Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Outside The Lounge , by - Shabaam Sahdeeq. Release date: 31.12.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Outside The Lounge |
| Yo, freestyles, reside to the e-ventually |
| You might see me, kick the spree |
| Get the tape in the Benzi box |
| Up in club spots |
| On a regular base |
| Anytime and place |
| What? |
| Like Janet |
| I slam kids |
| Harder than Shaquille O’Neal down to the masses |
| I take crews back to, um, hip-hop classes |
| Because they didn’t surpass this |
| We reside actually, acrobatically, yo… |
| Come and burn me if you spit words of flame from your brain |
| (What?) Rugged terrain, style insane, you’s the lame |
| (Huh) Freestyle or written strictly shittin' on emcees |
| Drop these mad degrees on emcees |
| Everyday, every night |
| You fight for the mic, but you can’t handle it |
| I dismantle it, bust you in your head with it |
| You know you can’t spit it like I spit it |
| Yeah you shit it in the toilet bowl |
| You know I got nuff soul |
| Y’all control the core cipher |
| You know we drop this, and got emcees following like the Pied Piper |
| You know we hyper, so… |
| Yo, yo, yo; |
| can I get a chance to drop in the cipher? |
| Set the shit on fire |
| Yo why the, beat stop? |
| I don’t know, the beat-box is coming in |
| Got you counting from one to ten |
| And by the time you get up to nine, your ass is left behind |
| Cause you can’t mess with the lyrical master rhymes |
| Slay niggas to pass the time, coming off the mind or the brain |
| Can’t maintain, I’m type strange |
| And ill, in the mind of Wiseguy, that’s right |
| I’m the baddest on the mic, I’m average height |
| Got a huge appetite, sorta like Iron Mike |
| 'Cept I don’t bite, I just fight, with raps I write |
| Use the left and the right, recite styles that’s hype off the top |
| Pardon me but stop the beat-box |
| Cause yo I got beats son |
| (Aw word?) (Aight) My bad, I didn’t mean to kill that shit. |
| (That's alright |
| Man, y’know what’m sayin?) |
| The beats is always love, y’know what I’m sayin'? |
| Niggas always show love with the beats |
| (My little yellow box, always come in handy) Y’know what I’m sayin'? |
| Yo, this is like a wack emcee’s nightmare, y’know what I’m sayin'? |
| Thats why I’m right here, y’know what I’m sayin'? |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| My name’s Kweli, from the Eternally |
| Reflection, spruce to the tree, Bruce to the Lee |
| Im doin this |
| I love the rush that I get seein' a wack emcee’s bottom lip quiver |
| He know he gettin' smacked for every wack rhyme he deliver |
| Whether in alleys or back streets or the stairwell to Fat Beats |
| I come off like the ink that be staining my hand and rap sheets |
| With lyrics stronger than Samson, to send Marilyn Manson back to Hell |
| The resurrection of Fred Hampton |
| You can tell by the way your shit swelled and lump up |
| Whenever punks jump up |
| They get beat down, for thinking they Bone, creeping on a come up |
| Now I got one up |
| Are we much more than crabs in a barrel |
| Or fags who rap about apparel with an outlook that’s mad narrow? |
| We civilized, so on the microphone we vilify |
| For proving that the niggas with skills is still alive |
| (Still alive) (Still alive) (Still alive) |
| Freak that, I’m leavin' rappers hangin' like cave bats |
| Or hats on coat racks, I’m rough like porcupine backs |
| Smacks the emcees that lack, but, yo, they knew that |
| Like the flute, blew through that, with nothing but facts |
| DJ’s cut the wax, snare sharp like ax |
| Mic apparatus invited to start static |
| From basement to attic, get smacked, act dramatic |
| I had it with some of these fake rhyming ass faggots |
| «Who Shabaam Shadeeq?» |
| they ask, mega blast |
| Storm forecast, whiplash like car crash |
| Black Flag for emcees that multiply |
| Act bad, make you dig in your rhyme bag |
| Got all the skills you wish you had, dreams you had |
| Scorch that ass and make you take the words back |
| To the foundation of that whack verse creation |
| Double S, who wan' test? |
| smash your face in |
| Yeah, yo, yo; |
| my shops cop? |
| more 'neath? |
| Things in caster rock |
| And get you open with the combination, like master lock |
| Let it be known, that none could ever pass the Block |
| And when the spot get blown, I hit you with the? |
| yeah, first shot? |
| Traffic stop when I’m jammin, cause I got more back than gammon |
| Slammin those that oppose my flow like salmon |
| Foes be standing clear, cause, yo, they can’t compare |
| The only thing that could hang in hear is a chandelier |
| This man could care less what them say, kick it like sensai |
| Then stay, on your mind like Ash on a Wednesday |
| He at a loss style, got no cause to smile |
| I toss that ass all across, kinda like a foster child |
| It’s Mr. Metaphor, everybody gather 'round |
| Live in stereo sound and very profound |
| Deeper than a burial ground, I’m aerial bound and shuttin' |
| Comp down as I rock like Charles Dutton |
| From Kings to Putnam, I cut 'em from every angle |
| Far from a square cause I wreck when I tangle |
| Minds I mangle, mics I strangle in advance |
| In any circumstance I leave you shook like turbulence |
| You’ll never get this, I’m up in that ass like a tetanus |
| Met twist rhymes and drop more lines than Tetris |
| I’m sicker than asbestos, spraying rhymes like a pesticide |
| Best to step aside, realize who the best is |
| One two, one two |
| The Scienz of Life, BX to New Jeruz |
| One two, one two |
| Yeah, the Scienz of Life, BX to New Jeruz |
| Yo, let’s go back like Gilgamesh epics |
| With fact-challenging methods |
| The rhythm stays energetic |
| The pen’s motions kinetic |
| See Heaven sent styles, bless the ears of my peers |
| Even older heads get contacted |
| From bomb tactic |
| Exploding in your nearest tabernacle, Holy like Kadesh |
| HTM, bow lyricists |
| You feel it in your chest son, like that Nine Ether |
| Sound right, reasin em, pleasin em through the speaker |
| For years and years mad heads doubted me |
| Then I changed hiphop, into new-op, its best described as alchemy |
| The scientist, applying this throughout the global |
| I stays universal with the vocal |
| Attracting your focal points with each joint performed at live shows |
| While Lilsci' verbally fly with dime flows |
| My mind grows, being divine, strolls, by the Master |
| One verse could cause cataclysmic disaster |
| But the truth hurts to be murder with spoken words |
| Profound sound all in your section |
| No question |
| The Scienz of Life, don’t confuse it |
| Aiyyo if it don’t sound right than it ain’t music |
| Alright, alright fellas, fellas, fellas, fellas, hold on, hold on |
| Hold up a second |
| You guys, you guys can’t be making this noise |
| With the music and everything. |
| (Aw, come on!) |
| You gotta leave this area. |
| I gotta clear this spot |
| (We gotta go inside right now) So get on line. |
| (We got tickets) |
| So get on line (We got tickets) |
| Alright, alright, you gonna get, you got tickets |
| So get on line, and get out of this area |
| The line is over there. |
| (We were just doing our thing) |
| Its all good, its all good. |
| Get on line, alright |
| (Whatever, whatever) Little youngsters |