Lisa Lipps — текст песни (CRU)

[Mighty Ha]
Run for the cue

Lisa Lipps
Was a Rolling Stone, huh
Yeah, wherever she slap slob wasn`t home
And now she`s gone, ain`t no sun
Shine meaning she`s gone

Hum-do-a-lah, that means What up, Shah?
It`s the Mighty Ha drinkin` Mo` at the bar
Bakee after bakee, blunt after blunt
Smoke a bag of buhdah and became bitche`s with the skunk
Nat King Cole was a merry old soul
Made you move that ab, drop shit from your whole
Grab a budjock and lick shot from the glock
You were told to swing off a tree from a jump
Run up in attics and Elvis, now I`m gone
Back on the streets in the heart of P Long
Man oh man lick shots if I have to
Submit to me as your lord and master
It`s the Mighty Ha, I`m a street Bronx, I
Deliver the real like Walter Chronkite
God I`m a destiny, black man
Devil`s in the rain receive the backhand

Yesterday, my trouble seems so far away
So help me Wanda, help, help, me Wanda

Be a none beast known and the Y-O-G
Make your moon walk, spin walk grab your ti-ty
Hit you in the head with the broom to the back
Sport a pair of Balley`s and a Mighty Ha hat
Comin from the Bronx like KRS-One
Electrify the crowd like they shooting stone guns
Rhythem Blunt Cru, Violator, Def Jam
Known for tricken lyrics and smackin mad hands
Ahh, don`t give a uh
Caught for the cause 17 to the shot
It`s the Mighty Ha with the mic and the glock
My style`s buck naughty what day is it ack?
Type of situation pops from uptown
You can lick balls cause I front to be down
Til I lie rep a dollar kickin the Willies to the Hiedy
Rhythem Blunt Cru, Baby Chris Lighty

Ponies never ran before
Rain never fell
Til I met you
And I can`t get enough of your love, babe

What!?
Chim, chim, chiminie chim, chim, che-ree
Comin from the top, ah, it`s the Migh-ty
Hit you with the felony and a misdemeanor
Hit a hundred push-ups and I got the spray Alenor
Got mad buttocks, ass cheeks, yo stop
Got more charges than a Nicachew pac
I`m the maker, owner, cream of the crop
Felicha you erection to the top
I can`t seem to get rid of these fuckin chickenheads
Word to the mother drop dead brest fed
You better duck down when I draw my 8 luger
Scoop that ass quickie, better skin bag of booty

[DJ Footlong]
What goes on ya heard?