Lyrics:
Y'all, who you think you sassing?
Say whoa, baby I'm a classic
Say whoa, silent like a Hitchcock
Say whoa, got you goin' psycho
Oh no, don't you get
lip rocks
The rap stuff's more spooky than movies from Hitchcock
Sit back relax let me rip to the funk track
And press rewind if I haven't blown your
I stand where the people got the heat in they pockets
You mesmerized by the calm nonchalantness
I spin a dark web on some John Hitchcock shit
If you
pocket
You mesmerized by the calm nonchalant-ness
I spit a dart, rub on some John Hitchcock shit
If you ain't speakin' your life, your rhyme's adopted
pocket
You mesmerized by the calm nonchalantness
I spit a dart, rub on some John Hitchcock shit
If you ain't speakin' your life, your rhyme's adopted
If
during the day when at work they was found
At the mound I stand vocal pitch high, asking who done it
Fuck Hitchcock, I got the fifth cocked, about to go
and you're all alone
'Cause we always lived on the edge of oblivion
Left to find our way through a Hitchcock film
In an empty bed with an hour to kill
dead as fuck, dead as fuck
Yeah, my orange box cutter, keep the world on rotation
Hitchcock, Leatherface and Freddy, Jason
Blood-soaked clothes,
Gridlocked, Epilepsy And Lupus Alfred Hitchcock, Coulndt Write The
Suspense And Shit On This Block, Fist-Cocked When I'm Walking My Lips Locked, Irs
us young, benevolent hard-heads
Abrochrombie & Finch rockin', wrist glistenin' marksman
Hitchcock of Hip-Hop since Big Pop departed
The project
it's me that I'm stabbing, it's self-inflicted wounds
The Hitchcock of hip-hop, the end is comin' soon
You don't wanna see me run up with the thang
and Lupus, Alfred Hitchcock
Couldn't write the suspense and shit on this block
Fist-cocked when I'm walking my lips locked
IRS and the child division they
Otherwords there's no heir to the throne
When I die so does hip hop
Hitchcock of the shit, bitch, ask Doc
Got it ziplocked in a bag
You fags ain't been
Otherwords there's no heir to the throne
When I die so does hip hop
Hitchcock of the shit, bitch, ask Doc
Got it ziplocked in a bag
You fags ain't been
Kinder bei Hitchcock.
Nicht, dass mich das Ganze das Geringste anginge,
Nur manchmal hab' ich halt Angst, do springst uns ueber die Klinge.
Und hey, ich
the world of refrigerator
My father is likely to turn up
He just arrived on bidding on running film of my thoughts
Like Hitchcock and his pictures
And he
the day when at work
They was found at the mount
I stand folded than tie askin' who done it
Fuck Hitchcock, I got the fifth cocked
About to go wild hunted
Ooooooh, miggity-major Rolex and tick tock
I'm runnin my tongue with the quickness now I'm back like Alfred Hitchcock
I'm shod-dy, I'm swingin it like a San
He got shot he ain't call the cops (cops)
Mystery like Alfred Hitchcock (yeah)
Boy back on the block, ah ra ra ra
Little John started screaming
let off caps
Ha, Hitchcock couldn't write more wicked raps
Rip the Godfather, then you start that braggin
I never jumped on a James Brown bandwagon
Hitchcock in my modern day
Where the fuck is my VMA?
Where the fuck is my Grammy?
Supermodels wearin' no panties
Supercar, not drivin' no Camry
Fresh
up Groucho
Come on Gable
Bring on Hitchcock and let's get Wilde
Come on Gershwin
Let's call Porter
Maybe Duke could show some style
Call up
You're afraid to lose your cover
Afraid to bare your soul
Like an Alfred Hitchcock lover
Who slowly goes out of control
Your love is like
the shit drop
Boys wanna holla at birds like Alfred Hitchcock
Men wanna talk to the women, we ain't screaming
Just whisper and then we're leaving
Life's so
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