Lyrics:
some streets appeal with
The junk's that real
I don't need no steel to make my point
Get down and dirty cause that's my joint
Ha! Ha! Ha! That's my joint
break they neck from this demonstration
We about mass appeal, no segregation
Got Black to Asian and Caucasian sayin'
"That's the joint, that's
got meanin'
(a chick-a-doom, a chick-a-doom chick-a-doom doom)
[Taboo]
Got the state's appeal with the joint's that real
I don't need no steel
groove it's got meanin'
(a chick-a-doom, a chick-a-doom chick-a-doom doom)
Got the state's appeal with the joint's that real
I don't need no steel
groove it's got meanin'
(a chick-a-doom, a chick-a-doom chick-a-doom doom)
Got the state's appeal with the joint's that real
I don't need no steel
groove it's got meanin'
(a chick-a-doom, a chick-a-doom chick-a-doom doom)
Got the state's appeal with the joint's that real
I don't need no steel
groove it's got meanin'
(a chick-a-doom, a chick-a-doom chick-a-doom doom)
Got the state's appeal with the joint's that real
I don't need no steel
the jam
It's got groove it's got meanin'
(a chick-a-doom, a chick-a-doom chick-a-doom doom)
[Taboo]
Got the state's appeal with the joint's that real
appeal with the joint's that real
I don't need no steel to make my point
Get down and dirty 'cause that's my joint
Ha! We preferably make all points
quickly how would you rate yourself
Indie Brunch
In terms of sex appeal and cultural significance?
Irony, irony, blo-blo-blo-blo-blo-blo-blo
Do you
there will never be another
Call it parkay
Cuz it's just pure butter
Damn woo
Sexy appeal on 10
Let ya hair down
Let it blow in the wind
She rolling up
a blunt
You can diss all you want, still won't get a response (nah)
It's still free the gang 'til they get out the joint (free 'em)
Stop beatin' 'round
a dreamer
Bitch we dem boyz, nigga we the Beatles
1-8-7 No appeal, get it how you live
Before I go broke accountants jump off a bridge
First round draft
Frate mach nen puren Joint
Mit Espresso dazu läuft
Am rappen bin so gut Boy
Und ich kann nicht mal so gut Deutsch
Alle Rapper haben Waffen
Aber
up with dirty white boys and Ricans
Now if I kill you I probably do ten in the box
Come down on appeal then I'm killin your pops
You feelin
and analyze (yeah, A$AP Mob got Mass Appeal)
Come on, get on, get some
Call up Nasty Nas, niggas hit the lick like, ah, ah, ah
Wake up out the bed, wrap my
scout appeal
We got that silk, satin, Manhattan intelligence feel
That keeps everything on even keels
So all you slow brothas talkin yang, ya poo tang
shoot the joint, I'll leave you somethin' for the tooth fairy
And all you rappers sellin' more sex than skill, chill
I'll rip your style, all the while
Until what they're playing back doesn't exactly feel right
But it's the joint
So they ride out and display
Share it with all they're kin mates
Rocking
got class and sex appeal at the same time you're killin' me
We spend so much time in bed
We did it so wild that your face turned bright red
You gave me
my culture
Without cultural appeal
As I am half and half, I don't seem to fit into
Your scheme
All night long, we talked about the
Feelings we were
is great
At times I get agitated
By mess you've created
With your exaggerated model
Of what's real or outdated
I appeal to the not-so-masses
You know
a meal
Grinding to the top and no I still ain't got a record deal
Shooters with the techs to kill
Bad bitches with sex appeal
That's down to six nine but I
your time spill
With quick sand I kill like Gara, I’m ill
It’s an art form what you call norm I wield
Into timeless flows to heal the mass appeal
Surreal
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