Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dinner Time , by - Royce 5'9. Release date: 19.10.2009
Song language: English
Dinner Time |
| Ayo, Royce Da 5'9″ |
| Why you wan' share your food with these niggas? |
| We don’t share food in the recession |
| Bite these niggas like you bite the microphone |
| Living legend inside of a Smith & Wesson sliding out of the barrel |
| I’m fire, don’t try me 'cause I am hot |
| Police cars with they sirens come by when I’m rhyming |
| Saying they got a call that somebody 'round here done fired shots |
| MAC-11's in order, the flow is like water |
| Each quote’s a quarter of blow, the chorus is followed by the dot |
| Goons, goblins and creatures and monsters’ll bounce ya |
| And beat ya and stomp ya and eat ya |
| Don’t get swallowed by the block |
| I pay a shrink every week to basically tell me |
| «Lay here and speak to me» just to say how psychotic I am not |
| I’m too fly with the viral and physical copies |
| Niggas sloppy, look up what you under, I’m what you tryna top |
| I’m scared and compared to no man |
| I’m like the big hand on Big Ben |
| I get in and I’m hitting my numbers 'round the clock |
| I’m 'bout to give it back to my nigga Bus-a-Bus |
| And have a seat, it’s convenient I’m already copping a squat |
| Nowadays when niggas walk around |
| They start to look like hamburgers and frankfurters |
| Ayo, Royce Da 5'9″, feed on these mothafuckas, homie, come on |
| Take him, gut him and take out his organs and smorgasbord him |
| The more important he is I’m toe-tagging his beat |
| Turn him to chicken chowder, dip him in some sniffing powder |
| Season him with gasoline and throw his ass in the grease |
| Mention my name in a record, I’ma come get you lyrically |
| Individually, I’ma take it back to the streets |
| Cannibalistic mentality, rappers hating |
| Decapitate him, rap 'bout what I naturally happen to be |
| Flow is superb and you heard us forget it, two verses |
| Two murders acquitted, personally it’s a wrap, capiche? |
| Fingers snapping and tapping they feet |
| Clapping what happened the street |
| 'Bout to happily bring it back to the D |
| Niggas claiming harder that all of this time |
| Niggas believe him until I see him and then slap him and see |
| I ain’t having it, havoc is average to me |
| War’s normal, only thing I’m having is having a feast |
| Royce Da 5'9″, you my dog and I’m your dog |
| Being that I already sicced you on these mothafuckas |
| It’s your turn to sic me on they ass, let’s go |
| Every time that I marry the rhyme and the beat |
| I go hairy and grind in the street, then I’m fucking up everybody |
| Pulverizing shit like we gorillas and peeling your skin |
| Like we banana peelers, it’s hazardous if you copy |
| Don’t you know that I’m one of the coldest, courageous |
| The boldest contagious, ain’t no one can phase this thing that I do |
| Well, you know since I report the latest |
| That niggas can’t fuck with me |
| 'Cause I’m the greatest, my shit is sick like the flu |
| You see I’m animalistic, the cataclysmic events |
| That’ll happen whenever I grab the mic and talk |
| Indeed I’m back and specifically |
| That I’m hickory-dickory-dock of this rizzy |
| The diddy bop in my walk |
| Now I’m the messenger to set the temperature, nigga |
| Whenever the heat will be needed to hot the block up, I’m saying |
| I got the Dillinger, Harry Kissinger with the ratchet |
| The fact is, I’m back with the clack and the click, see I ain’t playing |
| Why, oh why, oh why? |
| Royce Da 5'9″, please tell me why |
| Why the fuck these niggas gon' let us get together and do this shit to 'em? |
| It’s so fucking unfair, shit is so unfair |