDate of issue: 13.11.2000
Song language: English
Scared Straight |
| «When three guys, will slide into your cell |
| Wrap your ass up in that blanket |
| They gon' kick your ass over the side of that bed |
| And do bodily harm to your asshole, by stickin a dick in it» |
| They looks at my styles, like a crackhead does upon a rock |
| And pipe to get hype, I got 'em dirty fiendin for me |
| Losin pounds for my sounds, that knows and tilts consumes the liquor |
| 'til the 40 gets killed, I bite that apple lick my lips like LL |
| Doin it well, shock the world, charm your momma |
| Verbalizin your girl, don’t fuck with sorcerers with lyric bombs |
| You know we got spells, abra-abra-abracadabra |
| Grabba, this rapper can abra-abra-cadaver another rapper |
| Change yo' range yo |
| I drop my styles offer than an obtuse angle, I’m threatening |
| Miraculous things be happening, every time I spit |
| The verbal through speakers |
| I’m on the court while you sorry niggas sit in the bleachers |
| Cheerleaders, fear leaders, sissy niggas with skirts |
| I’m catchin waves like white dude surfers with tans |
| My King Kong style, climbin buildings, holdin yo' bitch |
| I’m dichotomy to everybody, I’m fuckin melodic |
| Niggas comin out with drama, lookin mad histrionic |
| I bounce uniquely, get up on this land, destroy you like water |
| Yo mother nature that’s my ho and I been pimpin her bro |
| My conversation’s built like Spider-Man, it’s neighborhood friendly |
| But expands like Apocalypse for niggas that’s envy |
| I back yo' team up ten yards cause yo' partner was holdin |
| I sacked your quarterback with fifty sacks, this money I’m foldin |
| He just an inmate with a cock up in you, my style |
| «Dead as a mouse» |
| «Your butt’s in jail», «so why you pushin it» |
| «In the house of pain» |
| You got to handle it Bill, yeah, yo check the reason |
| I hear you scream loud, your cell door’s full of semen |
| Prisoners catch you, posin hard like a statue |
| Too many men in your crew, but not there wit’chu |
| You Coppertone, put your wig on, you start to moan |
| Walkin your hallway, your panties shine, in the doorway |
| Cell block, you stop, inmates, you on they jock |
| Seein protection, big men hit your midsection |
| You gettin bumrushed, by TV’s with a yeast infection |
| You on call, for a warden standin by the kitchen |
| You snitched my man, here’s a tape, take a listen |
| You on security watch, walkin by the door |
| I explore more, raw to the deepest core |
| Yeah, have you on 4's |
| «You are his kid, you gotta clean this cell |
| You gotta wash his drawers and socks |
| And he wanna fuck you in your ass, you’ll let him |
| And if he wanna sell you to another prisoner, he’ll do that too» |