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    Ultra / Lyrics

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    "Nyc Street Corner Battle" Lyrics


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    [thug] I told you this fuckin guy man
    Yo man, yo B, this is my fuckin block, get the fuck off

    [Keith] Shut the fuck up
    You never had a fuckin green card in your fuckin life
    You don't any means to make fuckin money

    [thug] What? What the fuck you talkin bout mayn?

    [Keith] You fuckin stupid, plantella Adidas motherfucker
    [thug] Saturday Night Live, John Travolta ass motherfucker
    [Keith] Suck my dick
    [thug] You fuckin spaghetti and meatball eatin motherfucker
    [Keith] You don't have any fuckin knowledge
    [thug] Fuck you man, conio man, suck my dick man
    [Keith] Little Italy ay, you don't know about the.. real estate man
    [thug] Fuck you man, what the fuck you wanna do mayn?
    [thug] You wanna do somethin mayn? You wanna do somethin mayn?
    [thug] Take this mayn {*POP*} take this mayn {*POP*}
    [thug] Take this mayn {*POP POP*} dead now!

    [Tim Dog]
    Here we go with some new shit, fuck the bullshit
    Bronx niggaz rule shit, cause we always pull quick, what?
    Motherfucker back up, you know whassup
    Put two in your gut, POP POP what, now shut 'em up
    Mad niggaz wanna have this, murderous status
    I'm known as the motherfuckin rhymin apparatus
    The fattest, MC of the era, cause terror
    Could niggaz fuck with this? Never, but however
    Many foes try to apprehend, they can't comprehend
    Cause when they step to me they don't win
    I bend, break MC's who fake the funk
    Leavin wack rappers in the back of my truck
    Then eat some rat poison and I drink some ammonia
    Came out bein that gastric felonious
    serial killer, that you know, as Kujo
    Fuck around with Dog and get slammed like a sumo
    "Waitin to Exhale" like Whitney, you can't get wit me
    I wanna see that nigga from Uptown, who bit me
    Bitin, never writin, that's not excitin
    I'm invitin, all y'all suckers who like fightin
    So come on, BRING IT ON, bring your weapon
    No it's not rainin but you still gettin wettened
    Smash your fuckin ass like a Savage, I'm Randy
    Niggaz don't want no beef cause I keep the tec handy
    Shoot you from your head to your toe
    You have so many holes in your shit it spells act like you know

    [unknown female MC]
    Well I thought you knew motherfuckers..
    Now take a second while I reveal myself into the industry
    By smokin lyrical chokin teacher provokin MC
    Clear the way for me, unique, delete the weak
    As I defeat the claim to be sweet, by keepin it street
    Lazy poet and I don't got to have them tactics to turn fake rappers
    and crack addicts, tell the weak hit from my bomb shit
    Ooooh! Damn, no stress or contest, the impossible
    I stand on top of them, no doubt about it, I'm unstoppable
    Got a train of focus, e'ry track I smoke this
    Cannabis is nice, six I'm causin a ruckus
    You can't fuck with us, known for keepin it true
    Not fakin the funk like bustaz, so what you gonna do?
    I address, I'm better than fresh
    Mo' potent than stress, now try to test, nigga!

    [Kool Keith]
    Yeah fuck y'all motherfuckers who need y'all whole album
    to prove you got skills, suck this

    I'm makin rappers load they apples pack up, move they wagons
    My style like Bruce Lee, MC's walkin into the +Dragon+
    My bald head super sharp, I walk like Telly Savales
    Niggaz on a tightrope, they style is off balance
    Hyper mental like Larry Davis on the instrumental
    Rappers actin poodle, but I'ma drop the kennel
    No threats; don't sleep on me you slept on Bernard Goetz
    With a Berkowitz twist, your projects heard of this
    My unique style retarded, kids smell the piss
    With hand grenades I cut your rectum out with razor blades
    Emergency please, gorillas bleedin through they knees
    My style werewolf - AOWWWWWWWWWW!
    I howl on your elevator, open your door, see you late
    I drop sticks of dynamite, open your mailbox
    Don't look for guns, I paid some crackheads for yo' glocks
    Your style berback(?), lion tiger asscrack
    No need to worry low prices call me Crazy Eddie
    I put the head to sleep and send that brain to Betty
    I'm outtie.. five thousand eight
    This song was submitted on March 17th, 2011 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Thanks to Snap for the contribution to this song.
    Copyright with Lyrics © The Bicycle Music Company.
    Written by Keith Thornton, Kurt Matlin, Timothy Blair.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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