Lyrics Hardcore - People Under The Stairs, People Under The Stairs featuring Smile-Oak

Hardcore

Peoples under the stairs…
Hardcore
Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated)
(Check it out…)
I wreck shop with no bullshit in my china store
Lord Radio, matador, red in the meter
Born Latin I didn’t introduce Staten aboard a ship
Your mother (don't say it!) (?)
Maneuver loops like a Six Flags engineer
Pursue a career in enlighten in herb
You read about that Thes sighting?
(?) seen the silhouette of my face in deep space
Right in place of a white dwarf
I mentally morph to enlist my skills where needed
Creativity preceeded existence
Be soul universal eternal kernel of parallel perception
Infernal corrections with command of Mister Hale Bop
Hard rock like the comet, you’re dubbing on my tapes
'Cause your crew want it, your posse’s gay like a bonnet
So we’ll sit and write a sonnet, pad of paper
Second I put my pen on it, implodes
Caper complete, Aaliyah, tell your brother I’m on the phone
He not home, you got the message, then I’m gone…
Peoples under the stairs…
Hardcore
Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated)
…Called sporadic, nomadic, static addict
I wreak chromatic havoc with emphatic grammatics
Trans-atlantic, Titanic-type panic and turn dynamic semantic
Galactic syllabics to granite
Incensed, in a sense, innocence past sense, in a sentence
Present tense, past tense in the sentence, gain fame from imprints
Eminence from dissidence, influence in increments
Though instruments of impedence
A semblance of symbionts through sentence and content
Implementation of syncopation shows musical inclination
Trace the styles into the future with innovation
And leaving nothing but imprints for the next generation
The interpretation of my iteration may lay the foundation
Of a future generation of civilzation one day
The oration of notation placed in hope on civilization
Imagination and communication in a way
Equivocation and gentrification and segregation
Have no place in the hip-hop nation… so stay tuned!
Peoples under the stairs…
Hardcore
Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated)
(Yeah, check this shit…)
Hey money, who told you you could rap?
In fact, word I’m checking soon as you done, nigga
I’m flexing like buff white bitches to your riches for my wags
You the last one, but the first freestyling in the Hearse
Hurt nigga, shoulda listened to your crew
Now them niggas pouring 40s, smoking blunts for you
Man, missing all the fun, mad bitches on the place
No longer a citizen from that one you suckas place
Pull up your drawers, bitch, proceed to run this way
Be embarrassed to see, and ain’t got shit to say
Except «Nigga, don’t you know this is such and such»
Now you the dope MC, see no percent, worry-free
Now that’s a joke that wasn’t funny like WB sitcoms
Sit calm and check your Three Amigos ripped
While you sip on that shit that got your pockets on zip mode
You fell like your grandma when she drunk on Thanksgiving
Got the tightest arthritis styles that can’t move jack
Put some time on your rhymes and give me the five on the sack
'Cause I’ve been there, perfecting it, nigga, and still doing it
Put your grill in my face on some more silly shit, and yo, I’ll ruin it
Uh… I ain’t never heard nobody rap like that
You coming off with something dope, no need to worry about that
Yo, just kick back, relax, pray that one day you’ll be alright
Yo, we killing it, right?
Ha ha, yeah, right!
Peoples under the stairs…
Hardcore
Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated)