Talkin' Out Your Ass Songtext
von Ultramagnetic MC’s
Talkin' Out Your Ass Songtext
A lot of rappers ain′t shit, they just bullshit
They wanna step on stage and pop piles of shit
But I ain't with it, so black quit it
Who pulled the plug?... You know I did it
Cause you sound whack and, fucked up with no class
But I get deeper, stick a rhyme up in yo′ ass
Light up your inner skull, and burn up your rectum
MC's are doo-doo I never did respect 'em
Fuck ′em, like a bitch with no drawers on
So you want a tape, stupid-ass with pause on
Damn, I cut you off on my radio
As I take a step back, and piss on your video Piss on the pop charts and fake material
Rappers know I′m stupid mad, I'm gettin fed up
And fuck all your whack groups, they get set up
Five at a time, let ′em come with that cheap shit
Now 1 Adam 12, with that fantasy street shit
Or rappers who try to teach, and brag and pop shit
But I'm on 8th floor, and ready to drop shit
Pounds and pounds and stacked up with metaphor
Open the bag, step aside and then let it pour
Hittin your brain like a current through a lightbulb
Or any old bar, plus your neighborhood nightclub
Beware yo, you′re talkin out of your ass
You say you make this much, and you make that much
You come in your white Benz, and pull up like Cap'n Crunch
But I don′t give a fuck; I drive a Geo
Now who got the best rhymes? Tell 'em Leo
While you stand stiff like Gilligan with no Island
I burn the MC, who wrote your fucked up style and
Cause I'm a get the axe out, and start choppin ′em
Call President Bush to keep stoppin ′em
Whack MC's get the fuck out the business
Oh you with a major? Now tell me what is this
Yo, I′m gettin busy and hyped up
While you gotta scream your rebel tracks are fucked up
Measured unmeasured, off-beat and left field
What dummy produced that? That shit ain't real
I′m tellin facts, I'm blowin up on your ass
And if your show is tonight, I′m goin up in your ass
Just like an outlaw, smooth rugged and raw
I never roll with a clown, when I'm out on tour
I'm not impressed, fuck around with that cheap style
That African tribe shit, political freestyle
School is lettin out now, it′s three o′clock
Fuck all that weak whack shit, it's four o′clock
Time to get paid, the critic kingdom New York an'
While rappers try to talk I step away and keep walkin
Fuck ′em! Male rappers and females
Cause you ain't worth two cents, a bag with seashells
Tryin to dance, tryin to talk, tryin to rhyme
Tryin to preach, tryin to I′ll
Tryin to teach, tryin to scream, listen close chief
You're talkin out of your ass
Continuin, no fuckin bum can stop me
Unless you write in, and tell the company drop me
But I don't think so, c′mon Freddy
I woke up at 8 o′clock, I'm fuckin ready
For any your whack shit that′s hard to sell
10 weeks on Billboard, it's hard to tell
See I don′t get mad, the X'll get even
I jump on stage, your dirty ass is leavin
You′re lettin off steam - oh yeah really?
