Orange Pineapple Juice

Hand me a little bit of umm, orange pineapple juice
Ima sip on it, check it out
I got a rhyme, you got a rhyme
But my rhyme is better than yours(repeat 2x)
U-a-c, they get they ps and
No i.d., be gettin his ps and
The late show, they get they ps and
Professanots, they get they ps and
Peep the maneuver, how bout the heim-lich
I rhyme sick and you can get the duck, coon
Im the shit, youre shit out of luck, tough
Im the act to follow, housing kids like ronald
Mac like donald goines, flows
I change like coins
Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng, choyoyoyoyyyyyng
I draw a crowd like blood with the pint of technique
And everybody there be like, 'yeah!'
Cause caint near a nig datll say whoomp, there it is
Im like a mom on section 8, over-bearing kids
Shit they be like, 'com-mon!' thats my muhfucka true
Youse a hamburger , ima fudrucker
Askin me to lettuce ketchup, knowin you cant cut the mustard
So wheres the beef, jerky?
Im as worthy as james, not that good with names
But I do remember your face from someplace this is one taste
Of chicago, we got mo many mo many mo many mo flavors
Dont just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-im-a-hood takin niggaz
UnderOn the tundra , cause 'theyre plain, theyre plain' (fantasy island)
Im on a plateau that is fat so
Its just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see
HowI land,
Im grand like a finale
Im goin back to cali (why? ) cause cali got bitches check it
Aiyyo dart this is a sickness
Dee-da-da-da-doo -doo, dee-da-da, ah-eh-da-da
Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da, dee-da-da
South side, rock on and
The west side, we gotta rock on and
Hey yo chicago, we gotta rock on and
The east coast, you gotta rock on and
The west coast, you gotta rock on and
Ah down south, you gotta rock on and
Check it... 'now you can go!'
Mister pussy emcee, just get on gone
Get on gone, you pussy mc!
Steppin to me, with them dirty feet youll get defeated
Like kunta kinte,
Im kin to, align crew
My great, great, grandpap done been through
So much its in my hemoglobin to be a ill nigga
So I figure like a father... that ima turn this mutha out
But common you aint hittin in new york
I dont know what you thought hops, but chief
I got tall props
Some cats think
Im six feet
Im so deep
Some stunts be thinkin
Im six-fo, my shit be hittin like switches
Bitches, ask, why my, britches, sag
I ask the bitches, 'why your titties saggin? '
Put your nipple to the bottle
I bust rhymes like breastses
I can get down, d-d-d-down like pessimist
Ring the alarm,
I got charm like a neck-a-lace
Tell me true statues had to move they neck to this
Didnt you, didnt you... and it, and it , and it
And it dont stop, bust it'gotta crew ya better tell em' --> keith murray