| Yo. |
| this is flavor for the non believes
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| Sit back, take a seat, and don’t forget to pass the weed
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| And by the way, this is all the way live
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| And the way that I survive is pumpin nickels and dimes
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| Pumpin rocks on the corner, pumpin rocks cause I wanna
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| The little Don Ho drug dealer? |
| performer
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| At my height, I’m described as a midget
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| But it ain’t about height — it’s about, Can I Kick It?
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| Some say I’m too little, but yo I’m too ill
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| I hit skins, light up, and then I smoke a Phil'
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| You don’t want a beef with this juvenile delinquent
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| I’m not good, I’m livin like a hood
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| And when I kick MC’s abandon ship
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| Cause my brain is the sun of a solar eclipse
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| Yo, Havoc is the man that you have to bring
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| Cause I’m flippin like pages in a Word Up magazine
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| Sweet like candy, the poetic vigilante
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| So explicit even porno flicks ban me And girls gel me like jheri curl activate
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| The forty dog drinkin money grip you’re dead and stinkin
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| Brain cells overload when I’m thinkin
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| This is a rap rape, and I leave a fat taste
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| Get off the microphone kid, stay in a child’s place
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| I cook you up, like Uptown raw base
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| And leave you open like if you just saw Scarface
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| Like I said it before, shorty scores, I get raw
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| for the cause, battle me, take a loss
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| I steal shows like BelBivDevoe’s
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| and put on my latex when I hit up the hoes
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| You know the flavor kid, give me my props
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| Cause it’s 1992, and all the bullshit stops.
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| Check it, this is flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| Check it, this is flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| Mr. Soul, trunk jewels sippin Old Gold
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| Roll up my nickel pack of weed, lick it up and stroll
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| Prodigy, verbally tragic and I’m toxic
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| Check out the way check out the way the way that I drop it You know my style, step back, cause I’m buckwild
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| All it takes is a mic, 40 dog, and a smile
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| Baby Grand Puba, Little Rick the Ruler
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| And in my pocket is crazy fat bag of buddha
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| MC’s can’t get with Mister Mister
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| Money don’t fake moves cause I probably hit your sister
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| I’m on a mission word is bond
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| Word to God, I goes on. |
| the little Don
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| Smooth and fantastic as I get drastic
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| Shake your brain mentally and psychopathic
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| I murder with the brain of Hitler black
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| And me bein weak, even Kodak couldn’t picture that
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| This is flavor for the
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| Flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| Niggaz don’t understand first of all
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| I rip when I rip check it, never stall
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| Freestyle meanwhile for you and yours
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| I’m goin all out, check it You thought I couldn’t wish I wanna do what I did
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| I did it so I done, kill another fuckin kid
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| Cause I don’t give a motherFUCK, and you do That’s why your stupid ass got bucked
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| Outta luck, never took the time to wish
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| Took a bitch down then I’m out like quick
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| Nestle chocolate, munch like it’s?
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| That was then, this is now, I’m goin for the gold
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| Thirty yard touchdown, Mr. Short
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| Fuckin niggaz bitches just for the sport
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| But not without the jimmy, cause bitches nowadays
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| knows mad jig tricks, and that I ain’t with
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| Oh shit, time to move, time to move, here we go with another fly groove, cause I’m so smooth
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| Never like to brag, but I, do it still
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| Sip on a 40, smoke on the Phil'
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| So next time kid you wanna beef just chill
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| before I break your ass up to bits
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| How many licks would it take
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| Check it out one two three bitch-ass nigga licks
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes
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| This is flavor for the non believes |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Flavor For The Non-Believes , by - Mobb Deep. Song from the album Juvenile Hell, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп