U‐Za‐Flea Songtext
von Steady B
U‐Za‐Flea Songtext
Dopeness, in the land of whackness
Practice, no need to attack this style
Unless you ready for your death bed
Go ahead, instead you tread
Funkify, stupify, certify, all kinds just die
The real supreme dope Rhyme Syndicate
Spinnin′ on your record player
Into your brain, and then you tune to me
Steady B
When I get serious my mic gets heated
Then repeat it, crews then retreated
Before some terror, or breath of life
Gimme your hope, with words that float
Down on paper, performance perfect
Time to build so yield with a hill
Step to the vision so part like the Red Sea
Sucka u-za-flea
Here I go again, so let me clear my throat on
I beat the foes like water, so that means imma float on
To a new dimension, locked inside a prison
You seem to track your darkness, so imma give ya vision
To help ya escape so get this all on tape
No way that sucka MC's got stripped and raped
Batter then shatter, going in the sounds they use
My kinda weapon cause my rhymes are violent
So let me load our style like my Prince off then clip it
Two styles to the head, now see you getting wicked
MC′s are very lame, always be the same
Trying just to see, but scared to say my name
I know they on a mission, who the hell they dissin'?
Man I'll leave ya all in a bad position
MC′s who be dreamin′, I can hear 'em schemin′
And they try double teamin' but they all might die like semen
So imma wipe ya off cause your irritatin′ to The C
'Cause u-za-flea
It′s the 90's, leave somethin' behind me
Bite the dust and I trust you won′t find me
The medaling kids The Cool C is the trio
We′ll savor this S—
Cause I already know who fucked the ill top
And that's the nation, my name is The Bear
The man with patience
Suckas are smothered, strangled and dangled
Add a 3-6-0 for the green angle
I rob beats like a pony, ya phony
The man LG, the one who showed me
The way too create, and never wait
Tip suckas with my music just like bait
And when controlling this mic, I′m gonna get ya tippin'
Tippity top, while your mic just flops
Imma be rollin′, and lettin' that those then
Rip the shows and, met the hoes there
You don′t really wanna step to me, why?
'Cause u-za-flea
Practice, no need to attack this style
Unless you ready for your death bed
Go ahead, instead you tread
Funkify, stupify, certify, all kinds just die
The real supreme dope Rhyme Syndicate
Spinnin′ on your record player
Into your brain, and then you tune to me
Steady B
When I get serious my mic gets heated
Then repeat it, crews then retreated
Before some terror, or breath of life
Gimme your hope, with words that float
Down on paper, performance perfect
Time to build so yield with a hill
Step to the vision so part like the Red Sea
Sucka u-za-flea
Here I go again, so let me clear my throat on
I beat the foes like water, so that means imma float on
To a new dimension, locked inside a prison
You seem to track your darkness, so imma give ya vision
To help ya escape so get this all on tape
No way that sucka MC's got stripped and raped
Batter then shatter, going in the sounds they use
My kinda weapon cause my rhymes are violent
So let me load our style like my Prince off then clip it
Two styles to the head, now see you getting wicked
MC′s are very lame, always be the same
Trying just to see, but scared to say my name
I know they on a mission, who the hell they dissin'?
Man I'll leave ya all in a bad position
MC′s who be dreamin′, I can hear 'em schemin′
And they try double teamin' but they all might die like semen
So imma wipe ya off cause your irritatin′ to The C
'Cause u-za-flea
It′s the 90's, leave somethin' behind me
Bite the dust and I trust you won′t find me
The medaling kids The Cool C is the trio
We′ll savor this S—
Cause I already know who fucked the ill top
And that's the nation, my name is The Bear
The man with patience
Suckas are smothered, strangled and dangled
Add a 3-6-0 for the green angle
I rob beats like a pony, ya phony
The man LG, the one who showed me
The way too create, and never wait
Tip suckas with my music just like bait
And when controlling this mic, I′m gonna get ya tippin'
Tippity top, while your mic just flops
Imma be rollin′, and lettin' that those then
Rip the shows and, met the hoes there
You don′t really wanna step to me, why?
'Cause u-za-flea
Writer(s): Warren Mcglone Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
