Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Last Word , by - Rah Digga. Release date: 15.12.2008
Song language: English
The Last Word |
| This is a story… |
| But not really a story |
| It’s just some freestyle shit |
| My name is Rah Digga, and this here is Tha Outsidaz |
| My niggas, tell em Since I been on television, girls been beggin me to swell the kitten |
| Black or white, when the lights go off, I can’t tell the difference |
| Thought you’d impress me, well you didn’t |
| I got mad freestyles and hella-written |
| The hottest fella spittin |
| Never quitin, spittin more Outz than eleven innings |
| Cheddar spendin, Slang Ton forever shittin |
| You better listen |
| Yeah yeah, I tell a chicken Zee hurtin skeezers |
| Fuck you wit the strength of like thirty Herculeses |
| I want the cash nigga, fuck them scabs |
| Stab once or twice then the pussy up for grabs |
| I puff the hash in front of your mother’s dad |
| Cut a fag |
| And put your brother ash in a duffle bag |
| Yeah, ya’ll fall in love wit that, Outsidaz comin |
| Leave ya’ll drunk like Olde English 800 |
| Pacewon the fire-breathin Rah Rah dragon in the dungeon |
| American Werewolf from the Bricks, fuck London |
| Chorus |
| Set it off for my heads in Jerz |
| Swear to God, weak rappers done struck my last nerve |
| On wit the swerve, mad bags of herb |
| My Outsida click gon’get the last word |
| Our attitude is like a bad sitcom, nuttin funny |
| Slap you like you stole something from me Yo we got raps by the page like Bill Gates got money |
| Dummy Young Zee, come get your mouth injured |
| Diss us, watch I? |
| pop willies? |
| without ninjas |
| Run your? |
| wit ya for the Brick City niggas |
| Shittin on ya like kitty litter |
| You could do fifty situps, and I don’t give a fuck if he bigger |
| I throw a right hook that could drop any nigga |
| Ya’ll rock jewels that’s Truck like Chevy pickups, TWISTA |
| All I want is money and my dick sucked |
| Az-Izz got bad nerves, rank matters |
| While you serve steak platters I’ma die ballin like Hank Gathers |
| Axe get the dough like cake batter |
| Pockets stay fatter |
| The way you rhyme makes me think that you the gay rapper |
| Face slapper like Roy Jones, I throw a bolo |
| Break your team up like Chris Shwartz and Joe Niccolo |
| Rippin a beige Volvo, bumpin a Slang promo |
| We sign our autographs, Spell It Out like K-Solo |
| Tha Outz straight to disk, too hot for tape or phono |
| Takin photos wit the black and gray Polo’s |
| Ruinin niggas lives like they K-Ci or JoJo |
| Outsidaz takin a loss, that’s a no-no |