| Cadence Weapon – Your Hair's Not Your Clothes Lyrics | 15 years ago |
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LYRICS STRAIGHT FROM CADENCE WEAPON ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Say you spray the nina when you’re Fey like Tina|| Quit the sick talking, you’re KidzBopping, so Float On|| Hip-hop is so on, can’t miss it in the sitcoms|| And a big problem arises when it’s me that supersizes|| Who’s riding, who’s rising, and who’s writing about it?|| There’s more than one bible if you’re into soundwaves|| Nowadays, I’m LIVE-ING, oh I mean living in the LIVE|| Form of stagewide performance and no, it ain’t WISE|| To ever put a hooker on a chorus|| Keep your brain wet on the cut like a swordfish|| Street kids lived in bars, half-orphans|| A crew that needs five mics, what you doin’, tryna Source us?|| Well, you see how that went and I Wendt like George did|| To where everybody knows my name|| Usually not my born one, but the short sons and tall daughters|| Don’t bother to do much more than pour bottles|| I got a new religion, well, don’t read into it|| In fact, don’t read, don’t write, don’t type|| Don’t hype, don’t prop, don’t talk, don’t bite|| Don’t don’t, you won’t won’t make it double negative|| Another relative, the long line of open-minded intelligence|| With phallic mic stands and exhausted right hands|| Hey, I’m just kidding, I’m Jason Kidding around|| Like my wife beats me up, my mistress takes me down|| Good clean fun from the last arbiter of sound|| And I talk in dirty personal possessive pronouns|| Now sit, it used to be I Wanna Be Your Dog|| But now it’s Who Let The Dogs Out?, you wanna call out|| Big red hands, I’m nuclear fallout|| Stall now, die later, stick to me like fly paper|| Time and date, no time to date, this goes out to crime makers|| And shine takers, with water a la flambé|| In their veins|| It’s silly how they get, bro|| All rappers talk about is their condition like Lenny from Memento|| Heart made of arson, try to play me? Don’t start, son|| Beats on the daily like Carson|| Beats so they play me on Carson or do I mean Leno|| No, Co-nan, cut it out, get with the program|| For as long as I’ve lived, I’d say I’ve been a boss there|| Don’t try to play me out, it’s just not renaissance fair|| I’m a costume baller, dressed like a grown-up|| I’m a weather balloon that just got blown up|| I told the homie Jon, they ain’t albums, just records|| We don’t play chess, only play checkers|| He hears my songs and later wants to see the verses|| So I hang with The Idiot like I was Ian Curtis|| The boy likes your hair, but why do you wear|| A buckle in your tresses, please explain it to me, Jess|| |
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| Cadence Weapon – In Search Of The Youth Crew Lyrics | 15 years ago |
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I remember that summer, up in the crib|| Just like Adam with the missing rib|| The cocaine kids, where they used to live|| The hairdresser used to talk, yeah, real, real glib|| But I got a grapevine, heard he's going into fits|| The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind|| Of how the dumb monkeys got gorilla in the midst|| Of a struggle via fist for a slice and a 5th|| Back then, I didn't used to rip shows|| I'd brodown quick, no shit, sherlock|| Nerd hop, no never, I'd never talk shop|| I'd only talk drop, like drop your drink|| Drop your pants, drop your plans|| Drop your friends, drop your hand|| Drop and link, pop and lock|| For a young have-not, we used to grab props|| And stunts like Bruce Willis, whatcha talkin' 'bout?!|| [Chorus x8] The youth crew's back Silent summers disagreed about|| I got hammers in the wrist in the line of gout|| I miss those kids with the rubber headbands|| And deadpan comedy clothespinned to their dresses|| No spins, just presses, preferably full courtship|| More skin contortioned, I'm not very sharp|| But I'll dull importance if you're down for a lark|| Oh, you know me? Oh, you know about Sharks?|| You're so referential, let's party at the Shark, Tank|| Green to the scene, hardly even started|| Hip-hop hipsters, dearly departed|| Cover the phrase and keep in your locket|| We're all on the floor, regretting the week|| With no shame on top or beneath the sheets|| Youth funeral, yeah, send me a wreath|| [Chorus x8] [breakdowns] Met the young girl that I seen on Defamer|| Told her talk like sex? No, talk like Kramer|| "If you wanna check me|| Baby, I'm easy"|| You're a cute little styler with half-eaten rider|| Cut off your fitted cap, take your power like Sylar|| I run out the clock, report to the mizer|| Rhymewise, I'm a lifer, with a bullet-ridden bedpost|| Nose to the grind stone, dig until your mind's blown|| Throne abuse, the girls got loose on fructose juice|| At the hop ala Halo, take shots like Salo|| At the time I was speaking with track 9 on this album|| Clubgoers powder their nose, no talcum|| I still rock the Ayres like the Rub|| Wish the kids would still sneak into the club|| [Chorus x16] |
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