Tytuł: Connect

• Wykonawca: Xzibit
• Wyświetleń: 301

[DJ Hurricane]
   East, West, check this out
   Check it, ye-yeah, ye-yeah
   East East, West West, South South..
  
   [Chorus: DJ Hurricane]
   I got that East coast connect, West coast connect
   Dirty South connect, so show some respect
   When my niggaz comin through you see we comin correct
   Who are you, what you do, who you tryin to threat?
  
   [Xzibit]
   I'm the wrong cat to call out; we fall out
   The police gon' have some dead bodies to haul out
   All out in the open for the world to see
   Avire-X to the Z-I, B-I-T
   V.I.P., you're small time, three on three
   cause you can't ball accurately, tackle the beast
   Stomp it down, slap it with heat, bitch behave
   Shit, we blaze to make a nigga act his age
   I'm tryin to write the phrase that pays
   You kick it with gays, dykes, and all type of wackness
   Preach what you practice
   Here we seperate the real niggaz from the actors
   A&R's, MC searchin, suck my cactus!
   Blackness surround your sight and sound
   as Xzibit hit you and you hit the ground
   My chips ain't never gon' be down, watch me smoke
   and flatline the first nigga to cross this line
  
   [Chorus]
  
   [Gipp]
   It's the Gipp Goodie, we kick the soul slang
   to yo' block, or they streets, we all gon' hang
   We like to shine and ride, bump corners in our bumper cars
   Top down, with the candy paint job
   Import export up and down the highway
   Old ladies transportin straight through the skyways
   In the corner in the five(?) I got purple haze
   Fat knot short sess with the tree ton(?)
   These streets we run, rapper refund
   You ridin up but we want yo' flows old like Girbauds
   We hold, everything it takes to create the odes
   to North to the West to the South again
   If it's war that you want just pull the pin
   Rules we don't break 'em, we refuse to bend
   If you don't build right you better take yo' ass home
   cause some catch stray bullets all alone
  
   [Chorus]
  
   [Pharoahe Monch]
   I got the Chevy Impala shit, street scholar with
   collarless, Japanese aikido with, Rottweiler mixed
   Top dollar dick now, swallow my whole nut rap
   Gun in my mouth, pop shit, still sayin, "Fuck that"
   You have to listen, brew, trapped in a tragic addiction
   Styles, multiply like Japanese mathematicians
   Cut cause chaos - my kicks kill criminals
   I'm the subliminal Adolf
   I'm the bomb that's attached to the time of a ticker
   figure or swastika
   Quicker to pick a form of execution, pull it
   Bullet, to the head instead of eletrocution
   The rambunctious, bump in yo' trunk shit
   Totally insane, Hurricane with Pharoahe Monch, Gipp
   Xzibit the West coast (??) (??) we got
   New York wearin slippers and the South wearin hoodies
  
   [Chorus 3X]
  
   [DJ Hurricane]
   Ye-yeah, uh-huh, ye-yeah
   Give it up, uh-huh (Dirty South) ye-yeah, ye-yeah
   Give it up, uh-huh, give it up, shake it
   Uh-huh, kick it (Dirty South) uh-huh
   Shake it.. uh-huh, shake it
   C'mon, give it up (Dirty South)
  
   {*fades out*}