"The Drop" as written by Matthew Walden Mcdonald and D Dumile....
If I'm not workin' or puttin' work in
I'm either wheelin' and dealin'
Or probably jerkin my (censored)
Yep listenin' to nothin', takin' no suggestions

All destructive criticisms, that can't improve on perfection
Rock a crowd in sections on a good night.. the hoes fight
Always get the dough first then everything else goes right
At least that's what they say and who the fuck is they?

Make a hick say "what the hey?" brought that chick from sick bay
Henson he shoulda asked his upperclassmen
Before he bust blast and never trust no Kardassian'
Captains log supplemental

The Klingons are now aboard the enterprise rental vessal
On my cue photon torpedo
Oh and if I'm not on the block with Jorgito
And so on for the street though

Smoke a pound of leak though
I'm jokin' on the fact that hiphop has gone freak show
Don't let the drama getcha
In the only genre of music where the fans shoot the messenger

Bitch niggaz talk behind ya back like a catcher
Either M-Y-O-B or B-Y-O stretcher
In that order, man, woman ,son, daughter
The beat sound like the underwater, make it from the slaughter

Even if you hear some wack shit you never give a chance
Some shit sound like all you could do on fit is riverdance
It's not a hobby, don't be sloppy
Doin deals with these labels is likened to a botched robbery

Nobody supposed to get bodied...golly
This shit is like a folly bout to cold flip probably
It's not me he got a ill spills knot in brooknon
Where even though kids kill they still chill and look calm

While workin' on new developments for the book bomb
In one bad experiment it blew and took a hooker arm (arm and leg)
BOW! look mom.. no hand
Studied black magic for years out in no man's land

It's like a barbecue all swine cookout
To fuck up they plans like a blind man look out
Cram to overstand it, peep it and absorb it
The same way he keep all the planets in they proper orbit

Norbert y'all better off goin' corporate
Nobody wanna hear that bullshit it's too morbid
It's no prints he hold the mic with a mic glove
And rolls dolo from state to state like Ike Love

Like on top of the world loser keep it gully
Rap creeps seem they got too much juice in they belly
It's why they brung V he still hungry
And spit something thick on the mic like a lungie

Mind ya daughter she on line for the water
To get lucky like when she found a quarter kinda sorta
Remember me God, clean timbs with emery board?
He only came to save the game like a memory card

Ooh shrewd, a lot of crews is too rude
And it's way too many let's not and say we do dudes
He said 24-7 I be on call
He use his vacation days to watch Babylon fall

Numbskulls.. get ta steppin' they dumb dull
And how he rep the mic is like the weapon from Krull
Cats be like what's wrong with your man black?
Biohazard suit and bandgrap for the anthrax

Jeez and can't get no peace
Form blazin sword for the police robeast
Cochise, write a rhyme like a book report
And sell it to a rookie you could tell by the hook he bought

You ain't know he sell hooks and choruses?
They couldn't bang slang if they looked in thesauruses
It's like a friendly game of dodge ball
Oddball guard y'all, he played the garage wall

With the Stan Smith's checkerboard lace
And the brand new INF they ain't check the broad waist
You saw his face? so who next to get they neck chopped
Or popped like a Beck's top, respect the drop

It's too much wreck hops
Who next to get they neck chopped
Or popped like a Beck's top, respect the drop
Woopdie-do flows do fifty like a hooptie do

Groupie crews try to figure out from what coop he flew
They outta place, beats sounds like outer space
With no time to waste he was Audi.. without a trace


Lyrics submitted by B-line

"The Drop" as written by Matthew Walden Mcdonald D Dumile

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Lyrics powered by LyricFind

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