Letra da Música Street Hop de Erick Sermon
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Yeah, yo
I'm Doc, Brick City, know how I rock
I'm hip-hop, I live up in the rim shop
I blow out my tires then I buy some mo'
My car's Ying Yang'n the way it sit LOWW
A little Anita, a little Vandross
I got two guns to give you secondhand smoke
I'm no joke, this ain't Hanna Barbera
It's the Bricks, Mandela on Anteras
In my rear mirror, a freak approach
Knew she wasn't first class cause her bag was Coach
She was like, "Redman! Buy me boots."
So I, bought her Timbs, and a army suit
Nobody want it with Doc, you smell me Duke?
Front page, smokin L's in The Daily News
Y'all cats big time, but the tops are turned
When you in the same realm as, Doc and Serm', yeahhh
"This ain't rappin, this is street hop
Now get up off yo' (ass) like yo' seats hot"
(And if the record is hot say one two) one two (one two)
E-Dub in the flesh, no replacement
I still bring trunk funk from the basement (who are you?)
Peeeimp MC, my style's mackadocious
Boy, ask her-on who the dopest
E - steppin to me, better-a think twice
I'm nice, the outcome be "The Passion of Christ"
You get ripped, you ain't equipped to rock with the vandal
(Yeah) I change your Timberlands to sandals
Thug MC's, thinkin they hard
When they walk around the block with 6 bodyguards
Yo, I'm a big dawg (grrr) you a pup
It's like comparin a car to a truck
What, you spend dough for airplay when you network
That ain't fair, that ain't the way the street work
This is street hop, nuttin about pride
For you, I'ma keep them ambulances outside, you dig?
All them rappers that can't rhyme
What is you doin is a crime
Sayin that garbage all the time
Word up, yeah
That's how I'm livin, still a gangsta, still a pimpin mack
All around hustler, 9 to 5 flippin crack
Tryin to stay up out of prison, steady spittin raps
Not to mention spittin scraps, don't mix your puddy-tat with that
Dhark Citi, put it on your map
Don't ride through without your pistol, put it on your lap
And I don't look for beef but don't think that I won't attack
Have you in a coffin momma like, "He don't belong in that"
You shoulda thought of that before the fact
Why a (nigga) roll the dice, lose all they money, then they want it back?
But that's a bunch of crap
But f'real jyo, don't gamble witcha life, cause ain't no comin back
I'm Doc, Brick City, know how I rock
I'm hip-hop, I live up in the rim shop
I blow out my tires then I buy some mo'
My car's Ying Yang'n the way it sit LOWW
A little Anita, a little Vandross
I got two guns to give you secondhand smoke
I'm no joke, this ain't Hanna Barbera
It's the Bricks, Mandela on Anteras
In my rear mirror, a freak approach
Knew she wasn't first class cause her bag was Coach
She was like, "Redman! Buy me boots."
So I, bought her Timbs, and a army suit
Nobody want it with Doc, you smell me Duke?
Front page, smokin L's in The Daily News
Y'all cats big time, but the tops are turned
When you in the same realm as, Doc and Serm', yeahhh
"This ain't rappin, this is street hop
Now get up off yo' (ass) like yo' seats hot"
(And if the record is hot say one two) one two (one two)
E-Dub in the flesh, no replacement
I still bring trunk funk from the basement (who are you?)
Peeeimp MC, my style's mackadocious
Boy, ask her-on who the dopest
E - steppin to me, better-a think twice
I'm nice, the outcome be "The Passion of Christ"
You get ripped, you ain't equipped to rock with the vandal
(Yeah) I change your Timberlands to sandals
Thug MC's, thinkin they hard
When they walk around the block with 6 bodyguards
Yo, I'm a big dawg (grrr) you a pup
It's like comparin a car to a truck
What, you spend dough for airplay when you network
That ain't fair, that ain't the way the street work
This is street hop, nuttin about pride
For you, I'ma keep them ambulances outside, you dig?
All them rappers that can't rhyme
What is you doin is a crime
Sayin that garbage all the time
Word up, yeah
That's how I'm livin, still a gangsta, still a pimpin mack
All around hustler, 9 to 5 flippin crack
Tryin to stay up out of prison, steady spittin raps
Not to mention spittin scraps, don't mix your puddy-tat with that
Dhark Citi, put it on your map
Don't ride through without your pistol, put it on your lap
And I don't look for beef but don't think that I won't attack
Have you in a coffin momma like, "He don't belong in that"
You shoulda thought of that before the fact
Why a (nigga) roll the dice, lose all they money, then they want it back?
But that's a bunch of crap
But f'real jyo, don't gamble witcha life, cause ain't no comin back
Outras Músicas de Erick Sermon
Conheça aqui outras músicas de Erick Sermon que você poderá gostar.
4, 3, 2, 1 (e-dub Remix)A Way OutAin't MeAin't no Future...2001All in the MindBattleBomdigiBoy Meets WorldChillin'CloutComander and ChiefCome ThruDemoDo it UpDo You KnowDo Your ThingDo- Re- MiDodge ThisDon't Give UpDon't Give Up - Angie StoneErick SermonFemale SpeciesFix Your FaceFocusFreak OutFuture ThugGenius and DubGetawayGo Wit MeGo With MeGod SentHeadgamesHere I IzHip Hop RadioHittin' SwitchesHold Up DubHold Up Dub - Keith MurrayHome (Intro)HostileI'm HotI'm That NiggaImma Gitz MineIntro (React)It's Nuttin'Keep WatchinLike MeLil CrazyLil NikkiListenLookLook OutLove IzLove Iz - Al GreenMaintainMan AboveMove OnMusicNow What's UpOn The Air - GhostfaceOpen FireParty RightPayback IIReactReact - RedmanReignRelentlessS.O.D.Safe SexSet it OffSkit ISkit IISkit IIISkit IV (Khari)Stay RealSwing It Over HereTalk ThisTell EmTell MeThe HypeThe Ill ShitThe SermonThis WayTo Tha GirlzTo The GirlsTregramTwon's ThemeTypical NiggaUp Them ThangsWe Don't CareWhat U SayWhiskey and CokeWit Ee's
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Ficha Técnica da Música Street Hop
Número de Palavras | 390 |
Número de Letras | 2429 |
Intérprete | Erick Sermon |
Na tabela acima você vai encontrar dados técnicos sobre a letra da música Street Hop de Erick Sermon.