Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Step Up , by - Masters Of IllusionRelease date: 13.11.2000
Song language: English
Step Up |
| We got Kool Keith in the house |
| Right here we gettin ready to do this |
| Let’s step through this |
| Yeah |
| My shit is Ironman magazine built, flip through the pages |
| See my lyrics straight posin on cycles, they flex the looks |
| I’m black coffee for you non-morning people, feel my Joe |
| Lock it down, slippin tight in a bow, don’t press the issue |
| My shit is out here, water partner you tissue |
| Deep back in that Cadillac, I’m pullin heat from under the seats |
| I drive a garbage truck for trash talkin,, alleyway, stray cats |
| I toss you in the back and drop you off at the dump |
| I’m comin out, aerobic mailman, the shape you drop you writ in lettuce |
| My sack is full and my delivery is John Stockton |
| You rent your looks, you left your rest fly and came back busted |
| Reviewing applications, everybody’s fired |
| Lyrics kinetic let it set it embedded |
| Up in they head is baldheaded dreaded afros get wetted, when I met her |
| Take fate, today’s date, I’m out to just D great |
| I’m headed for the papers and shredded, currency yo |
| My edit mastered down and it’s loaded, leave you bloated |
| More filling great taste in your belly, new connection |
| Next level, takin over all sections, one direction |
| I got a daughter out here half Mexican, she need to eat |
| Back up off the mic and pull up your Underoos, I ain’t no pedophile |
| The street lights, get yo' ass home, I’m on yo' hyde is chapped |
| They love it when I’m checkin these raps |
| Yo, I see rap now, it’s all scam and marketin |
| Promotion budget, you frontin, you drive a bucket |
| Got your laminates from baldheaded Jack the Rapper |
| You ain’t no rapper, actin like you Micky Jagger |
| You out there riffin, I’m makin calls to Gene Griffin |
| Impact avengeance, female rappers with extensions |
| Sewin they wig skullcaps, tryin to cover naps |
| P’s in the back of they beanie, a rented Lamborghini |
| You frontin hard on BET, tryin to eat linguini |
| You ain’t Italian, with 6 carat your fake medallions |
| Frontin ass homo, rap style can’t flow slow |
| Money for stickers, burn the kids who drew your first logo |
| Be duckin royalties, sabotage, wack MC’s |
| Your facilities, on 4 track, when you record |
| You never walk away with tights and a rap reward |
| No matter how complex, you try to make the equation |
| I light a match and throw it at you at a gas station |
| Open yo' can up, and bake yo' left mic hand up |
| You wanna stand up, you married boy, bring your man up |
| You got the wedgie, your thong showin, lookin edgy |