Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song NYC Street Corner Battle, artist - Ultra.
Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Song language: English
NYC Street Corner Battle |
I told you this fuckin guy man |
Yo man, yo B, this is my fuckin block, get the fuck off |
Shut the fuck up |
You never had a fuckin green card in your fuckin life |
You don’t any means to make fuckin money |
What? |
What the fuck you talkin bout mayn? |
You fuckin stupid, plantella Adidas motherfucker |
Saturday Night Live, John Travolta ass motherfucker |
Suck my dick |
You fuckin spaghetti and meatball eatin motherfucker |
You don’t have any fuckin knowledge |
Fuck you man, conio man, suck my dick man |
Little Italy ay, you don’t know about the. |
real estate man |
Fuck you man, what the fuck you wanna do mayn? |
You wanna do somethin mayn? |
You wanna do somethin mayn? |
Take this mayn take this mayn |
Take this mayn dead now! |
Here we go with some new shit, fuck the bullshit |
Bronx niggas rule shit, cause we always pull quick, what? |
Motherfucker back up, you know whassup |
Put two in your gut, POP POP what, now shut 'em up |
Mad niggas wanna have this, murderous status |
I’m known as the motherfuckin rhymin apparatus |
The fattest, MC of the era, cause terror |
Could niggas fuck with this? |
Never, but however |
Many foes try to apprehend, they can’t comprehend |
Cause when they step to me they don’t win |
I bend, break MC’s who fake the funk |
Leavin wack rappers in the back of my truck |
Then eat some rat poison and I drink some ammonia |
Came out bein that gastric felonious |
Serial killer, that you know, as Kujo |
Fuck around with Dog and get slammed like a sumo |
«Waitin to Exhale» like Whitney, you can’t get wit me |
I wanna see that nigga from Uptown, who bit me |
Bitin, never writin, that’s not excitin |
I’m invitin, all y’all suckers who like fightin |
So come on, BRING IT ON, bring your weapon |
No it’s not rainin but you still gettin wettened |
Smash your fuckin ass like a Savage, I’m Randy |
Niggas don’t want no beef cause I keep the tec handy |
Shoot you from your head to your toe |
You have so many holes in your shit it spells act like you know |
Well I thought you knew motherfuckers. |
Now take a second while I reveal myself into the industry |
By smokin lyrical chokin teacher provokin MC |
Clear the way for me, unique, delete the weak |
As I defeat the claim to be sweet, by keepin it street |
Lazy poet and I don’t got to have them tactics to turn fake rappers |
And crack addicts, tell the weak hit from my bomb shit |
Ooooh! |
Damn, no stress or contest, the impossible |
I stand on top of them, no doubt about it, I’m unstoppable |
Got a train of focus, e’ry track I smoke this |
Cannabis is nice, six I’m causin a ruckus |
You can’t fuck with us, known for keepin it true |
Not fakin the funk like bustaz, so what you gonna do? |
I address, I’m better than fresh |
Mo' potent than stress, now try to test, nigga! |
Yeah fuck y’all motherfuckers who need y’all whole album |
To prove you got skills, suck this |
I’m makin rappers load they apples pack up, move they wagons |
My style like Bruce Lee, MC’s walkin into the +Dragon+ |
My bald head super sharp, I walk like Telly Savales |
Niggas on a tightrope, they style is off balance |
Hyper mental like Larry Davis on the instrumental |
Rappers actin poodle, but I’mma drop the kennel |
No threats; |
don’t sleep on me you slept on Bernard Goetz |
With a Berkowitz twist, your projects heard of this |
My unique style retarded, kids smell the piss |
With hand grenades I cut your rectum out with razor blades |
Emergency please, gorillas bleedin through they knees |
My style werewolf — AOWWWWWWWWWW! |
I howl on your elevator, open your door, see you late |
I drop sticks of dynamite, open your mailbox |
Don’t look for guns, I paid some crackheads for yo' Glocks |
Your style berback (?), lion tiger asscrack |
No need to worry low prices call me Crazy Eddie |
I put the head to sleep and send that brain to Betty |
I’m outtie. |
five thousand eight |