I'm obsessed with multiple nude photographs of the beat in my room on the wall Pondering the verse, fondling my balls Witness a nigga who will take rap and chase it Through an occupied dimly lit staircase and rape it Grab the drums by the waistline (scratches) I snatch the kick, kick the snare, and sodomize the bassline Never waste time, I give the verse rabies Cum on the chorus, tell the hook to swallow my babies Maybe I might...switch! Let the witch live The original plan was to kill the bitch on the bridge Ditch the body parts off somewhere near the cresendo When my innuendos elapse...my nezuenno attacks The instrumental elapses, perhaps that's the only reason that I spared her life You could solo my fuckin' vocals and I still get trife Slice the rhythm...disfigure the face of the groove For any fader that flies or knobs or button that moves
Consider this: the loops are similar to clitorises exposed On your miss is a hole, a vicious cycle of SIN! That doesn't end til' I stop fuckin' A million emcees and they ain't sayin' nuttin'
Ain't fuckin it right, they ain't fuckin' it right They ain't fuckin' it right, they ain't fuckin' it right They ain't fuckin' it like...ME.
(scratches)
She had the nerve to take the case to court knowin' I rape for sport Took the stand cryin' denying her whole involvement, lying Why would an ex-cop lie in a sex shop, fly linen down grinnin' With my coat over my shoulder sittin' Browsin' pornography (uhh!), the stenographer smilin' the whole time While jotting verbal photography Her eyes mahogany I flashed to a photo in my mind of a body bludgeoned with slashed arteries Pardon me, back to the case, slap in the face Examinin' the jury similar to cracking a safe What happens to bass? It was anistic, I would inhale eighths Sniff that, sat her ass all over my face and taste it To hell wit' 1980 remixes, fuck disco Turned on the 3000, stuck my dick where the disc go Yokonaz, ripped the sexy MPC 60, buyin' a ticket to hell Verbally dickin' the 12 down, sound shitty I knew she used to be pretty Too many impotent emcees in this God forsaken city
Ain't fuckin her right, ain't fuckin' her right Ain't fuckin' her like...ME.
Consider this: the loops are similar to clitorises exposed On your miss is a hole, a vicious cycle of SIN! That doesn't end til' I stop fuckin' A million emcees and they ain't sayin' nuttin'
Ain't fuckin it right, they ain't fuckin' it right They ain't fuckin' it right, they ain't fuckin' it right They ain't fuckin' it right, they ain't fuckin' it right They ain't fuckin' it like...ME.
Compositor: Troy Donald Jamerson (Monch Chi Chi) ECAD: Obra #4893430