Stimulated Dummies - Hip-Hop lyrics

[Verse 1] I've been doing this since the days of way back Turntables, mics and black to keep the pockets fat New York; number one sh** talker Keeps it dyn-o-mite like my name was Jimmie Walker I've been rhyming since the days of pumas Runnin' thru girls bloomers, giving wack MCs brain tumors Grand Puba, Stud Doogie fashion and letting 'em guess Steppin' thru New York in gore tex He hits the beat hard like rough s** Then lays it down and I flow on top smooth as a Lex We stay true to the hip hop; that's what we giving Cause rhyming is the way I make my living I remember days of making porous tapes Banging in the halls, writing on walls Cuttin' school to make tapes, smoking Ls to the door It was on the momma love came home [Verse 2] Now we on wax, but those rows and stack It's time to grab the papers and build the sky scrapers I'll drop a style off my dome, but I wouldn't call it freestyle, see I don't rhyme for free Hit me with a fee cause n***as know my stee That's just the weight I pull when Doogie be I hit a flow once I feel the vibe SD hits the rhythm for the Puba tribe Yes words for ya, oh-boya like goya Chocolate chip like ahoy'a, I gets payed like a lawyer Knock teeth like a dentist, write rhymes like a printist Over litmus, some resentence, I get payed for every sentence I run through ya like White Castles do'ya So be true to the game or I'll play like I never knew ya n***as here can get a red penny f** around and catch a bad one like that devil denny Brothers got more game than Bob Barker But I'm smoother than Peter Parker In junior high I kept vodka in my locker Momma love don't get home til six-thirty Pack a joint, bus to the room and get dirty I'm kicking MCs to the curb Putting n***as outta business like Barney did Big Bird I got to have it bad, f** around I'll swallow ya I'm hungrier than a n***a in Somalia Grand Puba, Stud Doogie come in handle-wetted Not going unleaded My rhymes vary cause I'm good like carry I pop sh** like a cherry, make it blue like berry I stay thinking, me take shorts is dead and stinking I dismantled all my n***as down to my last Lincoln, oh Let me out so I can run my route, plus make the girls pout Cause I am tripping out, baby; no maybe baby On top like gravy, run with more motherf**ers than the navy No faking, I puts the as-salaam with the laikam While n***as turn and fry like bacon You can't steal the style cause it's taken I'll leave you in your boots shaking while I'm counting All the money that I'm makin'