Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Coffee Shoppe , by - 8Ball. Release date: 18.05.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Coffee Shoppe |
| You are now, witnessing, the effects of the BUDDHA! |
| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo |
| Redman kick through your door |
| Liquidated then I come through your pores |
| Think the track is bleedin' get at the gauze |
| Mix, fidgit, 'fore I rip it in four’s |
| Look at my face, you can tell that I’m slick |
| The blunt, excersize, 10 in the clip |
| Y’all niggas ready for the un-conterfit? |
| D-O, dot, bee-bo, tuck in your shit |
| That bogus holder of the sticky dolja |
| Got me appearing on the wanted poster |
| It’s like when your body get caught on rotor’s |
| Wnen I snap like strings through boat motors |
| My kitchen fridge look like Jeffery Dahmer’s |
| Boys screamin' for mama from the drama |
| My hunger for hip-hop got my gun up |
| Yo EightBall, hit the marijuana |
| Yeah, yeah |
| EightBall blazin' the hay |
| Inhale a pound almost every day |
| Real playas run the game that they play |
| That’s why I’m doin' it the playa way |
| I say dope lines potent and real |
| Showin' skills all my homies can feel |
| Smile let you see the name on my grill |
| Cut the track up let me show you the deal |
| I be twisted with that Redman |
| We get it all, cookin' dope makin' bread man |
| I got the Eagle full of hollow tip lead man |
| Hear what I said man? |
| Can all that weak noise |
| I write, busta go and get your little weak boys |
| You know what bring a player joy? |
| Playin' with them Glock toys |
| See I avoid all suckas trippin' |
| Full of liquor, actin' like a bunch of women lippin' |
| Interested in what I be grippin' |
| Dippin' in the Benz zippin' |
| Pass all you haters fakin' |
| Runnin' round seein' real players imitatin' |
| Breakin' concentration, all up in my situation |
| Hay blazin' |
| Get y’all shit together |
| Coffee Shoppe we with whatever |
| EightBall stay high forever |
| Yo Doc, keep it tucked under my leather |
| We here to keep the party live |
| Smoke hay till we chinky eyed |
| Wanna brawl? |
| We can meet outside |
| Red and Ball be down to ride |
| Yo, yo, look around you mothafuckers |
| It’s a hip-hop holocaust |
| Yeah, you just found the right superheroes to take care of that shit |
| Mothafucker |
| Head rush and green stinky |
| Feelin' like a niga dropped a mickey |
| Drink up the Hen and watch me get tipsy |
| Who wanna ride with me, 160 |
| Up and down 48 trackin' |
| Ski mask, kick in doors in, straight beat jackin' |
| Ball battin' rhymes all in your skull crackin' |
| Actin' like I got a problem that’s heavy to me |
| Smokin' brothers like a dooby in a gangsta movie |
| MC’s turn stank like a old lady coochie |
| Ball and Red be all up in your shit |
| So deep that it be damn near permanent |
| So authentic you can tell it from counterfeit |
| Who wanna hit of the purest Coffee Shop crop |
| Guaranteed to be bomb to the last drop |
| Ball and Red keep it stone like Bedrock |
| We keep it hot |
| Yo |
| I’m raunchy the blackout mode |
| I snatch cheese that your mousetrap hold |
| Yo, who fucks ya baby? |
| Hey Kojak knows my flows, Kodak |
| Couldn’t hold that pose |
| Wow |
| Goofy playin' tough in the streets |
| Blue collar MC’s suffer the heat |
| Until I reach the isosceles heat |
| Right angle better, double your sleeve |
| I’m just a black nation wide singer |
| Cops lookin' for Red, but can’t arraign us |
| You need more than lion trainers to tame us |
| Famous for cuffin' mics with 5 fingers |
| That’s why I walk so distorted |
| Any form of hash aborted |
| Word so superb it’ll turn to herb if you snort it |
| 50 sack and a nick can vouch for it |
| We keep it critical |
| If you hardcore spit it out, out, out, out |
| Doc who be arousin' police |
| My underground funk be plowin' the streets |
| So if you claimin' you the best MC |
| Bring your arm over here and handcuff me |
| We battle till the cattle learn to speak |
| Cross examine me, I’m straight up framed! |