Lyrics Soul On Ice - Ras Kass

Soul On Ice

The waterproof MC, you ain’t wettin me You need to stop rappin and start robbin banks like Steady B Cause see, no matter how much green you make
You’ll never taste the avocado, just another broke Versace model
Tiger Woods ain’t even up to par in the game of survival
That’s why I’m pissin in y’all Cristal bottles
Drink Listerine, brush my teeth with amphetamine
So I can sound fresh and say dope things in between
Three strikes to five mics — forever snortin
I want a woman with the body of a whore and a personality like Lauryn
Can’t even say I didn’t know
Cause while we wanna be N.W.A.
they create the N.W.O.
How many years, fo’mo'- so fuck the fake John Gotties
Ain’t got no Mazzeraties I be at the party sippin hot toddies
My shit pumpin everything, out Audis in Saudi
I’m +Thuggish Ruggish+ to the Bone,
and I’m gonna diss everybody.
and I’m gonna diss everybody.
You want the truth, can’t handle the truth
You want Lexus moonroof, Hennesssy 80 proof
Scared to death, playin the game of life.
Soul on Ice
I keep the afterparty swervin, not quite like Michael Irvin
Edumacating urban youth, like it or not
These soliloquies explain our people’s lack of stability
You keepin it real, but ain’t got a clue what reality really be See the diameter of your knowledge is the circumference of your activity
Me, I knew the deal before Babyface went solo;
baggin dime pieces
stackin dividends and dressin in more linen than Yoko Ono
But on the low doe we fightin over the scraps
Worshippin the almighty dollar — In God We Trust, look it over
Now what the fuck pyramids got to do with the pilgrims or Jehovah
Novus Ordo Seclorum means New World Order
That’s why I keep my friends close and my enemies closer
We runnin around in thousand dollar clown suits
Better get some boots when Lucifer turn your city to Beirut, nigga
I avoid one-time
Got Lela Rochon callin my genitals sunshine
Fifth floor of the Mandriane, so go 'head nigga pop your Dom
I’m the man whose esophagus transform to a fuckin gat like Megatron
Here’s a sport unknown to Bob Costas, give it a name and you a hater
But violence don’t play that game, man
Guerilla penmanship, the, preacher impeacher
Heat seeker MC when I get pissed like a urethra
My day-to-day I’m tryin to bubble, first place
This paper I chase, Touch Me and Tease Me like Case
But in the millenium, CREAM turns electronic
UPC barcodes on the hand is demonic
They got concentration camps, from Alaska to Jersey
But when the President declare a national emergency
He payin car notes tryin to +Rock the Vote+
I’m spittin razor-sharp quotes tryin to slit the Pope’s throat
Uh, uh.
yeah
I’m rhymin — beats provided by Diamond