Lyrics Daaam! Cellar Remix - Nick Wiz

Daaam! Cellar Remix

E-Swift test the rocket launcher—let's blow up
The spot, show ‘em what we got for the Ninety-Flow shot
I’m the brown bomber dropping verbal scuds, I write
Rhymes while my momma peel the skin off of spuds
This ain’t baseball, naw, Tha Liks won’t slump, so make
Room for the crew with beats that hump.
Yo
I’m the baddest man with a hit since Willie Mays, I’m playing
For the A’s.
O.G.
was right ‘caus «Rhyme Pays.»
I walk
Through a rainstorm, I didn’t even gt wet.
I was
Bailing through Hell, I didn’t even bust a sweat, so you
Must have a loco-motive—I mean a crazy reason
To wanna step up.
It’s sucker punk season
Bring it on, young one, so you can get done
I got more styles than the miles to the Sun
Ninety-three million, five thousand flows
And here’s one more for the hoes
Tha Alkaholiks got
Beats that’ll make you say (Daaam!), Tha Alkaholiks got
Freaks that’ll make you say (Daaam!), Tha Alkaholiks got
Rhymes that’ll make you say (Daaam!).
Every time I make
A jam, make you wanna say (Daaam!)
Yeah!
Alkaholiks for ninety-fo'
Making more duckets than Ross Perot
Check it out, yeah
Like that, Xzibit all in your grill
Hah!
(That's that nigga Xzibit!) Yeah!
I come through!
(‘Cause in Ninety-Four)
(It's all about the flows, the hoes)
(And the Forty-O's, nigga!)
Kick your
Dopest rhyme, I’ll break it up like 3rd Bass.
I’m from
The crew that sets it off by spraying beer in your face
So the Ninety-Four dilemma for my niggas that remember means
I’m stepping to the mic with lyrics colder than December (Brrrr!)
The liquidator with the hardcore demeanor’s
Busting out the perpetrators, I see through em like a Zima
So I’m never caught between a hard place and a rock
‘Cause I kill rhyme bandits bare-handed like Mr. Spock
I told chief not to start no beef.
He tried
To shoot me with his gun, I caught the bullet with my teeth
‘Cause I’m stronger than the bull that’s on the Schlitz Malt Liquor
Hitting up your cities with Tha Alkaholik sticker
‘Cause I feel like busting loose
It’s the wicked pain-inflictor with the Mickey’s deuce deuce
Dropping rhymes like a boulder on the twenty-one and older
With your momma with my picture tattooed on her shoulder
So rap artists, «Get ready to rumble!»
‘cause I
Got lyrics up my sleeve that slam harder than Mutumbo
I heard your demo tape—that shit was faker than a scam
While I be dropping shit that make you say…
Tha Alkaholiks got
The beats that’ll make you say (Daaam!), Tha Alkaholiks got
The freaks that’ll make you say (Daaam!), Tha Alkaholiks got
The flows that’ll make you say (Daaam!), Tha Alkaholiks got
The hoes that’ll make you wanna say (Daaam!)
I’ve been told
That my style is so cold, it make your nose runny
J, I make the ladies say, «Make money, money!»
I used to have a curl, but I cut my shit real low
‘Cause every weekend, I had a spin on the pillow
Watts, Willowbrook even shook when
I took a fresh-ass hook out my notebook
«Dan-na-dah, dan-na-dah!"—I love sports
I even watch soccer and the girls on the tennis courts
You try to tackle me?
You couldn’t make me fall
‘Cause I’ve been moving ahead since the day I learned to crawl
Y’all, aww shit, let me make a wish
I wish all the bunk emcees turned to fish
So I could just hook ‘em, take ‘em home and cook ‘em
That’s how I floss—yo, pass the hot sauce
When I walk down the street, I leave my feetprints in the concrete
‘Cause I’m fat, meaning I’m so complete.
You’re like
A freak on an elevator—I'ma fuck you up
It’s the Ro with the inebriated flow
I hate to boast, but I’m a host with most
And I’m ghost.
Here’s a toast to my peoples from coast to coast (Daaam!)