MARCO POLO - Get Busy lyrics

rate me

Ladies and gentlemen, you ain't gotta stay in your element

My staff chuckles while brass knuckles scraping your melanin

You're claiming it was an accident, pay me the settlement

You saying you wasn't having it, I gave it, you yelling, "Quit! "

Oh, it's on the low though? I stuff cigars with stuff from jars

Above the stars?

I shoot my load ten feet and they asking if I ever thought I'd come this far

Yeah I knew I'd do it, the question is who was stupid to mess with this

Who was losing a second, this music scooped?

To his crew and the message is, "Don't push me."

You're so pussy that you're oozing with estrogen

Straightjacket tightened by my psycho ward

And he straight up forgot to lace up my Michael Jordans

I don't write no chorus, no alter ego writes those for us

Fuck a tree dog, I like whole forests

I've got the flows to toast most approachers

And got the? so foes don't approach us

Nah?, brough the shotty and the case, check it

Look it, we'll make em drop shells quicker than Jay records

And the crowd's mine, I'll outline your hood

I'm outside with about nine guys it's good

While you peasants cry by my foot?

But that's saying they're trying to get outshined like Suge

Look, you pussies either roll eight on one

Trying to jump me but still can't, they hate on son

They'll get their money jacked, see me in the span of a few years

Do shit till they see me off? and a few beers

? Big L, Big Pun, and Biggie, with an attitude like Jay so if you come and get me

There'll be eight people with a spiked bat and a gun to kill me

And if I got you for money wait until I'm drunk to hit me, pussy

Matter fact, you ain't even a pussy

You're what bleeds when the summer's eve cleaning the pussy

C.O.P. you freestyle to see no fee, I am the C.O.

Bringing it to you COD, cash on delivery, and no one can do it better, shit

I'm the D-O-C with OCD, spit heat like a Creole feast

That's why they be on beats, and stick to the point, I don't see my own feet

I can introduce you to your maker

You got a problem with me homeboy, step to me

Strap you down and slap you round

Yeah I said it

Star sprinter, run any track flash above par?

Glue sniffer, jacking coke like a bartender

Punchlines till your bar's tender so let's?

And we're shooting stars like Hayley's Comet denting car fenders

My car's bouncing, got hydraulics and metal toys

Yours rides mind's playing tricks like the Ghetto Boyz

Why am I lying? I ain't got the car and I'm unemployed

My lunch during the day and on it I don't have butter?

No pot to piss in or to cop a squat and drop my shit in

Radio off so I can listen to my couch?

I can sell to?

It's simple waking up with a naked slut in my boxers

Listen, hip hop is getting out of control

Every power that flows is gangster till the powder's out of his nose

Man in '95 I thought music was losing it's touch

Compared to now it was a golden era, who would've thought?

Now this shit is full of gimmicks, energy, cynics, and critics

Hate one minute then the next wanna finish your sentence

This fake game makes we want to take names

With the chrome in hand and take aim like I own this, man

?

But I'm not trying to spring life beneath dirt

Or a Shyne and C-Murder

I grind to these words

In the mind of each person populating earth

Cop the tape and stop the hatin jerk