"I.C. Y'all" as written by Sylvester Allen, Harold Ray I. Brown, Morris Dewayne Dickerson, Le Roy L. Jordan, Charles Miller, Lee Oskar, Howard E. Scott, Jerry Goldstein, Trevor Smith, Dana Stinson, Kelvin Mercer, David J....
[Busta Rhymes]
Ha ha ha-hah ha-hah ha, ha-hah ha-hah ha
Ha ha Flipmode why'all, whatchu talkin bout?
De La why'all, whatchu talkin bout?
Whatchu talkin bout?

Yo, you gettin stomped by the marching band
Keep 'em shook like spray cans (it's so hot)
It's so hot it'll make your face tan (ooh!)
Ace ban rap, the place the wasteland

Bit why'all in my mouth, but you taste bland
I feel fake niggaz and mince these snake niggaz
that hiss but won't bite - false alarm
And if it don't +Rockwild+ we fin' to drop a bomb

(Word up) +Strong+ grip on a mic like we +Stretch Arm+
I BEEN shine, you been warned and been torn
Get smacked for the B.S. you been on
Storm bad weather/whether or not you stay scorned

For ten years I've baked shit like hot potato
Rhymes still drippin like stu-be 's, you groupies
need to show I.D. before the bust down
Touched down the God put 7 to your Zippo

and drop it on you heavy like a hippo
(Now you heard that?)

To all my dogs all the way in the back, ready to black
I.C. why'all (see why'all) I.C. why'all
Ladies get down shake yo' ASS around, I hope you know that
I.C. why'all (see why'all) I.C. why'all
To all my soldiers on the corner I.C. why'all (see why'all)
Women doin what they want to I.C. why'all
To them people gettin pulled over I.C. why'all (see why'all)
I.C. why'all (see why'all) wouldn't want to be why'all

It's the one and only effect, that you catch from a cassette
Straight wig out the world and girls we straight dig out ya back

with letters spellin' out my name
All over your marquee, cause the spark is me
Currently we can be seen across your screen
Stayin' wide-eyed 'cause you niggaz tryin' to scheme

Welcome to the spot - I'm slaying with it
Chop it up and fit it inside your quart of rice
You speak ghetto falsetto on the mic device
Tryin' to give me third degree, you just a third of me

Couldn't be the shit if you were a turd of me
A man tight with my funds, crush like Ricky D
who quoted Vance Wright - no one can serve us!
My squad advance heights quite superb

Just kick off your shoes - jump on the jock
It's been a long time comin' this you NEED to cop!


[Busta Rhymes]
It goes one (one) two (two) three (three) four (four)
Bounce so much I ricochet up off the floor (floor)
So raw shit the most raw you ever saw
Quarter after four, niggaz quick to bust the back door

Baby - open your blouse while I joust another nigga's spouse
Quick Jamaican dick style all in they house
I practice to be the all access, you see the fact is
my mouth dirty, so follow while I display the slackness

Yo, you see my slang talk straight from the slums
When I was young, moms put soap on my tongue, and yo-yo
Forever we gettin' this CHEDDAR with the quickness
While I cast the spell on these bitches, you can be my eyewitness

Short fuse, nowadays Langston Hughes
We gettin' money with whoever - even the Jews
The way we finagle and gain it must be all in my shoes
Fuck a nigga up with De La like (?) can amuse


Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings

"I.C. Y'all" as written by Harold Ray I. Brown Sylvester Allen

Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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