.webp)
Intro lyrics - Inner City Posse
Just the good old boys
Never meanin' no harm
Some of you mother fuckers know me
You say, "That's Joe Bruce, my neighborhood homie
Trying to come up, trying to be a rap star
But his basement tapes ain't goin' far"
I ain't trying to be famous. I ain't trying to be rich
All I'm trying to do it dip my dick in your bitch
See me after dark, rim shootin' hoop
Or at home, gangin' beats from the Lifers Group
Yeah, I'm jackin' beats, I ain't afraid to say
Them mother fuckers rottin' in jail any mother fuckin' way
But I don't need to hear you say it
You don't like my shit, then don't fuckin' play it
"Hey, yo, J, your tape is weak"
Now your eye's swelled shut, and you're missin' teeth
This is a homemade mother fuckin' basement track
I ain't a super star, so get the fuck off my nut sack
Hold up, hold up, hold up
Set It Off lyrics - Inner City Posse
Aight, ay 2 Dope, turn up the echo, and I know I'm good for one of them old-ass, funky mojo beats
Violent J with the pull to the ghetto
Said another clique, suck a dick ’cause you're fucking soft
And don't say Violent J ain’t with it
When you was rollin' with your dad, your mom let me suck a titty
Fools always talk shit get beat
And if I'm out-numbered, there's a .9 in the back seat
'Cause when I'm feelin like a mack daddy
In the trunk when I ride, I got weapons I'da never had
And I just start gunnin 'em down
I blast in the crowd now everybody’s runnin’ around
And there's always them bitches that are screamin’
Some fool's on his back, wishing he were dreaming
If anybody's listenin' down south
I’ll talk shit about the city with my nuts in your wife's mouth
Keep stringin' on your banjo
'Cause we don't like that shit where I come from, bro
N.W.A without the boy Ice Cube, yo
You kinda sound like Barry motherfuckin' Manilow
Why do you call yourself a nigga, I ask you
That's the only kind of bullshit that you can lay tracks too
Short nappy head motherfuckers, the same
Sound like you got your beat from a Nintendo game
Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!
Yo, when I posse'd up in Volare
I got bitches on my dick like I'm grippin' a Ferrari
Well I guess it's cause I'm sorta famous
I'm sending out dope shit, how the fuck can you blame us?
When the fucking bitches come and drive by
Lifting up their shirts and lettin' titties fly
Like I really wanna see this shit
A drunk-ass slut and her fucking titty
And when it comes down to the sex part
They say love shit and try to soften my heart
But a bitch will always give more head
With a cold double barrel pressed against their forehead
That's the way to get it done around here
In my neck of the woods, I'd have never met fear
Me and the boys get to rumblin'
We always drop the hoes, though I might be fumbling
You know Violent J won't slip
Yo, G, the haters on Q-tip
Cause his punk ass went ahead and sold out
Now his family's at the funeral, and he's gettin' rolled out
And everybody's fake cryin'
Cause nobody really gives a fuck of him dyin'
Hit it! Hit it! Hit it!
They're rollin' HP's, it'll never end
Cause I saw Johnny buttfuckin' one of his friends
So they're on my case about it
Because I told everyone he likes to suck a good dick
Now we're out grippin' in a '68 bucket
Seen a fine bitch, but I said fuck it
'Cause I know how that story goes
First she buys me dinner, then I fuck that ho
But I was in a hurry to get downtown, ay yo
Mexican festival, you don't wanna miss the show
With brews and Faygo, we was chillin'
Too Much, [?], and my homie, Kid Villain
Those motherfuckers starin' at me all night
Givin' me a look like I was fuckin' his wife
I didn't know the bitch he was with, so I told him
Keep starin' at me, you catch a bullet in your scrotum
And everything went cool
We'd have caught him once more, I'd take his ass to school
Set it off, set it off
Lock Down lyrics - Inner City Posse
Spittin' and cussin' and you know I'm pissed
With them iron bracelets on my fuckin' wrists
And I'm headed for the county
With doughnut-eatin' mother fuckers all around me
Dressed in my original county blues
With my fresh do-rag and my rubber shoes
Six months in a cement bedroom
Make friends fast, make 'em fuckin' soon
Five months left, I don't even smoke
Cigarettes are like money, so I guess I'm broke
Drop two months, I'm down to fo'
With the homies playin' spades on the dirty-ass flo'
Chillin' by my home boy Bruno
Hangin' out at the rec and we was playin Uno
And this crack head's gonna try and take my seat
So I whipped his ass and I caught another week
Now I'm starin' at a plastic bowl
'Cause the next five days, I'm in the hole
One month left and I'm growin' kinda thin
And there's stubbles on my God damn chin
Three days good time, I guess I lucked out
My time is done, let me the fuck out
No more talkin' my cock down
I'll go fuck me a bitch 'cause I'm outta this lock down, lock down, lock down, lock down, lock down, lock down, lock down
Bitches lyrics - Inner City Posse
[*baby crying*]
Hey, hey, shh. Be quiet. Be quiet. Ay ay ay ay ay, shut up. Hey, shut up. Hey! Hey! Hey, shut the fuck up! Hey, shut the fuck up! Hey, bitch, come here and take care of this fuck- You want me to ki- Now, shut the- shut the fuck up!
Bitches, hoes, sluts, and skeezers
Skanky-ass whores, I can't forget your either
You can say I'm degrading toward women
But they always seem to let me travel up in 'em
Will I hit a woman? What you think?