No time for rat turds, you're fuckin silly
Don't come with that phony Monie macaroni Love style
Cause I′m a get mad, stupid crazy and buckwild
Son of a bitch, step to me Rich
And watch the X flow reverse and switch
MC′s to the other side, they get waxed though
You never knew I could rhyme? You didn't axe though
I′m rollin all of you two-faced bastards
Ready or not, that's why I always practice
Catch me off guard, yo Sandman fuck you
I stand in the front while other rappers they duck you
Come inside, they try to sneak out the back door
As I get hyped and criticize the whack more
Fuck ′em, I got some shit for their black ass
White rappers too, I got some shit for their whack ass
Cause I don't hold back with tons of mega shit
Come on stage sway down with a weak hit
But you think you′re fresh though, you ain't jack shit
Smoother than Rhythm X, go 'head with that whack shit
Aiyyo duke, you′re talkin out of your ass
Yes, this is the one Rhythm X
And all you stupid-ass motherfuckers who think you nice
I wanna see what you got
But I know you ain′t got shit
Ain't nuttin but jack doo-doo dumb doo-doo whack shit
But you step in boy, and you get played like a toy
SEE YA! Fuck you
They wanna step on stage and pop piles of shit
But I ain't with it, so black quit it
Who pulled the plug?... You know I did it
Cause you sound whack and, fucked up with no class
But I get deeper, stick a rhyme up in yo′ ass
Light up your inner skull, and burn up your rectum
MC's are doo-doo I never did respect 'em
Fuck ′em, like a bitch with no drawers on
So you want a tape, stupid-ass with pause on
Damn, I cut you off on my radio
As I take a step back, and piss on your video Piss on the pop charts and fake material
Rappers know I′m stupid mad, I'm gettin fed up
And fuck all your whack groups, they get set up
Five at a time, let ′em come with that cheap shit
Now 1 Adam 12, with that fantasy street shit
Or rappers who try to teach, and brag and pop shit
But I'm on 8th floor, and ready to drop shit
Pounds and pounds and stacked up with metaphor
Open the bag, step aside and then let it pour
Hittin your brain like a current through a lightbulb
Or any old bar, plus your neighborhood nightclub
Beware yo, you′re talkin out of your ass
You say you make this much, and you make that much
You come in your white Benz, and pull up like Cap'n Crunch
But I don′t give a fuck; I drive a Geo
Now who got the best rhymes? Tell 'em Leo
While you stand stiff like Gilligan with no Island
I burn the MC, who wrote your fucked up style and
Cause I'm a get the axe out, and start choppin ′em
Call President Bush to keep stoppin ′em
Whack MC's get the fuck out the business
Oh you with a major? Now tell me what is this
Yo, I′m gettin busy and hyped up
While you gotta scream your rebel tracks are fucked up
Measured unmeasured, off-beat and left field
What dummy produced that? That shit ain't real
I′m tellin facts, I'm blowin up on your ass
And if your show is tonight, I′m goin up in your ass
Just like an outlaw, smooth rugged and raw
I never roll with a clown, when I'm out on tour
I'm not impressed, fuck around with that cheap style
That African tribe shit, political freestyle
School is lettin out now, it′s three o′clock
Fuck all that weak whack shit, it's four o′clock
Time to get paid, the critic kingdom New York an'
While rappers try to talk I step away and keep walkin
Fuck ′em! Male rappers and females
Cause you ain't worth two cents, a bag with seashells
Tryin to dance, tryin to talk, tryin to rhyme
Tryin to preach, tryin to I′ll
Tryin to teach, tryin to scream, listen close chief
You're talkin out of your ass
Continuin, no fuckin bum can stop me
Unless you write in, and tell the company drop me
But I don't think so, c′mon Freddy
I woke up at 8 o′clock, I'm fuckin ready
For any your whack shit that′s hard to sell
10 weeks on Billboard, it's hard to tell
See I don′t get mad, the X'll get even
I jump on stage, your dirty ass is leavin
You′re lettin off steam - oh yeah really?
No time for rat turds, you're fuckin silly
Don't come with that phony Monie macaroni Love style
Cause I′m a get mad, stupid crazy and buckwild
Son of a bitch, step to me Rich
And watch the X flow reverse and switch
MC′s to the other side, they get waxed though
You never knew I could rhyme? You didn't axe though
I′m rollin all of you two-faced bastards
Ready or not, that's why I always practice
Catch me off guard, yo Sandman fuck you
I stand in the front while other rappers they duck you
Come inside, they try to sneak out the back door
As I get hyped and criticize the whack more
Fuck ′em, I got some shit for their black ass
White rappers too, I got some shit for their whack ass
Cause I don't hold back with tons of mega shit
Come on stage sway down with a weak hit
But you think you′re fresh though, you ain't jack shit
Smoother than Rhythm X, go 'head with that whack shit
Aiyyo duke, you′re talkin out of your ass
Yes, this is the one Rhythm X
And all you stupid-ass motherfuckers who think you nice
I wanna see what you got
But I know you ain′t got shit
Ain't nuttin but jack doo-doo dumb doo-doo whack shit
But you step in boy, and you get played like a toy
SEE YA! Fuck you
Writer(s): Cedric Miller, Keith Thornton Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
