Moderator: Greg
Fur-Q wrote:Uzi like a metal dick in my hand
Magazine like a big testicle gland
Geto Boyz wrote:Bitch muthafuckin' KKK
Wearing dresses and shit
What the fuck are they, gay?
Necro wrote:You're drinking penis colada
Stinkin' like the intravenous of a senior citizen
That's reekin' like ca-ca
Eazy E wrote:I said: "Lay down, and unbutton your bra!"
There was the biggest titties that a nigga ever saw
I said: "Damn", then the air got thinner
Only thought in my mind, was goin' up in her
The suspense was makin' me sick
She took her panties down and the bitch had a dick!
Eazy E again.. wrote:She's bad, nobody is badder
But she got more crabs than a seafood platter..
I might be a women-beater but I'm not a pussy-eater
Digital Underground wrote:Now if you wear corrective shoes and you got big bunyons,
Toenails smell and look like onions,
Don't doowutchyalike--
Go see a foot doctor tonight!
beauxknee wrote:Geto Boyz wrote:Bitch muthafuckin' KKK
Wearing dresses and shit
What the fuck are they, gay?
Rick Reuben wrote:He went to bed about a decade ago, or whenever he sold his soul to the bankers and the elites.daniel robert chapman wrote:I think he's gone to bed, Rick.
si-maro wrote:pity you don't know how to format quotes on forums huh? What's the matter, not geek enough?
steve wrote:Broke in? I knocked.
Knock knock, let me in
That's why I been knockin'
Y'all talk-talkin'
'Bout Vockins/Oaxacan
Open your dick-trap
and I'll stick my cock in
'Cause that's a lot nicer
Than sock-fuckin' a stocking
I'm in there anytime
Time be tick-tockin'
'Cause clockin', Oaxacan
Talking hard-knockin' Vockins
Gets me hard-cockin'
That's why I been knockin'.
steve wrote:Having read every single word in this thread, I am more convinced than ever that I have not missed a goddamn thing by not acquiring a taste for hip hop.
You all are totally fucking welcome to this retard babble. Enjoy it in whatever sneering, you're-making-me-embarrassed-for-you way you can.
Dead Prez - They Schools wrote:Why haven't you learned anything?
Man that school shit is a joke
The same people who control the school system control
The prison system, and the whole social system
Ever since slavery, nawsayin?
[Verse 1]
I went to school with some redneck crackers
Right around the time 3rd Bass dropped the cactus album
But I was readin Malcolm
I changed my name in '89 cleaning parts of my brain
Like a baby nine
I took a history class serious
Front row, every day of the week, 3rd period
Fuckin with the teachers had, callin em racist
I tried to show them crackers some light, they couldn't face it
I got my diploma from a school called Rickers
Full of, teenage mothers, and drug dealin niggas
In the hallways, the popo was always present
Searchin through niggas possessions
Lookin for, dope and weapons, get your lessons
That's why my moms kept stressin
I tried to pay attention but they classes wasn't interestin
They seemed to only glorify the Europeans
Claimin Africans were only three-fifths a human being
HOOK:
They schools can't teach us shit
My people need freedom, we tryin to get all we can get
All my high school teachers can suck my dick
Tellin me white man lies straight bullshit (echoes)
They schools aint teachin us, what we need to know to survive
(Say what, say what)
They schools don't educate, all they teach the people is lies
I'm down with yours, I'm talking of the crappy misogyny lyrics. That shit's like hair metal solos, they fill songs with it 'cause they don't have shit worth saying.Rotten Tanx wrote:Dear Antero: We're sorry, we'll try to cater only to your tastes from now on.
Sage Francis wrote:don't live for the moment -- live for the constant
die for what's right or get killed by your conscience
there's a difference between conscience, conscious and conscientious
contrary to popular belief you're none of these
there's plenty to feed, empty mouths've been nest bound
and kept down and apes won't be bangin on the chest pound
when pacemakers are fragile
they hate the taste of capsules
they feed their face with paxil
females hate their dads still
holy son's got mommy issues on deck at the podium
holdin' tongues with the rituals more complex than napoleon
i told'em, "it isn't his job to live in a fog"
i don't have a god complex, you've got a simple god
Saul Williams wrote:I didn't vote for the state of affairs
My emotional state got me prostrate, fearing my fears
In all reality I'm underprepared
'cause I'm ready for war but not sure if I'm ready to care
And that's why I'm underprepared
'cause I'm ready to fight, but most fights got me fighting back tears
'cause the truth is really I'm scared
Not scared of the truth but just scared of the need to go and fight it
Saul Williams wrote:Dissonant chords find necks like nooses. That nigga kicked the chair from under my feet. Harlem shaking from a rope, but still on beat. "Damn that loop is tight." Nigga, found a way to sample the way the truth the light. Can't wait to play myself at the party tonight. Niggas are gonna die. Cop car swerves to the side of the road. Hip Hop takes its last breath. The cop scrawls vernacular manslaughter onto a yellow pad, then balls the paper into his hand, deciding he'd rather free-style.
MF Doom wrote:Livin' off borrowed time, the clock tick faster
That'd be the hour they knock the slick blaster
Dick Dastardly and Muttley with sick laughter
A gun fight and they come to cut the mixmaster
I-C-E cold, nice to be old
Y2G steed twice to threefold
He sold scrolls, lo and behold
Know who's the illest ever like the greatest story told
Keep your glory, gold and glitter
For have half of his niggaz'll take him out the picture
The other half is rich and don't mean shit-ta
Villain a mixture between both with a twist of liquor
Chase it with more beer, taste it like truth or dare
When he have the mic it's like the place get like: 'Ah yeah!'
It's like they know what's 'bout to happen
Just keep ya eye out, like 'aye, aye captain'
Is he still a fly guy clappin' if nobody ain't hear it
And can they testify from inner spirit
In living, the true gods
Givin' y'all nothing but the lick like two broads
Got more lyrics than the church got 'Ooh Lords'
And he hold the mic and your attention like two swords
Or even one with two blades on it
Hey you, don't touch the mic like it's AIDS on it
It's like the end to the means
Fucked type of message that sends to the fiends
That's why he brings his own needles
And get more cheese than Doritos, Cheetos or Fritos..
Slip like Freudian
Your first and last step to playin' yourself like accordion
Linus Van Pelt wrote:I subscribe to neither prong of your false dichotomy.
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