MOUNTAIN BROTHERS - Opin Wide lyrics

rate me

[Verse One]

Chops burn the house down, we build it from the ground under

Run through your town, catch pounds and bounce like flubber

Hotter than a Stevie Wonder summer

Makin tracks to Spank that ass like thank you, can I please have another

A number of hip hop lovers listen to my disc and discover

The shit I write tight like hip huggers

Mines the type of rhymes to make your eyes bug out like Chris Tucker

Face turn the color purple like your name was Danny Glover

Makin amateurs shudder one by one, take a number

Call me Land O' Lakes cause I'm the man that makes the butter

Ill repute makin chumps suffocate, months to recover

Full throttle, lay tracks and burn rubber

Your fool's gold is gone and lost its luster (ha)

So now you wanna give me love, I got a special place for your lips to pucker

My brainstorms thunder, sucker run for cover

Mountain Brother with the wallet that says "Bad motherfucker"

[Chorus: x2]

Everybody got a mic, everybody got two tables

Everybody got a deal, cause everybody got their own label

But ain't nobody bringin it like this, so yo

All y'all motherfuckers can open wide

[Verse Two]

Y'all need to exchange your mics for somethin else

See this ain't purple rain but nobody digs your music but yourself

It ain't nothin to me, I judge an emcee by hearin if what they say is raw

Not the guest appearances your label pays for

They put it out expecting miracles, but ain't nobody hearin you

And them cats sold you leftover material

Y'all toys ain't even Tickle Me Elmo, y'all Teddy Ruxpin

Last time I made some shit like that, disposed of it by flushin

Guess what ?fan, your style is need of a suntan

You only rapping cause you got rejected from a punk band

Magnificent butcher, the one man Butch and Sundance

You know who it is, see, my crew ain't new to this

I say screw the music biz, cause most of my favorite groups

They either sold the fuck out or their label gave em the boot

Took your soul to the pawn shop, trade it to make a name for your troops

Hopin to make some loot, but only made your soup cause

[Chorus]

[Verse Three]

Now see, playa please, talk like you makin cheese, you ain't Wisconsin

I read your contract, you gettin jerked liked Navin Johnson

You rhyme about your clothes and jewelry, soundin like you suck meat

And past that, your raps is half assed like one buttcheek

Urinate in the talent pool, shallow plus a fool

From your rhymes, you can tell you took the little bus to school

Your weak thoughts sound like you allow money to dictate em

And plus, your beats sound like a kid made em when they was just playin

Made the mistake of not makin chops your producer

Try to play the big dog, now you're sayin, drop the chalupa

So while you're washed up like a loofah with no future

We singin We are the champions, no time for losers

And y'all so called independent ?staples think y'all a label

Makin CDs that ain't good enough for holdin drinks on coffee tables

Listen to the shit you're kickin, what was that, an exhibition?

You're not underground, you're just wack, know the difference

[Chorus]