Lyrics:
V2: Never better than when I'm givin' it large,
On the dancefloor, to the hardcore or the drum 'n' bass.
In your face; we mash up the place,
Tie up your
the plague
The living death
Closing his icy grip around the whole planet
Then the rumors started
The last hardcore MC's were working on a cure
That would
Magazine, that's me on the cover
My record is clean I could still shoot your brother
Still turning up, I got hits for the summer
They know what I'm
you
My balance enables me to square dance in a circle
Your head'll spin so fast you'll catch whiplash
I practice lyrical witchcraft on your bitch
me
CREAM, get the money
Dolla dolla bill y'all, y'all
Of course all the hardcore heads
This one goes out to you
Crank up the volume one time
Peace
with old Eddie Kane?"
Ain't nothin' wrong, so snap your head to the song
Word is bond, you get wrong, I'll have you sing like Louis Armstrong
And I
Stay in your lane and get over
Beep, beep, beep, beep, all of these bags I'm a hoarder
All of this activist, movin' as fast as a tortoise
Been ballin'
with old Eddie Kane?"
Ain't nothin' wrong, so snap your head to the song
Word is bond, you get wrong, I'll have you sing like Louis Armstrong
And I
I rock, you get your boots knocked
Then attack you like a pit that lock shit DOWN
As I come and freaks the sound, hardcore
but giving you more
I rock, you get your boots knocked
Then attack you like a pit that lock shit DOWN
As I come and freaks the sound, hardcore
but giving you more
No matter what the weather, we be getting our cheddar
So we can have a better tomorrow
Oh, money, cars, superstars, getting ours, working hard
For
Bits, bits, bits, bits
Come for your bits
Move round the EU, bag a next piece too
Beast who might you, pad is see through
He who been through
that I rock, you get your boots knocked
Then attack you like a pit that lock shit down
As I come and freaks the sound, hardcore
But giving you more
that I rock, you get your boots knocked
Then attack you like a pit that lock shit down
As I come and freaks the sound, hardcore
But giving you more
meaning or structure
They asked me to shoot, I do it, I have no character
Homegirl got a nice little turd cutter on her
Put a bag over his head and send
get big!
Stop the chorus back to your Bentley
Your wife is gone, she's with me
On a first class flight in the Bahamas, grab your bags quickly
theories
Concealed indictments handed to the grand jury
Get some money now, you hated by your own kind
The home invasion done by niggas in your bloodline
theories
Concealed indictments handed to the grand jury
Get some money now, you hated by your own kind
The home invasion done by niggas in your bloodline
Uh (exclusive)
Uh-huh, woo
And I came to bring the pain, hardcore to the brain
Ooh, baby, what's your name? (Huh?)
I love the way you're spittin'
I'm still hardcore gettin mines, like I told ya
I still keep a gun on my waistline, clip in a fat rhyme
Shoot you in the chest with the tec, in
remember Vine
It's nasty
Cash rules everything around me
C.R.E.A.M., get the money
Dolla dolla bill y'all, y'all
Of course all the hardcore heads
of your kids
Tryna' talk himself out of it
But he don't wanna hear
What a mess, look at what you niggas did
Dig a hole, bury yourself
By a jump off
Said, I'm a superstar
On this shit I go so hard
Gotta keep the score
Couple of niggas hit block
Gotta get the bag
We racing need to hit the top
Gotta
Im just the spare AIR-BAG in your passenger seat,
John Cougar Mellencamps playing loud on repeat,
And every time I open my mouth to sing you turn up
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