Wicked - Whatever lyrics

rate me

(feat. Black Mas, Raekwon)

[Intro: Raekwon (Black Mas)]

Fightin' like a lost soul (word, they can't fight)

Herb raps, word up son (they can't fight this)

Knowhatimsayin? Gotta run through this at all times

You hear me, (word up) right, yeah (so we understandin' this shit)

Aight, word, knawhatimean? (bring that shit back)

[Chorus: Raekwon]

Whatever dunn, show 'em, represent how you do yours

Connect four, major niggas, float, do tours

It's like this, check out the marvelous cats who bust, only us

Red Rums, slide through, dunn, what, who bumped it, what?

[Wicked]

Aiyo, it's the L.O.'s and the Chef, cookin' up some marvelous

Servin' niggas whoever cuz they impatiently starve for this

Apocalypse upon your clicks for tryin' to change over

I write my rhymes top of line, like fuckin' Range Rovers

I aim cobras wit wind blowers, international flame throwers

Wipe out your whole territory, and leave your smell in strange odors

I bring folders, to the real hip hop

So try to front up on my click, and kid, you will get dropped

I build this poppest disaster, crash your land flash

I "flex" like Funk, then I "flash" like Grandmaster

Ask you who the nicest, on mic devices

My lyrical crisis'll have you seein' "illusions" like Cypress

You bite this, wanna write this, so I might just

Teach you like them "teachers", that's "poor" and "righteous"

Sit you down and recite this, I like this

My crew shinin' wit tight sips, ya'll fools want

From a taste of Red Rum, wit a slight twist of Lou Diamond

I rule rhymin', ain't no if, ands, about that

Ask niggas around the way, you can beat me

They be like, "nah, I doubt that"

He's dangerous, don't try to follow, I'm sure to loose you

I hit you wit tons and pounds of heavy shit like Yokozuna

Get you growin' tumor, for tryin' think about my fly shit

And fuckin' wit this and you ain't gotta be livin' the fast life to die quick

[Chorus]

[Black Mas]

Yo, clear the way and bring your crews, about to ship on to Michigan

Got you twitchin' kid, official gear, got you bitchin' kid

Pay attention, kid, we get low down wit four down lyrical styles

Go down, wit more grounds, you tow down, we blow shit

Oh shit, flip, we control shit, we roll thick

Play me close, kid, get your dome split

Wit chrome grips, collected thought, style of all sorts

Playin' niggas like sports, on courts, holdin' down fort

Nigga soft, takin' virginity from niggas daughters

You be, B., I ain't havin' it, like baseheads wit nine dollars and four quarters

I'm bringin' drama to your grounds, keep it rugged raw

Before you battle me, go to Apollo and rub that fuckin' log

I eight-six and knock your ass out the boxing rings

Nigga, fuckin' up backs like beds wit no backspring

[Chorus]

[Raekwon]

What's the cake? He tried to front of dope mink

This no name nigga wit game, straight outta Spain

Shell blowers, we cardiac arrest elbowers

Rock rovers, like hangin' above God shoulder

Yea, we gettin' ours, you flower head cats is cowards

We buckin' birds like Adina Howard

Rich niggas allow it, you know it done right, black

Bulletproof ski hats, Siamese, beings wit the dezack

The dice rollers, the Motorola glock holders

Yo, hold this, six hundred Benz niggas for soldiers

We top notch, Rocky watch, blood son, guzzle spots

Glass spot, run in your bitch, smack your pops

Mack style to this, murder one style, shit's miraculous

Half of this, I'm hittin' at home wit Indianopolis

[Chorus x2]