| Live from where the sun comes up
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| Yes yes y’all
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| Freak freak y’all
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| Turn it up y’all
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| Wells, Maine
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| Spizzy Spose y’all
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| Small world y’all
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| Prep Dank y’all turn it down
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| I’m like the broke Young Hova
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| No Range Rover
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| But still hot when serving people — Anna Kournikova
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| No fancy restaurant twenty-dollar entrees
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| It is Wendy’s, it is Friendly’s, it is empty, it is gay
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| No Tyrone Biggums crack rocks where my pot at
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| A movie director, man, I don’t get shot at
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| Unburly rhyme-satirist in Hurley and Atticus
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| Never up early counting cash on my abacus
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| Weed leaf rustler, window-shopper customer
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| In other words you could say I’m «not a not a hustler»
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| I rapped for six years but still anonymous
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| No bling, dollar-less and a bad economist
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| Life’s Lauryn Hill, it’s killing me softly
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| I got no cream you could call me black coffee
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| My finances more fucked than a used condom
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| Stocks fall like autumn, greetings from rock bottom
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| But they’re ain’t no fake pimping
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| Thugging thugging gangster gangster gayness
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| I’m Beyonce-less and not on the A-list
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| I know some bailiffs and I’m not proud of it
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| But I used to love weed, and well, I still love it!
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| Freak ex-geek no powder puff pipsqueek
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| No rough speak with scuffed sneaks, yeah it’s me
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| Just an emcee in a dirty white tee
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| Got trees from Mike V that be unsightly
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| Sometimes life’s a drag
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| Sometimes it’s a bong rip
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| I’ma live now put my money where my songs is
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| I’m still gnarly clam baking that Bob Marley
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| Till it’s not even funny anymore — Chris Farley
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| I’m AIDs ill and malaria sick
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| With no hilarious schtick or gimmick to get your trick
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| I’m hoping being honest gets into these arenas
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| And my tracks flood the streets like Hurricane Katrina
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| I’m not here to be the hardest or act all retarded
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| I’m just an emcee man, a rapper, an artist
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| I don’t bling or blang or sling, but my slang
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| Got you and your mang going ape like orangoutangs
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| Not a wack, weak wigger, wannabe thug
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| No kilos of drugs are hidden in my Lugz
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| But make no istake still I puff cake
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| I’m bony but not phony
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| Baked but not fake
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| It’s all gravy, baby, I’m still porking ladies
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| But I don’t do drive-bys in next year’s Mercedes
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| These are my thoughts, I don’t exaggerate my life
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| If you carry the mic there’s a stereotype
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| But I was born and bred for this babbling business
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| Rap words like you getting scrabble for Christmas
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| No Cristal bottle or models with swelled racks
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| I don’t tote gats or sell crack, I just rap |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Just An Emcee II , by - Spose. Song from the album Preposterously Dank, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп