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Correct Ste. For Reefer Lyrics
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Artists: P
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People Under The Stairs
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Correct Ste. For Reefer
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Lyrics:
[Double K:] Yo, live from the West Coast of cornrows and locstas Live from the bus stop, smell the weed aromas The Double and Thes, so fresh, we right back In the lab, in the street, make the cyph... [Double K:] Ay-yo, man, fuck all that smooth shit! Mothafuckas know who we are, man. Let's get into some of this rough b-boy shit right here, man. Turn that beat up! [echoes] [Thes One:] ...-thletics, head rush, bussin' Jerome Bettis You rappers dressed up babies, you belong with Anne Geddes in a sunflower My gunpowder is sun-powered to run cowards right out the saloon And soon shower with them Acid Raindrops, man, you know the P, we do it It's Happy Hour at the bar and drinkin' like a Druid Cause I came here with stupid and we came to get stupid Double, grabbed a dumb record out the crate and straight looped it Same as it ever was, like the Talking Heads Been rockin' hip-hop shows since the crowd had all dreads But now we Walking Dead, talkin' 'bout "get the lead out!" Man, who gives a damn what I said? Let me hear you shout Man, y'all rappers ain't gettin' paid, least not enough to sell out The duo hit the stage, and the front row yell out: ("DOUBLE KAAAAYY!") Hmmmm... that's who I came with The People Under The Stairs still bringin' that real shit Man, y'all rappers ain't gettin' paid, least not enough to sell out The duo hit the stage, and the front row yell out: ("DOUBLE KAAAAYY!") That's who I came with The People Under The Stairs still bringin' that real shit, man, y'all... [Double K:] Knick knack paddy whack, give a rapper a bone Naw, don't give him nothing but a funeral home Cause when I'm finished with the microphone, suckas will be dethroned I jump inside of the booth with the wreck of Al Capone Gunboat diplomacy describes the way I transcribe anger to paper Got brothas catchin' the vapors like: ([Rap sample:] Nigga, please, you work for UPS!) You outta here like doobiest, I'm sure your mother told you "do your best" But you didn't listen, now you stuck with them wack rhymes A father's ass-whippin' and them dishes in the kitchen Y'all choir boys, and I'm the reverend on coke Even if you voted for him, I'm sorry, yo, there's no hope Just yellow tape, smartphones on the floor With that last line you wrote that was dumb as a whore Your homies all scattered, family members are sobbin' Next time you see the Mike and the Chris, we steady mobbin' [Scat sample:] Shoo doo, doop a doo doo Shoo doo, doop a doo doo Shoo doo, doop a doo doo Boop a doo doo, doop a doop a doo (x2) Shoo doo, doop-... [Thes One:] The P MPC music make emtpy street anthems My tape keep blastin', holdin' your system ransom Hot box, handsome on a hill, watchin' night lights stretch A Los Angeles journalist like Fletch Somewhat shy of midnight in the city of dreams I design rhymes similar to Eames Banana leaf parables written on loose leafs Extraordinary thought inside of ordinary wreaths Made of vinyl hangin' on spindles, 33s spinnin' Like Mr. Wendel on Nintendo in your room winnin' "(Fuck!) Who let the bums in here," the industry screams "They fuckin' smell like beer", accomplishing Dreams Lead by example, lead by a sample LEED certified, I recycle out the landfill Lost U.S. culture, just Baby Boomer thoughts Stetsa said if we didn't ([Rap sample:] people could've forgot!) I'm talkin' all that jazz, psych rock, even prog Analog underdogs, reppin' city of smog If I made a million dollars, wouldn't pop a Cristal Six pack of Sessions, share that shit with my pals Ay-yo, I'm out... [Man #1:] The hell are you doing to my car? [Man #2:] Hey, beat it, spook. This don't concern you [Man #3:] Who you callin' "spook", peckerwood? [Man #4:] Hey, hey, listen guys... Look, I don't wanna mess with no reefer addicts, okay? [Man #3:] Get home to your mama, boy! [Man #2:] Biff! Hey, Biff! [Man #5:] Get me outta here! Yo! [Man #3:] Reginald, where are your keys? [Man #5:] The keys are in the trunk... [Double K:] My microphone is a three-time felon with nothing to lose Givin' suckas the blues, same color as my SHOES They only see the bottom of 'em, we standin' above 'em With the deranged look and a wicked left hook Rhyme like tsunami, I'm filet mignon, y'all salami One verse from the Kidd, you cryin' for mommy You like Tommy, man, ain't got no JOB Better check a temp agent or learn how to rob The most polished like your pop's wingtips, I mean this The meanest Dapper Dan, loc, I'm the cleanest Words are like velvet, definition of smooth Clear my throat, drink a 40, make sure the crowds move They used to call me insane, now I'm on another plane Keepin' the piece locked, yes, yes, we don't stop The return of Cowboy and Melle Mel, givin' 'em hell And we don't give a fuck if the record don't sell In control like Marley. Your crew? Hardly... I'm like a white dude wacked on meth, riding a Harley Hip hop's Chris Farley, except nothing can harm me Not even the most wicked concoction of dope Watch Jesse Jackson give up hope by these bars that I wrote Los Angeles necktie, I hope you can cope The beat I grope like a MILF on piff Too swift, break in your hangout, you can call me "Biff" ([Double K:] Is anybody home, McFly? Is anybody home, McFly? Is anybody home, McFly? [Spoken sample:] Hello? Hello? Is anybody home? Huh? [Thes One:] Yo, yo...) [Thes One:] This one for ZayZay, young brothers like Bungie Like Ramadan, dawn to dusk, I'm still hungry I rep the end of the 110 and Peck Park Like beer in the brown bag and blunts in the dark We them latchkey kids, unlocked the fountain of youth And music saved my life, Mike's too, that's the truth, man I wouldn't lie, wouldn't die, lyrics live forever For whomever, a monument like Shuttle Endeavour In science center my position right off Exposition and Coliseum The P collect per diem when you see 'em Being nothing but themselves, bro, nothing to hide Took this L.A. shit worldwide, jump in the ride and slide with me Honestly, I'mma be homily, a rappin' anomaly Probably should've retired by now, wow Career like a turtle's life span, and I stay slammin' the mic stand From here to BumFuck, Japan... oh sayonara Been turned up since ([Rap sample:] okay, Si Gitarra) Man, motherfuck Drake, I had a Georgetown starter That I fuckin' got jumped for, I got it for Christmas But growin' up in L.A., weakest link'll get dismissed Wore my lower-middle class like a Red Badge Of Honor You're a goner... Your Honor, I'm guilty, too damn filthy We the P, motherfuck, don't expect me to go Yell, cause without the P, your shit is just hi_ ho_ [Spoken sample:] Uh... okay, Biff. Well, I'll, uh... I'll finish that on up tonight, and then I'll, uh... bring it over first thing tomorrow morning
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