What You Got

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Chino XL

Derek Keith Barbosa (born April 8, 1974), better known by his stage name Chino XL, is an American rapper and actor, known for his technically accomplished style, consisting of self-consciously over-the-top punchlines, exaggerated egotism, complex rhyme schemes, and use of multiple similes, puns, metaphors, and word play. He is a member of the intellectual collective MENSA and has collaborated on various projects with some of the most well known in Hip Hop. Chino is also an avid bodybuilder. Chino started rhyming in 1986, as said in his song "Don't Say A Word". more »


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Why'all coward niggaz make a nigga like me laugh,
What the f*ck? yea, yea... chargin why'all niggaz
Yea, yea... behold the only thing greater than yourself

I'll slash ya grill, don't start me
You'll be the only entertainer with less groupies than Biz Markie
I'm never dull, Chino the pretty thug, style centerfold,
I'll have every latin in the country aimin' at ya skull
I'll aim it at the ((?)) who claim he sellin' the most dope
My Jersey blocks is locked tighter than prisoners hold soap
And listeners where we vote out ya CD and vinyl, the final result
Yell, f*ck tricks and smoke, till our vocals combine with a Colt
They playin' this in every club, whip, party and bar you in
Give you more blood clots than two Jamaicans arguin'
Sweat till ya fake silver platinum chains is tarnishin'
Women shakin' they ovaries, look what we accomplishin', what...

[Chorus: ]
We got better lyrics than you got "What You Got?"
We got better bitches than you got "What You Got?"
We run with more killas than you got "What You Got?"
We got better whips than you got "What You Got?"
We got better cribs than you got "What You Got?"
We got better bitches than you got "What You Got?"
We run with more killas than you got "What You Got?"
We got better lyrics than you got "What You Got?"

Coming to kill me, I can't hear that
Fear is a stimulus I haven't been programmed to feel yet
Snatch you outta your Roots like I'm from Illadelph
What I do to push your hairline back, Rogaine won't help
My Quest for the Wealth, like Stone Cold Austin's quest for the belt
I mention myself as a celestial cell, an extension of hell
At a lynching I smile, cut myself down, murder your guest list
My style murders an drags like they do black men in Texas
Next rapper to mention this, I'ma show them the real threat
Cause I'ma ride till my daughter's like "Daddy are we there yet?"
Ain't no priest in the streets, only drugs before miracles
Seen more keys than the lots seen Hammers repossessed vehicles
Told you I was coming, you ain't believe I'm assumin'
If we all super heroes, these bitch niggaz must be Wonder Women
Fist to fist, skin to skin, I make you fall flat
Brat little niggaz, the tat on my shoulder cover they whole back
Can't hold back, splatter they whole rap to match my ((?))
Shittin' on MC's, wipin' my ass on they notebooks
How the broke crooks in videos leave me stressed
I'll turn on channel 2 if I want to CBS, bitch

[Chorus: ]

Least but not last, I'll blast an informant
Until he has the cash to put end to his torment
Now shine up the brass for his coffin
I've mastered the ((?)), through passion and torment
I've mastered the forces, I rap to the chorus,
My cast is enormous, I'm fast and I'm cautious
Twenty inch arms stronger than forklifts
Smoke hash in front of reporters till I choke and they nauseous
And smash through the glass of your Porsche's
Show you how north is hard as divorces
Lay you out dead in the grass on the forest
My rap is flawless, have ya flesh wrapped in a blackened sausage
Blood Splashed across it for rhymin' like a fag in a cordless
Murder all witnesses, nosy, standing on porches,
Like torches, super human, Chino's skin never scorches
Drape your family reunion in black funeral mourners
Have cats that sell ya drugs for you, avoid usual corners
I never lost, there's mad lust to be Rap carasses
Breakin' companies, Jersey got women strapped inside they office
I got.. DJ supporters and women makin' sex offers
I got.. a crib like a fortress, tuition for all my daughters
I got.. rhymes hot like sauna's, and thousands from Time Warner
I got.. killas on every corner, surrounded by Jewish lawyers
What what what...

[Chorus: ]

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Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

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    What You Got

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