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    Run-D.M.C. / Lyrics

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    "Simmons Incorporated" Lyrics

    Run-D.M.C. feat. Method Man

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    [Intro: Dig Dast (Jamel Simmons) {Gold D}]
    Yo my nigga Jamel Simmons what the deal nigga?
    (Gold D, Dig Dast what's goin down, what's goin down)
    {Aight, what's goin on, what's goin on
    What's the deal pa, where you headed son?}
    (Yo I'm bout to go to the studio and lay smash hit
    Wit my Uncle Run, boy)
    {Word?} Ain't he a Reverend now, collectin plates
    At churches and shit?
    (He's spittin flames right now baby
    He at the top of his game, right now
    I'm tellin, I'm show you, watch
    Youknowhatimean? He's a born again, hooligan)

    [Jamel Simmons]
    I'm red rum, Reverend Run, brother son, earthquakin
    Industry shakin, you kiddin me? We money makin
    Your money fake son, I'll call you clay cuz you get's Play-Doh
    Jamel and Joey Simmons holdin millions on the lay low
    Platinum hailos, hero heads high from hydro
    Hit the dime on the combo, she try to diss my rhyme flow
    She ain't know we only glamorous like Phat Farm fashion
    Simmons name sinamous wit this cash
    It's our passion... what!?

    Yo basically I'm here to rename rap, it ain't rap no more
    Call it Simmons Incorporated, since '74
    Lotta money in this fam, think about it
    Me wit Run-D.M.C., and him over at Def Jam
    Well damn, how the hell you think we livin?
    How you think it feel to be a Simmons
    Imagine Christmas and Thanksgiving
    People wanna know why I ain't on my brother's label
    If I did this whole rap game be unstable
    Went over to Arista wit Mr. Davis, for the change of neighbors
    It's only fair that we share those naked papers
    You can tell a cat serious about rap and it ain't luck
    If 20 years after his first single, his name's stuck
    From '74 to '99, did novice to king, wit a million
    MC's waitin in line
    Keep a barrel on this album if my man's and them rise

    [Method Man]
    Now speed it up, uh

    [Chorus 2X: Run]
    Run really make ya wanna drop, drop
    Now wanna make ya go live, live
    Now wanna make ya go live, live
    Now hold up

    [Method Man]
    Now I walked on ice and never fell
    I spent my time in a plush hotel
    John-John Phenomenon, deadly but calm
    Word to my born, dead by dawn
    Got the right to bear arm, ring the alarm!
    Another sound boy dyin, hot irons
    Slugs flyin out the hardware appliance
    Baby mamma cryin, sobbin and grievin
    You was at aws wit them kids till they made it even
    Let down ya guard, yes you did, now you barely breathin
    To unaware, open season on a duck, we don't give a what
    Yo best best to give it up
    Sho indeed, let's Run D's MC's, they phony
    Some hump free, they mad bogey
    Saddle up ya horse, if the sunset mosey
    Jam Master Jay deserve a trophy for this track, right?
    Futuristic G past type, if that's yo girlfriend
    She wasn't last night punk, little boy
    Stylin mad chump, ain't no wins here
    This sport's extreme, know what I mean?
    Gettin royalty, +Down With the King+!!!

    Crack, crack, cracks in the cradle
    Cracks, in the cradle
    Cracks in the cradle, cokes in the spoon
    Little Boy Blue higher than the moon
    Will he, will he want a weapons, will he wanted the wound
    I come to school and lay down the rules
    Two, two, two channel empty guzzle, brake gallons of drop
    Shorty wit the forty, once sport in the dark
    Co-co-corner, black as a goner
    Didn't really wanna call my momma in Savannah

    [Mike Ransom]
    I spit dynamite ignite turn off lights
    Recite, spit poetry type, get my squad physically hype
    Get a hundred blast from Funkmaster, crush ya life
    +Blast+ Time to go now, show these fake rappers the way to go down
    Down With The Kings, like Smokey down wit Motown
    Who wanna come and see, come and test me
    Take about a million MC's to wet me
    For Run-D.M.C. I let shells fly, freein the five
    Wit the red eye, niggas talkin to much
    Tape 'em up, leave 'em hog tied

    [Kenny Cash]
    You thinkin about it way to hard, how to get down wit the Gods
    Kenny Cash, the Bronx cat, but it'll ride wit gats
    Peep chicks huggin the sacks, yours scratchin the back
    I'mma shark in a shack, y'all cats is feedin the fish
    Now hate and feed wit clips, nigga that leave you ripped
    And I'm leavin 'em dry, shit's crushed wit bleadin lips
    Bet I, leave these chips, and a C.L.K.
    After I hang plaques in the spot wit Run, D and Jay

    [Chorus 4X]
    This song was submitted on December 13th, 2009 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Thanks to Snap for the contribution to this song.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Randy Allen, Christopher Davis, Darryl Matthews Mc Daniels, Jason William Mizell, Joseph Ward Simmons, C Smith.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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