The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
[Canibus]
Yo, the shotee rip, perforate the skin on top of your ribs //
Red stuff comes out of squibs like a Hollywood script //
Bitch niggas on the floor screaming for mommy and shit //
Cardiologists hook up the heart monitors quick //
Thermometer temperature dips below seventy-six //
That’s what you get for telling niggas that you’re better than ‘Bis //
Not possible, if I can’t rhyme it, it ain’t rhymable //
The audible probability probably ain’t probable //
Supreme rap, G rap underground without a roof //
Chopper proof, holding hip-hop for hostage about to shoot //
Helicopters stabilize at low altitudes //
I’m talking to the negotiator laying out the rules //
In a tight compromising loop //
Road blocked with troops //
Under orders not to shoot but they break your vertebra with boots //
Ten O’clock news flash, ‘Bis and G Rap //
All points bulletin looking for them niggas in black //
Leaned back in an Avocado El-Dorado //
Passing the bottle, speaking Japanese like, ‘No me mah show’ //
She’s got a banging body //
Cold sushi with warm saki //
And if I’m rapping sloppy G’s got me //
[Canibus]
Yo //
Everything is everything my nigga //
I ain’t bitter but if I give you the finger it’ll be behind a trigger //
Faggot ass nigga living in a gated community //
Up at radio telling them what you’re going to do to me //
I live in the ‘burbs //
Clean my Winchester every other weekend with the same dirty Hanes shirt //
It takes two to tango, three to jump rope //
Four to bury the body plus look out for poe’ //
Yo, I guard everything within the limits of my post //
My orders are to smoke you if you get too close //
The whole world is scared of my flow //
Spirit world, scared of my soul //
Nowadays it’s like I’m scared to be known //
The methods of my motivation is completely subjective //
My perception is completely parallel to perspective //
Rhyming is the reason I spit in faces //
Habituation of my flamboyance without rational reservation //
Whiskey, X-ray, Yankee, Zulu, unusual //
Wordologically my syllable position is beautiful //
Only respect niggas if the feeling is mutual //
G Rap snatched the jewels from you, I’ll throw them in the crucible //
Probably throw you in it too, mix it up and make nigga stew //
If you can’t admit that I’m iller than you //
Baby, you’re sparring with the shadows, ‘Bis and G Rap flow //
Mother fucker you’re ‘fessionalling with the Pros //
Yo, the shotee rip, perforate the skin on top of your ribs //
Red stuff comes out of squibs like a Hollywood script //
Bitch niggas on the floor screaming for mommy and shit //
Cardiologists hook up the heart monitors quick //
Thermometer temperature dips below seventy-six //
That’s what you get for telling niggas that you’re better than ‘Bis //
Not possible, if I can’t rhyme it, it ain’t rhymable //
The audible probability probably ain’t probable //
Supreme rap, G rap underground without a roof //
Chopper proof, holding hip-hop for hostage about to shoot //
Helicopters stabilize at low altitudes //
I’m talking to the negotiator laying out the rules //
In a tight compromising loop //
Road blocked with troops //
Under orders not to shoot but they break your vertebra with boots //
Ten O’clock news flash, ‘Bis and G Rap //
All points bulletin looking for them niggas in black //
Leaned back in an Avocado El-Dorado //
Passing the bottle, speaking Japanese like, ‘No me mah show’ //
She’s got a banging body //
Cold sushi with warm saki //
And if I’m rapping sloppy G’s got me //
[Canibus]
Yo //
Everything is everything my nigga //
I ain’t bitter but if I give you the finger it’ll be behind a trigger //
Faggot ass nigga living in a gated community //
Up at radio telling them what you’re going to do to me //
I live in the ‘burbs //
Clean my Winchester every other weekend with the same dirty Hanes shirt //
It takes two to tango, three to jump rope //
Four to bury the body plus look out for poe’ //
Yo, I guard everything within the limits of my post //
My orders are to smoke you if you get too close //
The whole world is scared of my flow //
Spirit world, scared of my soul //
Nowadays it’s like I’m scared to be known //
The methods of my motivation is completely subjective //
My perception is completely parallel to perspective //
Rhyming is the reason I spit in faces //
Habituation of my flamboyance without rational reservation //
Whiskey, X-ray, Yankee, Zulu, unusual //
Wordologically my syllable position is beautiful //
Only respect niggas if the feeling is mutual //
G Rap snatched the jewels from you, I’ll throw them in the crucible //
Probably throw you in it too, mix it up and make nigga stew //
If you can’t admit that I’m iller than you //
Baby, you’re sparring with the shadows, ‘Bis and G Rap flow //
Mother fucker you’re ‘fessionalling with the Pros //
Lyrics submitted by p609
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