| DJ’s and MC’s
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| Comin up next is the incredible
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| We takin it back to the beats and the RHYYYYYYYYYMES…
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| 5−9 is BACK, about to make a nigga spin on his BACK
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| Not on a cardboard, on the ground with people surroundin
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| lookin down at him lookin astounded
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| Ready to draw around him; |
| an outline of his body in chalk form
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| This nigga here let the trigger talk for him
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| His niggaz’ll bark for him, for real, his heart’s warm
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| So you’ve been warned (GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO.)
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| I don’t even need to be drunk forever, the liquor is rootin me on
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| I turn tables fast as Jam Master Jay do
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| I’m N.W.A., I choke hoes like Dre
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| Poke holes in the pavement, throw foes in the grave
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| If you could choose between a broke nose or the A.K.
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| I make movies like Cube 'cept I use hammers
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| YEP! |
| I shoot but I don’t do it with cameras
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| NOPE! |
| So you can call me Malcolm
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| You can all witness what I be doin to all of these rappers (yes!)
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| Wit’chall sloppy tactics; |
| don’t try to copycat me if you ain’t tryna box me back
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| And watch your back, don’t take another look into the eyes
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| of a nigga that’s willin to ride 'til he blind
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| (Fuck a hook. fuck a hook)
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| Chk-chk-chk, Royce. |
| 5. 9. (he's baaaaack)
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| Yeah, and it’s on
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| (Fuck a hook. fuck a hook. fuck a hook)
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| Chk-chka-chka-chka, I will rhyme all day
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| YES!
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| I’ll show you the back of your brain
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| Slap you with the back of the gun
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| Clap you when the rappin is done
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| I aim to hit, I pack macs, accurate ones
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| Change the clip, I send rappers back where they from
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| Changin fast, the game I ask is not a sport
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| I’m tired of bein a fuckin day late and a dollar short
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| And I’m back! |
| All of you rap niggaz hide your mics
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| I’m ridin, dyin, and I ain’t flyin by on them bikes
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| I’m walkin, talkin, you eye me you dyin tonight
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| This iron is showin you the shine designed by Christ
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| And I, am the head reaper about the sick shit
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| You about to see dead people without the Sixth Sense
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| And yeah, takin food off my mother’s table’ll
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| get you killed regardless, like my brother’s label
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| My heart and arteries a part of me, that’ll test the truest
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| We can do it, put your vest into it, yeah
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| (Fuck a hook. fuck a hook. fuck a hook)
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| Chka-chka-chk, you don’t wanna play with him today
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| Yea — NO!
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| Yeah, hardcore! |
| Rhymes galore!
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| OHH! |
| Givin you what you need
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| Like I told you BEFOOOOOOOOOOORE.
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| Yeah, the rap game is DEAD, I’m bout to breathe life in it Bring it back to when niggaz was cypherin
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| Yeah, back in the DAY, when nobody needed radio play
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| I was straight long as my radio played tapes
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| And this went on before all of them pay dates
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| We was backflippin and windmillin to save face
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| These days, we’ll give you the mac so stay in your place
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| I hope before you lay on your back, you sayin your grace (pray!)
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| These new cats that rap to me they groupies
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| You never see 'em in Max Julius or them Guccis
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| Or they woulda got robbed for them Diadores
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| or the Gazelles, we the store, we take, we sell your
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| items we took, have you goin to tell
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| We crooks, we either goin pro or goin to jail
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| I know I’ma spare — many lifes
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| This rap shit is comin with ME, cause don’t nobody know how to share
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| (Fuck a hook. fuck a hook. fuck a hook)
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| Chka-chka…
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| (Get in your mind, get in your mind
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| Get in your mind all day!!) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Fuck A Hook , by - Royce 5'9. Song from the album M.I.C. Presents, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп