Buddha Monk - The Get Down lyrics

[Intro: Dee] These fake a** n***as better recognize Ya'll don't know about the squad Yo, yo, yo [Dee] Ya'll n***as wanna get it poppin' off? Son, I spit with the force like a 44 shot let off Believe me, my automatic tongue don't jam, I never heard of this man But I'm about to murder this man, a verbalist man Equiped with metaphors, that spit that ill sh** You and your click couldn't deal with me, uh My murder click, me, G, Kwan and Face Never hesitate to make sh** up like pool tape You need a miracle f**ing with this Imperial n***a That's mad lyrical from the physical to the spiritual Sixteen bars of hell, on Dateline Once the track split, I react and rape the ba**line [Chorus: Q-Plex] Yo, we spit one, clip one, hit one You missed, son, send a kite to get done As long as the clip run, we bound to make it stick, son We done when the clip done, never run when the clip, done [G-Note$] Lay the smackdown on clowns, we can get down, however You wanna do it, with guns, rhymes, beats Yo, the stove taste better than your flow, pa You sound like a b**h, your mic sk**s wear bras Yeah, you lyrical, n***a, but that don't mean sh** I rock street, it's nothing to make a hit song You know how I do, I gets it on and popping I know how you do, rocking thong thong thongs I write like a beast, King Kong, kid Me and my n***as spit verses back and forth like ping pong Ring the f**ing alarm, it's fire in here We evaporate all that bullsh** you spit Go back to the lab, meditate, dig in the crates You need to sample some James Brown, and f** with these sounds You know how I do, it's G-Note$, the hottest n***a out No doubt, it's nothing [Chorus] [Babyface Fensta] I keep it thorough, rep my borough to the fullest You ain't the illest or the realest You ain't a k**a, you Inc a Murda You think, your pen's explosive, you ain't ready for war I give it to you Raw like WWF You Stone Cold, like The Rock? It doesn't matter, do you smell what's cooking? Your a** is gra**, you just a preliminary bout I'm the main event, your figures ain't major You a c-minor, you all sound like little Jigga's Since the d**h of Biggie, everybody jiggy Wake up, smell the coffee, you commit suicide For silver and tails of gold My n***as want platinum plaques, f** that I'mma sell out, I want all my products sold out [Chorus 2X]