Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Proteck Ya Neck, artist - Ol' Dirty Bastard. Album song The Definitive Ol' Dirty Bastard Story, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 20.06.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Atlantic, Rhino Entertainment Company
Song language: English
Proteck Ya Neck |
See let a nigga come through with that bullshit |
Any time you pop that shit nigga |
I’ma tell you you can suck a dick, you can suck a pussy |
I know, it’ll come to what? |
Say what? |
Now I’ma let all you motherfuckers know |
See them knows that this is something you can’t fuck |
Whether you from Brooklyn, whether you from Manhattan |
You from Queens nigga |
I don’t give a fuck, where you be motherfucker! |
Where you reside… motherfucker! |
How you live? |
How you seeeeeeee |
Sort the stack outs, this one’s the blackout |
Three-fifty-seven to your mouth, blaow! |
Dirty, can you hear me? |
Rawness I’m inflicting |
It’s that G type slang that makes this real sickening |
Ignite the styles, I got my hand upon the trigger |
Starts from the smallest and hits the bigger nigga |
Yo, straight out the lava by them hell fires |
A known mental killer, born thriller, assassin of terror |
A hot bloody fatal mixture of carbon and water |
Homicidal manslaughter, death is the order |
Start the mission, travel like the speed of wind |
Through the valley of sin, I step to ville and murdered many men |
Serving justice in my vicinity |
(This is, Brooklyn, Zu!!) |
Za-za-za, za-za-za |
Zuh-za-zah, z-zz-zz-z-z-zz-zz-z-dah-duh-dnn-duh |
I get down, I get down, I crack your fucking crown |
Lay around and watch some real niggas break ground |
I can’t shop cause every bro blowing up the spot |
Hit rocks and niggas know |
Yo! |
Niggas grab the mic like the bites of a scorpion |
Nervous, that’s why the Zu brought me in |
Now bring em forth, like the tortures at the courts |
Before the case begin, first break me in |
His brain! |
And make sure he can’t maintain the calmness |
Ya harmless, watch how I bomb this |
Stage light now appears to be the Moon |
Now your Posse is your fucking Platoon |
Stale sound just flows through the air |
I’m like a ninja, once I send ya cold stares |
Then I get furious, imperious, the lyricist with the clearest rhyme |
Erupt to deduct your fucking mind |
Fuck shit up on the hurry-up |
Known for burying ducks through more styles than a monk |
Warning you chump, brain is out for lunch |
Given the power punch, soon to be paid like Donald Trump |
Never fall victim to no bitch |
Jerked my dick, but still got more hoes than a pimp |
And score more points than Shawn Kemp |
Keeping powerfully strong like the center on the Knicks |
Hut one, hut two, hut three, hut! |
Ol Dirty Bastard live and uncut |
(Shame on a nigga who tried to run game on a…) |
Got more props than the President |
My hardcore represent |
Blowing niggas back who never had this |
Cause I’m gifted, so you can gift wrap the shit |
I’m kicking and send it to your moms for Christmas |
And tell her Shorty Shit Stain sent it |
Soon to have more green than the Jolly Green Giant |
Cause niggas rap styles just down, it’s expired |
You should’ve stayed home instead of picking up a microphone |
But if you wanna run on up, like you tough |
I call your bluff and blow you down with my hardcore stuff |
I shine like twenty-four carat, niggas know… |
Roll and stroll with the party scene |
Nigga wanna know me as Mr. Clean |
Wza-wza-wza-wza-Wu-Tang, flip the script and |
Test my skill niggas, you’re tripping |
Drugged up from sniffing, you’re the one who’s riffing |
I’m not Opie, save that old shit for Andy Griffith |
Start to flip, slip cause you’re slipping |
While you sleep I be the God on point, with Scottie Pippen |
As I jump on stage, flip rip a show |
Strip and rip a ho, wayyy like Bo |
Jackson while I’m still taxing maxing |
Relaxing sitting back, silly attraction |
Again and again when I rock the jam |
Wanna see em up in the air, throw up your hand |
Introducing one-man band in town |
It’s wild, more the style couldn’t stand nigga |
When the jump stepped to the center |
Of the rhyme inventor, MCs' tormentor |
You get dap slapped, across the MC map |
Your ass that’s your ass on a whore shot |
Come on through I black and blue your whole crew |
Then I get Rudy with the Hong Kong Phoo' |
Ol Dirty Bastard, MC killer |
Money maker, Brooklyn, Shaolin style |
That I lay down like tile, then I get higher |
Here comes the illlll, type ruffer |
Style be untouched I’m leavin broken down grammars on the pen |
Who who what? |
What brings it? |
Tighter than your anus |
Chambers this name is for the deepest trainers |
Keep it stainless, steel, on time it is the windmill |
Deadly venom kills, at the last of the Sam’s Mill |
60 Second, nucleus, attack on your set |
Hit you with the blast (yo close the door) |
Shabazz! |