Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ding! (Clean) , by - Royce 5'9. Song from the album Hit 'Em / Ding!, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 09.05.2007
Record label: Make It Count
Song language: English
Ding! (Clean) |
| Yeah yeah |
| Mic check, one two, one two, one two |
| Yeah, turn me up a little bit Preem |
| Yeah, mic check |
| Mic check, one two, one two |
| Yeah |
| Yeah, yeah |
| Yeah yeah |
| Mic check, one two, one two, one two |
| Yeah, turn me up a little |
| Yeah, mic check |
| Word! |
| The Bar Exam, I told you how it’s goin down |
| DJ Premier ya host, Statik Selektah on the wheels of steel |
| Royce 5'9″, the artist |
| Teaching you motherfuckers how to rhyme |
| I like to say I specialize in rhyming |
| You recognized in time |
| I train till I’m in pain |
| I exercise my mind |
| I effortlessly write |
| My weapons with me tonight |
| So, please be aware of 'em |
| Walk up in the fight club with eight ounce white gloves and leave with red ones |
| Mood swing on the beat, soon as Preem prepares one |
| Pick and choose my punches |
| Walk away with minimal lumps |
| Pivoting around the vocal booth in trunks |
| Back you off me like a boxer |
| Nigga I overuse the drum |
| They call me Travis Barker with a chopper |
| Knock away your tooth |
| Do the rock-away or I will raise your roof |
| Rest in peace to Proof |
| He prolly rolling over in his grave, niggas poisoning his name |
| The misfortunes of the fortune and the fame |
| I’m too cocky to hit |
| 5'9″ and Preem, the new Rocky and Mick |
| The dollar signs go ding |
| Preem, cut me |
| Cut! |
| This is where your heart at bitch |
| Something you don’t wanna battle with |
| As if you don’t notice |
| Damn I’m great |
| I don’t like no fake niggas |
| This is where your heart at bitch |
| Something you don’t wanna battle with |
| Damn I’m great |
| They say this is a wise old profession |
| So my flow is my whole confession |
| I rhyme like applying cold compression |
| You go away like swelling |
| When pellets from the throw away is yelling |
| At you near the doorway to hell or heaven |
| Set me up, I know you’ve thought about it |
| That means I gotta wet you up |
| And I ain’t talking with no water bottle |
| Sit outside your house creeping |
| Come out and (ugh) |
| Spit out your mouth piece |
| And I’ll skid out to South Beach |
| Fuck yo' talent, I’m never going down |
| I’m a stand-up guy, yes I’m up for the challenge |
| Up cause of balance |
| From tying my shoe strings together when I was young and busting the cannon |
| Your life is spun, the fight is done |
| You’ve been iced out by the nicest one |
| And I ain’t talking about Jacob and Johnny the jeweler |
| I’m talking bout letting the fakest hear the sound of the Ruger |
| What you know about that? |
| I know all about that |
| Me and Tip feel the same |
| Seeing tips feel the brain |
| Is like watching a movie but I ain’t make those |
| I just make the credits roll after I’m Oliver Stone |
| I’m the pedestal you stand on me I’mma flip you |
| Pitbull, put your hands on me I’mma sic you |
| It’s true you not so hard, I’m sensing you puss |
| As soon as you drop your guard, in comes the hook |
| Preem, cut me |
| Cut! |
| This is where your heart at bitch |
| Something you don’t wanna battle with |
| As if you don’t notice |
| Damn I’m great |
| I don’t like no fake niggas |
| This is where your heart at bitch |
| Something you don’t wanna battle with |
| Damn I’m great |