Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Conceited Bastard, artist - Ras Kass. Album song Rasassination (The End), in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 31.12.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Priority
Song language: English
Conceited Bastard |
I’m creative with noun pro-noun-ciation |
The most beautifullest shit |
I make-up like foundation, now who you facing? |
The waterproof emcee |
Ras blessed the mic faster than Ramadan in Mach 3 |
Get off my dick, nigga |
And tell your bitch to come here |
And stick your dick in your eardrum and fuck what you heard, yeah |
Fa sheezy, articulate drama |
Multiple lacerations between consecutive commas |
I like my ill nana wet, my martini dry |
Whippin' a BMW 540-I (Drunk driving Miss Daisy) |
Devil in a blue dress packing heat |
While I’m doing doughnuts in the middle of the street |
My middle east metaphors motivate religious wars |
Jihad and won’t apologize for my God |
Get it popping like Felicia and Amhad Rashad |
Keep my game face on like a goalie |
So stick yourself, Pretty Tony |
You, you are, you conceited bastard (8x) |
(We still got some non-believers) So I’mma drop the bomb |
Like the one-armed wide reciever |
See we be off the hook like |
Criminally insana, my brain do the Macarena |
Attack the varicose vanity who spin cancer |
Rhetorical question, a hypothetical answer |
Wouldn’t swallow my tongue at a seizure |
Speak my mind at my leisure |
Living single with more hoes than Khadijah |
And when I’m bent, it’s the circus without a tent |
Clowning all baby-face ass niggas who love hoes and pay rent |
Give a chicken six cents for Gucci boots (Hell no!) |
I rather mop the floor at a peep show |
What part of «I'm the shit?» |
don’t you understand? |
(Groupie bitch) |
Your favorite rapper is a Ras Kass fan |
So, how many dykes do I flip on the daily? |
Many money, just give me plenty Henny Remy |
(Well, that’s true) Damn, skippy |
I put that on everything I love |
Like when Lucy was fucking Ricky |
Got more stripes than Adidas |
I’m cavy like fish fetus |
See money snit and bullshit out-run cheetahs |
Too much perputrating, not enough lyricism |
Indo got you believing what your pen do |
Faking pugilism, the evil you claim you and your man do |
With a gloc, when you least likely to red dot a 7-up can |
My man, understand, I got connections |
So much dough in my pocket, I give my girl a yeast infection |
I’m big-headed like babies with down syndrome |
Is you a playa from the Himalyas or Jeromey-rome |
This one girl tried to Billie Jean me |
But I was wearing two rubbers |
So name that nigga Houdini |
Controversal reversal, this is my planet |
You just a Reebok commercial |
What, nigga, check, check, yeah |
Uh, huh, yeah, yeah |
This goes out to all the critics |
You can suck the didick |
Check this out for all the bitches to the radio |
Don’t hate me though, you don’t know me |