Testi musica canzoni

Chorus: Big Daddy KaneCome on y'all and feel the grooveGet on down and make your moveWelcome to the funkiestBrooklyn style, laid out like thisChorus[Big Daddy Kane]I kicks the flavor good, to represent the neighborhoodwhere I come from, and that's the place of Brooklynwhere the grimies are born and bredAnd bullets are like eyeballs, two to the head[Scoob]Well is it Brownsville? Time to represent for the mapwhere the peeps smoke blunts and like to wear mad gold capsThe party addict about to explodeFrom the 1-1-2, the double-3 ill zip code[Big Daddy Kane]Parlayin on the corner, drinkin 40's shootin cee-loIt's a Brooklyn thing, aight? You know our steeloAnd for those who just don't know how it goPlay like a substitute teacher and ACT like you know[Scoob]So yo, who wanna set it? You better kick your best GYou and your whole entourage couldn't test meI represent for the fo' mainAnd if you're not a booty bandit, then niggaz can't hangChorus[Big Daddy Kane]Now, let's get straight down to the pointI represent for this Brooklyn joint, baby pah, where we're takin it toMakin a few dollars don't mean you gotta forgetwhere you come from and try to be someone, that you're really notand front with what you gotYou're gonna be looked at as a black man still so keep it realWhat type of mission can I say you on?Because you musta done changed to some Grey Poupon, hehI'm really happy to see you blew upBut always remember my man you grew upin the PJ's all your life, in a broken home(Scoob: Well alright now)Up in the PJ's all your life, keepin it strong, WHAT!I be the Louis Ave livin, live long lastin loverBonafied black brother, word to the motherSkilled at trades at hand with those who madethe man with support and always stayed a fanMy dialectic style is perfectedin ways you can't imagine rap bein acceptedFunk'll slam like a doper jam, popsI'm takin mine like taxes with Uncle SamSo check out the asiatic type of flowlike water in the Nile, but it's Brooklyn styleChorus[Scoob]Yo, this is Big Scoob, no practiceI'm flippin on niggaz like little kids on that mattressYou know my style, Baby Pah from the PJ'sMy lyrics so dope, they too fat for local DJ'sSo hear me out, no doubt, no need for screaminMy boys in the back, clockin your jewels, and they scheaminWhy did they step to me, I hit em, bow, bu-dowKnocked out his fronts cause the kid was mad fragileNo need for beef chief I'm rollin mad deepSo pick up your teeth, I got him shakin like a leafNot tryin to scare you, I just wanna aware youI bet you won't even look at my face (WHAT WHAT WHAT) I dare youYo nigga please, yo I'm nice with thesewhile you're guardin your grill, I'll be beatin up your kidneysMe and my boys with the fat tec 9'swith my joint cocked back, in case a punk tried to take minesWhere I'm from there's no need for hesitationWe cock and squeeze, now where's the doctor for this patient?He's drippin blood and now he's down to his last breathBut he won't make it, cause he knows that my joint is defThe ill, type of Brooklyn artistwho rocks the har-dest, regard-lesswho you know and where you're from I pull your file(How?) Brooklyn styleChorusmore free lyrics