top 100
·
top new
·
updates
·
submit lyrics
#
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
X
Y
Z
Correct Still Grimey Lyrics
Lyrics
►
Artists: P
►
Prodigal Sunn
►
Correct Still Grimey
Artist:
Song:
Comment:
Lyrics:
Yo, rated x, smack you off the stage when I'm vexed No sweat, I crack a cold case of Beck's Guess whose back, the jack of all trades is next The rap cuisine, I crack a raw egg and flex I cave in your chest, this one came from the jets Yeah, the cause and effect, make innocent blood pour The streets is like the rap game, a daily tug of war For rich or for poor, or death do us part, niggaz come for test Still grimey (grimey, grimey) Still slimey (slimey, slimey) Don't try me (try me, try me) It's been ten long years, you can't untie me Bring fire and Ruck let the heat pour Niggaz like Ruck 'fuck you rhyming to this beat for? ' Listen, life is like a muthafuckin' seesaw One minute you're hot, the next, your rep drops None of your biz, fuck around, and run in your crib Wife like 'He ain't here', throw some to your wiz Niggaz running up on me, til the tre' pound click Talking 'bout 'Ruck, let's battle' on some 8 Mile shit I'm like; nigga, my name ain't B. Rabbit It's Sean Price, Big Ruckus from busting these ratchets Call me gay basher, for fucking up these faggots Ya'll niggaz ain't nothing, stop fronting, stay passive Yo, pass the dutch, on the left hand side Sean gone til November, stole Wyclef's ride Bob Backlund, car jacking, New Jersey driving Ya'll niggaz ain't think about rapping, til you hear me rhyming, oh I keeps it real in the field, Navy feel on the drill Never stingy with my bills, plenty gravy I spilled Recorded in the history of rap, two inch reels Seven to ten mills, eleven to twenty hills Rest in peace to my brother Half-A-Mil Unnecessary blood spilt, another thug killed Move with the mass appeal, the blast still For the Cash Money Click, No Limits and no thrills Mad cuz your hoe, feeling P. Sunzini, give you As sweet as a kiwi, face it, you not me, nigga Ladi dadi, the Gods like to party We don't cause trouble, but we can make you a body Ladi dadi, the Sunn likes to party I don't cause trouble, but I will make you a body Flowin' high in the Mazarati, two with my ninjas beside me Lively, floating on some Ducatti's With two gellati's, two hotties, we never sloppy Jewelry rocky, Spanish pieces, they call me papi Clear fire Bacardi, sobered up like Gotti Rest in peace to my dog, Shotti, Shotti On the corner ready to bo', holding my nuts Standing by my building looking at myself in the truck My reflections... (still grimey) Oscar the Grouch's worms (still slimey) I got a jones for Miss Piggy's ham hiney I can be a bum in the slums, and slam shiny On every corner, I'm grams, you can find me The boss of the burners, I fire shots if your nine speak This is true Manchu, and who you, fams too? Better have they face in the game, like the Blue Man Group I heard you smell me, I make it funky Rock hard and kick ass like, I hate you donkeys My oatmeal lumpy like Johnson's Bumpy, Harlem humpty Hungry wolves, pain's hummer, harbor hungry Dumpty, blazing trees, now leave an O. E. Present Know why the hood feel me, like police presence
add rows