| We go wow, ba-da-da-dow-da-dah-dow
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| Either stand tall, or just sit the fuck down
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| All the way from the 2−1-5th to Bucktown
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| Brace yourself, it’s about to go down
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| (Runnin one-on-one, the only hip-hop band)
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| Yo Tariq (Whassup?) How your microphone sound?
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| (It sound tight) Well aight, show 'em what it’s about
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| We got to blow up the spot because they must have forget
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| We double (Trouble) bubble (Bubble) bubble, bubblin' hot
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| Well it’s like, smack the track up and leave dents in it
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| The vocalist, busting this blunt, instrument spit
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| The magnificent, rappers run from it
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| All fly girls' nipples and toes numb from it
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| MC’s in my circumference, is confronted son
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| Get your growth stunted from this, you don’t want it
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| (What nigga?) The Black Thought and M-O-S Def done it
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| Who the ultimate? |
| Yo my man speak upon it
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| Ayo, I stop fools and drop jewels but never run it
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| Rock mics so nice, I make you stock price plummet
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| All you high noon riders better rally at the summit
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| It’s me and Tariq and your fleet outnumbered
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| Cross the membrane, barking big game and get hunted
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| Eye witness account, say it happened so sudden
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| Just slid off to the side, didn’t really say nuttin
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| Then BLAOW, blew away the 1900th
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| You better get your rest cause the next day comin
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| Oh yes, and MCs, they scared to say sum’tin
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| Stop frontin, I’m in the cut just onlookin
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| Your get your kings, your rooks, rings and pawns tooken
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| Ayo, keep your tape rolling so you catch every bar
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| Of the Black Thought and the black man from Black Star
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| Illadelph and Vietnam, we conference, accomplish
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| Even with stakes inclined, I get mine regardless
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| Yo, a lot of Smurfette MCs carry purses
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| And rock uniforms that’s made for nurses
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| I burst your verses, your words is worthless
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| Only touching surface, the fuck’s the purpose?
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| I shot the sherriff, the deputy, and head of bank treasury
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| So mounties in the county got a big bounty stressin me
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| But tell 'em to hold off, they too short to measure me
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| Mos and Black Thought blast forth with the weaponry
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| Like blaow-ba-dow-da-da-dow-da-dah-dow
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| Either stand tall or sit the fuck down
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| All the way from the 2−1-5th to Bucktown
|
| Brace yourself, it’s about to go down
|
| Yo Tariq (Whassup?) How your microphone sound?
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| (It sound tight) Well aight, show 'em what it’s about
|
| We got to blow up the spot because they must have forget
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| We double (Trouble) bubble (Bubble) bubble, bubblin' hot
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| Yeah, now check your stove top before you take a listen
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| And make sure beans don’t burn in the kitchen
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| These gassed-up niggas just ain’t fuel efficient
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| I play the winter breeze to choke hold your piston
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| Now you niggas can’t make pole position
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| Class E chassis can’t hold the transmission
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| Crew pit useless, they got they tools missing
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| Watch me, Grand Prix, champy for wealth driven
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| Yo, you go one for my hustle (Ha!) two to rock rhyme
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| From the muscle kid I’m one of the illest of all time
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| I swing from chandeliers and wall climb
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| And specialize in warfares of all kind
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| A lot of MCs said I’m a run it down rhyme
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| But half the time, they running down one of mine
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| Thought suffocating 'em with yet another stunning line
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| You dumb and blind kid, it’s enlarged and underlined
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| What I memorized leave your whole staff pressurized
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| Melt down all of your artificial lies
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| Y’all niggas is faker than Yellow No. 5
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| Swine like mono and diglyceride
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| My vocals got texture, you just texturized
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| I’m nicer than your writtens even when I’m improvised
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| Step into my zone get flown like fly
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| By the b-boy Lazarus who just won’t die
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| Yo, me and Kamal and Leonard Hubbard, Questlove and Malik
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| We go back to dollar hoagies and Tahitian Treat
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| Or like toast in the oven with government cheese bubbling
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| Me and Dante like Marvin, the trouble men travelling
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| Give me the mic, we on that again
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| B-boy business, off the top acting and battling
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| Serving them cats that forgot
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| But don’t get too close because you might get shot
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| Like blaow-ba-dow-da-da-dow-da-dah-dow
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| Either stand tall or sit the fuck down
|
| All the way from the 2−1-5th to Bucktown
|
| Brace yourself, it’s about to go down
|
| Yo Tariq (Whassup?) How your microphone sound? |
| (It sound tight) Well aight, show 'em what it’s about
|
| We got to blow up the spot because they must have forget
|
| We double (Trouble) bubble (Bubble) bubble, bubblin' hot
|
| We go blaow-ba-dow-da-da-dow-da-dah-dow
|
| Either stand tall or sit the fuck down
|
| All the way from the 2−1-5th to Bucktown
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| Went from Do You Want More!!! |
| to what you want now?
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| Yo Tariq (Whattup?) Well how your microphone sound?
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| (It sound tight) Well aight, show 'em what it’s about
|
| We got to blow up the spot because they must have forget
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| We double (Trouble) bubble (Bubble) bubble, bubblin' hot
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| Say here’s a little story that must be told
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| About two young brothers who got so much soul
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| They taking total control, of the body and brain
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| Flying high in the sky on a lyrical plane
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| It’s just two bad brothers who will never quit
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| Mos Def and Tariq from the 2−1-5th
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| They rock beginning to end, on a spiritual blend
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| And everybody who forgot then baby tell 'em again
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| It’s just me and Tariq, with Ahmir on the beat
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| The Roots crew baby, yo, we got to make it unique
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| We got the soul-shockinest, body-rockinest
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| Non-stoppinest, Fortified Live survive the apocalypse
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| Rhymes we say, the perfect blend
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| Because we know how to rock when the beat come in
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| Like zen-zen-zen-zen-zen
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| Zen-zen-zen-zen-zen, zen-zen, zen-zen
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| Zen zen-zen, ZEN zen zen ZEN zen zen
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| Zen zen, ZEN zen zen-zen
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| Zen-zen-zen, ZEN zen ZEN zen
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| Here we go, here we, here we, here we go
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| Zen zen-zen, ZEN zen zen ZEN zen zen
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| Zen zen, ZEN zen zen-zen
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| Zen-zen-zen-zen-zen, zen-zen, zen-zen
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| Let the poppers pop, and the breakers break
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| Then zen-zen-zen-zen-zen
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| Zen-zen-zen-zen-zen, zen-zen, zen-zen
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| Two years ago, a friend of mine
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| Zen zen, ZEN zen, zen-zen zen-zen
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| Zen zen zen zen zen zen zen
|
| And these are the zen zen zen zen |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Double Trouble, artist - The Roots. Album song Things Fall Apart, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп