Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Rush Ya Clique, artist - Outsidaz. Date of issue: 07.08.2008
Song language: English
Rush Ya Clique |
| Bust your lip, rush ya clique, what? |
| Outz in the area tearing things up Crush your chick, touch your trick, what? |
| Outz in the area tearing things up (Sing it with me!) |
| Bust your lip, rush ya clique, what? |
| Outz in the area tearing things up Crush your chick, touch your trick, what? |
| Outz in the area tearing things up Yo, I’m finally convinced my kindness and innocence |
| Is a crime in a sense, climbing a fence |
| Diagonally bent, dying in agony in a magically event |
| Outz in a fear of family presents |
| Capped in clak smoke, pack toast in a black coat |
| To roast motherfuckers, over lactose |
| Stay skeed off laced weed |
| I take cheese, and page trees in the Bricks |
| Rolling box of Tracies |
| Call a go-go dancer |
| Get up in that ass and wreck shop like colon cancer |
| Hit it from the back, bitch can’t hold her pants up Once for my cock, twice for my block, |
| I got it locked like handcuffs |
| Pacer got a razor, get you and your man cut |
| Swing a blow you can’t duck |
| Throw up your hands, what? |
| Nobody on earth could see Pacer |
| I get your shit then peel off like Speed Racer |
| I hit you bastards raps fast as Janet Jackson’s coochie |
| Your raps is half mastered, mad average, wack bologna |
| And if you ever wanna get a deal |
| You should either OD off skill pills |
| Or steal my reel-to-reel |
| Most of y’all emcees ain’t tight as y’all should be when |
| I’m tighter than the jeans that show hoochie chicks’coochie prints |
| Outsidaz, we hot as Hell’s flames is And I’m Slang-iz, my tapes get pumped like twelve gauges |
| I’m so weeded (How weeded are you?) |
| I’m so weeded I can freestyle for sixteen bars (Ha ha ha) |
| Right off the top, then go back to the top |
| And then repeat it (Ha) |
| Write it down on the paper |
| And still be able to read it (Sorry) |
| I can’t read, but I still write to my pen pals (Uh, uh, dear) |
| I can’t fly, but I still float on cement clouds (Whee!) |
| I can’t see cause my eyes already been gouged out |
| I been down with the Outz for ten thou-sand years |
| (So dunn, here?) |
| Some weird kids with piercings in more than one ear |
| Lauryn, huh? |
| Hill? |
| (There’s more than one? IIIllll) |
| What? |
| You want me to stop? |
| Here? |
| Yea |
| Your girl could suck my dick chewing Big Red |
| Till she choke and scrape her wisdom tooth on my dick head |
| Puff a tray bag, Outz never pay cabs |
| Bust a A-rab, front on taking us up eighth Ave |
| Yea, we all of the a volumes |
| What be the outcome? |
| We selling twenty million albums |
| Ay your record, ain’t nobody buy that |
| You fell off, and had to take your five mic |
| And push a white Ac, with a bike rack |
| It’s the A, the X, the E Why pay for ass, if I can sex for free? |
| F’with we, what you expect to see |
| Death’s your destiny, when it’s my time for rest in peace |
| Bet they find my pistol next to me My dick is giving ecstasy |
| Shit I say, spread like leprosy |
| I’m on a quest to be, the best emcee |
| Living recklessly, cock the weaponry |
| Lay you on your back like Lei Wulong from Tekken 3 |
| Yo follow, never question me |
| C’mon yo Bust your lip, rush ya clique, what? |
| Crush your chick, touch your trick, what? |
| Snuff your bitch, crush your whip, what? |
| Outz in the area tearing things up Outworld baby |