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Songs | Albums | Album Arts
Song: | Chillin' |
Album: | 12' | Genres: | Hip-Hop |
Year: | 1989 |
Length: | 242 sec |
Lyrics:
A minor manifestation of my potent education Can be detected in my strong articulation No time for scabs, crabs or crustaceans Funk music is cute but rap is my vocation French is the language spoken by most Haitians If you're not tuned to this yo you gotta change the station I am a vendor you're a consumer So I wanna know something, what's up with Pumas? Back in the days Pumas used to be it Nowadays they throw em together like they really don't give a shit Ya I'm jumpin' from one subject to the next Don't smoke crack, we need safe sex You wanna get laid without getting AIDS So buy the condoms by the case before the game is played I'm always ready, never need rehearsal Television sucks, too many commercials Summers I enjoy cause girls wear less Winters I enjoy because my gear is fresh I ain't fresh when I dress to show my success I know it's not a fashion show but why should I look a mess? Thank goodness for you suckers who just can't rock Without you how we would know who's fresh and who's not You gotta think fast in order to pass Because you know you slow your ? That means you come in last Every rhyme you heard me say you best believe that I wrote Due to my imagination and my muscular throat Let me quote, a wise man, who once said 'If ever bite ? may I drop dead' Yo I'm chillin'...chillin'
I'm arrogant, harmin' it, my lyrics are dominant Your city is in danger, cause I'm bombing it Verbally disturbing you wonder what the next word will be Don't even sweat it, yo it just occured to me It's hard to find a rapper with my dedication Intellect, sense of humor plus imagination Of course I love money so in God I trust If I was any more talented than I just might bust I'm not conceited but I got a good reason to be Don't even nibble on my rhymes cause that's treason to me And the penalty for treason is you must be shot I don't even need a gun with the rhymes I got Yo I could rap you dead, make you run out of breath And just when you think I got no rhymes left I'll increase my release and upgrade the pressure Ya got me on a mission I'm going to have to measure Up like you've never been messed before Next time you steal a rhyme you better be sure It's not a composition that the Chill One wrote When I'm in competition I go for the throat I have you caught up in meta-physical dilemma Go get your greasy granny, your ugly aunt Emma Your mother, your brother or any other family member I'll take em off the count, get on with my agenda I'ma beat you in the black, in the darkness of your ignorance You like that huh? Yeah, well I figured Since you got a little smarter than you were last here An intellectual rhyme you're bout ready to here So I wrote this one and remember son Rob G does work to the job is done Yo I'm chillin'...
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