Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Slogans, artist - PackFM. Date of issue: 25.07.2003
Song language: English
Slogans |
| Now what you know about that crazy new |
| Baby-blue, label who’s taking you |
| Five steps ahead of the game, without a change of shoes |
| Makin moves against the basic music that you’re acquainted to |
| While changing the rules, hanging them fools, saving the boom-bap |
| Bang until the name’ll get a boost, like |
| QN5 Baby! |
| Check the Asterisk |
| The last to get mentioned, but always the first with the classic shit |
| Eclectic & multifaceted |
| These acts is passionate |
| With a massive buzz on a tenth of the budget half of these bastards get |
| These hazardous cats got you pumpin your fist |
| Because the performance is nothing to miss, when we in the building |
| We have been building, since Rawkus dropped then suddenly switched |
| Since Def Jam was just Russel & Rick |
| We’ve been the illest |
| Deacon The Villain got God given battle gear |
| That’s probably cause my King James ain’t a Cavalier |
| I saddle fear, rodeo it, smash the eight second count |
| When we cipher watch e’rybody in the session bounce |
| (QN5) |
| With beast masters |
| Disasters just pile on you like Pharaoh in Exodus passages |
| Inject plagues in it, let death dim it |
| Then scoop classic groupies |
| Philly the fly fella with the sky colored shirt |
| QN5 known to give your bitch an eye full of squirt |
| Fire for the work, hardly known but far from aimless |
| I don’t do shit for the love cause at heart I’m famous |
| Ask Tone, at 17 you could tell I’ll make it |
| Still ain’t old enough to buy a drink to celebrate with |
| Sorry to brag but shit I just want some groupies |
| Skip the name miss, straight to bed, fuck «excuse me» |
| Mr. Mec' to you |
| M. City, quickly disrespect your crew |
| Get busy, twist your neck in two, all that rep the blue |
| We all exceptional, except for you |
| Q’s on fraud alert, we see the bitch in you |
| We exposing you hoes from broad to skirt |
| You want your jaw to hurt? |
| Test me while I’m bored at work |
| I’ll get a break from making hits |
| Burn your squad to bacon bits |
| You’re mistake, fakin, mistaking for some lazy cliques |
| Some loose knit, bunch of bitch cats ain’t who you playing with |
| It’s still ridiculous |
| (Dealing with the Q and nickle bitch) |
| Two thousand triple hits |
| (Iron curtain, sickle, hammer shit) |
| Hotter than pistol whips, you sensitive as a nipple tip |
| Your boys in blue set your crew |
| Frame the birth certificate |
| Tight like La Costa Nostra |
| Mixed in with the soldiers |
| All on one sofa like «move over!» |
| Prepare to lose close up trying to tear the jam up |
| While we signing autographs you still trying to get some hands up |
| We rep the baby blue, so you know how we do |
| Q-N-5 is how we do it |
| And we ain’t never leaving, we trying to break even |
| Q-N-5, you know we got it baby |
| You know who the hell it is, with no rich relatives |
| Q-N-5, you know we on it, ha |
| There ain’t no one above us |
| And white women love us |
| You know we keep it moving |
| Now you can call yourself a label, press up some CDs |
| Because you rock the same jersey, you ain’t in the same league |
| Now get it straight while I demonstrate, how little time it’ll take |
| My squad to get up in your face and leave you with a bitter taste |
| I won’t stop till I’m middle aged |
| Looking like I’m 21 |
| Walking around with a cane, saying «I'll battle anyone!» |
| Blow up independently, the label of the century |
| Save on money with the cases from the demo’s that you sent to me |
| I hate wack producers trying to slander my team |
| With them faggity loops, word to Elton John’s ear rings |
| Since you bitch, you might as well switch |
| Pencil them breasts on your mental and next |
| Just admit you a fake, the baby blue ain’t hating you |
| You ain’t running no keys |
| I don’t see Morpheus chasing you |
| So I ain’t trying to hear it |
| You got a shorter projected shelf life than Kobe Bryant’s marriage |
| Session |
| Make sure the name is printed |
| Food for thought, flame is cooking |
| A shame it’s tooken |
| This long but now frames get shooken, lames get tooken |
| And y’all take an L like a subway train in Brooklyn |
| Not a dame is looking, they sweat us at the shows |
| Shut up cause we know you trying to get us 'fore we blow |
| We by the bank paid and your babes and they all pretty |
| Gotta say the same for The Plague and Varsity |
| Domingo on the track, spin those under wax |
| Put the single on the map, turn the singles into stacks |
| What we bring you is a wrap |
| I’m a nine and a half but yo |
| I need a size twenty shoe box to stash my doe |
| Pardon me a second |
| You a hard MC? |
| I’m steppin' |
| till apologies accepted |
| To lock us down we gotta be arrested |
| Who can stop us now? |
| I’m proud of who I’m repping |