Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song W.K.Y.A., artist - Saukrates.
Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Song language: English
W.K.Y.A. |
Yeahhh. |
a-ha-ha-ha! |
Lyricist Lounge. |
Yo, comin to you live |
Live, live, live |
One-two, one-two |
One-two, one-two |
One-two, one-two |
Broadcastin live on W.K.Y. |
— A., it’s Sa-Dog in the place and uhh |
(Yo, it’s Funk Doc in the place and uhh) |
Yo, yo, get prepared for the double-homicidal, spit reality |
So rare got you thinkin it’s from another galaxy |
Opened a whole bottle of throttle, WHOOP-ASS |
Then with one blast, I’m spillin your Mas Clamato |
Hang out the black Tahoe, animated like John Bravo |
With four fingers stuck in the five hole |
Of any given chickenhead, ridin shotgun |
I took a lesson from Knockboots, (??) popped 'em |
It’s Doc place your bets, I’m live D-88 cassette |
I’m down low, I don’t think me and my neighbors met (HI!) |
Raisinette sized hoes in your Avirex |
(You fall off) like inter-racial relationships |
It’s, the rare mooley, can’t do nar' to me |
Only kid in fifth grade with a infrared toolie |
I’m hard-headed, check sun like Con-Eda |
Sick flows stay ridin with the paramedics |
I fuck bitches freaky like albino winos |
With five hoes, high off of Tae-Bo fine flows |
Paint pictures, so scary |
That motherfuckers say Sauk you spittin obituaries |
Not verses but viruses, get it? |
The mic is like pussy tight and I’m paid to hit it |
(You know you did it) I get the dough (Nigga switch your flow) |
I’m the real jiggalo, nigga you’re Deuce Bigalow |
Temporary, switchin like the seasons change |
My team rearrange and bring a whole decade of rain |
I bite through steel, with these jaws of, life |
Get rocked when Doc and Sauk is on the, mic |
Broads used to say Redman, don’t listen to him |
Now they whipped cause I’m in the bed, kissin on Kim |
Hips, guerilla my color my nail and my skin |
Dipped in hair so get bears to box 'em in |
With (GRRR) I’m the D, similar to Michigan |
I’m hittin the pussy, y’all babysittin them |
That’s why hoes wanna, flatten my Michelins |
In front of my house with, fuck you signs picketin |
Punkin out to a fight dog? |
It ain’t us |
Clean my teeth and Timberlands with the same brush |
I stretch your body out like Jack Lalanne does |
O.J. |
attitude, Doc carry the same gloves |
Remember me, Doc’s Da Name? |
Brick City, T-Dot, padlock the game |
If it reigns then it’s Doc and big Sauk to blame |
Herbie Hancock MC’s — ROCKIN IT |
We be kickin your ass. |
on W.K.Y.A |
We be kickin your ass. |
on W.K.Y.A |
Say do it feel good to ya? |
(WHAT?) |
Say do it feel good to ya? |
(Wait a minute!) |
Say do it feel good to ya? |
(WHAT?) |
Yo. |
exclusive on W.K.Y.A |
Hey DJ. |
DJ. |
DJ. |
my DJ slice the one and two |
My hip-hop union’s all in favor of cuttin you |
My aphrodis' fo' scheez found a slut in you |
Soon as I find a frame strong enough to cut for two |
I’m overstoked plus I’m airin dudes |
With metaphors sicker than microwaved airplane food |
I dare take two pulls, off the blunt that Red rolled |
With head full of mari-when-I-bury-one |
Wack nigga chasin the clout thing |
Tryin to out bling (bling) I knocks him out ring |
Yo E TURN IT UP if niggas is doubtin |
Bout to bust, when it blows, we movin without him |
Sauk, watch my two arms drop bombs on they entourage |
Fuck you, the beef we love to jump it off |
Don’t matter what hood Doc stompin on |
Look what I done to dog, bumba claat |
Fucked up in the trunk of his aunt garage |
He thought I clap guns, but my guns applaud |
Fuck the guns, my palm is up to guard |
Whether I live or die is up to God |
Guerilla tactics, way I, fuck a broad |
Robbin me? |
You might be, up in yours |
Hospital with a IV, stuck in arm |
To finish off, it might be, (??) |
(Watch your back) or better yet, watch you front |
Watch you die, over this cheap watch you want |
Here it is! |
The shells of a shotty comin |
So next time I get stuck, it’s accupunct' |