Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Grab the Mic and Boo You, artist - Ras Kass. Date of issue: 21.09.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Grab the Mic and Boo You |
| Now since the Wake-Up Show, I’ve been handin rappers they ass on a silver |
| platter |
| Its empty ill & gray matter |
| I do a selectively crew |
| The type of brother that will go to ya album release party, grab the mic and |
| BOO you |
| Like how’s how, F' how’s how |
| I make a fool’s do-rag do not want to |
| Nephew just a Brontosaurus with a sixth sense |
| Walking around not even knowing that he don’t exist |
| The cardio by linguistics this shit be the hardest act to follow |
| I don’t even spit I unswallow |
| I got so-called Hip-Hop purests that’s hip-hop tourists |
| Tryna mandate that I replicate 1988 |
| Fool its 2000 so get a life do u know what these |
| Rugged ghetto streets look like |
| Now to my b-boys & b’iches |
| Black be the best brutalized beats like Beebe Briches |
| I got Tourrettes and when I finish snappin the black community gonna hate you |
| for real |
| Like you got on BET and screamed F' Lauren Hill |
| Like that, Canibus |
| Yeah, yeah pestilence! |
| Pestilence! |
| Yeah, war the hardcore raw metaphor |
| Bout to blackout one time for y’all |
| I’m as dangerous as they come, dangerous with or without a gun |
| I’ve been dangerous from day one |
| Rhyme flows explode like pyro’s |
| Stick to your ribs like chicken and thick gravy from Roscoe’s |
| You get your head flown if you dumb in the dome |
| Or struck with some stone till you feel numb in the bones |
| You better keep your big mouth closed |
| 'Fore I stick a muzzle of the chrome in that hole under your nose |
| Send a signal to my index and tell it to fold |
| In the direction of my wrist bones to release your soul |
| I told you to freeze, if I was you I wouldn’t have froze |
| But you chose that other route and got blown full of holes |
| A pistol to ya mug cripple ya tongue, rip through ya lungs |
| Then write your name on your tombstone, scribbled in blood |
| C’mon give me a little love — is there anybody out there |
| That never felt one rhyme that Canibus bust? |
| You a liar liar ya pants on fire, watch the G.O.A.T |
| But the ghostwriter get slaughtered by a tiger |
| I saw him in the Pun video holdin' up his lighter |
| I smeared his career like doo-doo inside a diaper |
| My style is sicker than infected women and men |
| I’m so raw I could catch AIDS without stickin' it in |
| Flip and dip like scrimps and scampi |
| Switch my language up like a black kid raised by a Spanish nanny |
| You think you got big cahunas well I got bad news |
| After tonight you’ll have a testicular tumor |
| Dirty Manhattan alley to Atlanta where niggas drive caddies |
| To Trick Daddy and Trina down in Miami |
| To Louisiana with Cash Money and Manny |
| To the Sky Bar at the Mondrian out in Cali |
| With a raspberry daiquiri, I’ll assault and batter you badly |
| Words fire rapidly like heavily armed Apaches |
| Piloted by a trigger-happy Iraqi with extremely bad acne |
| I cause catastrophe to any nigga trying to battle me |
| Word yeah 2000 B. C |