I'll hit a fucking bitch like her name was Frank
In the 50's, when you're necked, you got lucky
Today you'll put a gun up to they head, and you'll say "Fuck me"
A mother fucker like J don't need a gun
I just whip out the pipe, and I watch 'em run
Up to me, through me, sayin' go through me
Nine months she's at my door, and the bitch is trying to sue me
You know I ain't havin' that bullshit
So I sent the bitch home with a fat lip, yo
V-I-O-L-E-N-T
Dumb dumb, you can't even fuck with me
Outta women I respect, just a chosen few
And one of them bitches sure as fuck ain't you
Pimping, playing, hauling, balling, bitches by the dozens
Like Jeff Allen and his fucking cousin
Stacks and stacks, so many to pick from
Callin' 'em up so we can go and dick 'em
Driving to my house during the talk zone
And then after I hit it, I'll make your ass walk home
You're crying but I think it's kinda funny
That I wouldn't give your ass no bus money
At night I have dreams that I'm waxing
Superstar, freaky ass, big butt Janet Jackson
I don't even need to tell you what I'd do to her
I'd come at her so fast, my dick would go clean through her
I'd fuck her sister, her aunt, and her mother
The only Jackson that I wouldn't fuck is her brother
But I can't have Janet, so I'll take what I can get
A strung out, ragged-on crackhead bitch
And they bodies so shitty
Skinny as fuck, and she only got one titty
I'm headed to the suburbs to find some
So I brung along my boys to help me grind 'em
Bitches, bitches, bitches, and more
Rapping with a bitch at the grocery store
The way she talked gave me an erection
So you know I had to fuck her in the meat section
I gave that bitch all that I got
She had her eyes closed so I fucked her with a lamb chop
Nobody can mack like J does
I'd fuck a girl that's sober, leave her with a buzz
I'm gonna get me a bitch from Thailand
'Cause all bitches over there do is pray to their man
Yo, 'cause bitches here are too fucking sad
Come home and find your freak in the sack with your dad
Saying they were lonely and needed to be held
Fuck off, bitch, that's why your eye got swelled
Yeah you beat her ass something crazy
You woulda killed her ass, but you was kinda lazy
Every time I see a bitch, she's always crying
That's the main fucking reason that the fists are always flyin'
Cause you ain't a god damn baby no more
So why don't you grow the fuck up, you sorry-ass fucking whore?
If you drive a piece of shit and you're not rich
Than you gots no women, explain that, bitch
That's why I always dig the crackheads
Cause them bitches think your rich as long as you ain't dead
Yo, I gots no problem anyway
I can have any bitch, 'cause I'm Violent J
So before you make that hitch
Be sure it ain't with that average bitch
Hey man, look at that skank over there
Have you ever seen an uglier bitch in your life, man?
It looks like somebody socked her in her fucking face with a bag of fucking rocks
Man, look at that Hey, bitch you look like you got hit by a train, ho
Hey, fuck you, come here and suck my nuts, bitch
That bitch's crawling off the streets man, ho
Hey. Hey bitch get the fuck off my car, fucking skank, look at that
Hey, bitch, you ever been smacked before, ho?
Come here, let me smack your ho fucking ass
Insain Like lyrics - Inner City Posse
"Who's that tapping at my window? Aah!"
(Listen to the bass)
(Get the beat to the nation, yeah.)
I go blank, [?] I grip my shank
I'm [?] you'd take death to the bank
The guardian angel must have fell off my shoulder
'Cause day by day, night by night, I'm gettin' colder
Demented, psychopath, klepto mental case
Smile when the blood squirts on my face
When I'm stabbin' some fool in his gut
To me, it's good as sex, so I nut
Amnesia, it's always the same
I can slide a family then forget my name
It don't matter, it comes back to me
As soon as I waste another family
Homicide victim, family members cry
Those mother fuckers always catch my eye
Look 'em up, heh, you know what I'm thinkin'
Violent J's gonna start head shrinkin', yeah
Go to the house and knock on the door
Clench my fist and [?] the whore
Rape the bitch and a her nasty lie
Rip out my shank and cut out her eye
[?] like to use handcuffs
Cut off her titties and use 'em for earmuffs
Split personalities, and my head keeps dancin'
One like Hitler, the other Charles Manson
Homicide, suicide, I'm a fuckin' wreck
Pull your spine out your back, wrap it around your fuckin' neck
Butcher, I'm slicin' and dicin'
Cut off your neck and serve it with rice
And side dishes, I'm a God damn lunatic
[?] me 'cause I'm sick, boy
Friday nights, I get a different kind of thrill
Fuck parties, fuck women, I fuckin' kill
I'm a racist, I like an innocent victim
If she's old and weak, then I'll stick 'em
[?] when I reach my hand in her
I like to find out what the bitch had for dinner
It becomes my meal 'cause my head is twisted
Cut soon after, I'm a fuckin' psythopathic
[?]
Just my thoughts will make you wanna throw up
The lives I take'll feel good on my brain
'Cause I'm mother fuckin' ass bitch god damn insane
When I was in school, I knew I was sick
When I pissed on the floor and watched the teacher slip
Now the mind of Joe Bruce has went out
I'm Mr. Rob and Shoot, and my mind is bent out
Of proportion, my blood is scorchin'
Throw me a flamethrower, and I'ma start torchin'
Innocent people, whoever's in range
Hat full of suckers, and I'm drawin' names
Kids used to laugh and call me names
Now I'm wringin' the blood out their mother fuckin' brains
Spare Bruce Lee, Rudy, Nate, and Lacy
Rip you in half 'cause I'm God damn crazy
(Crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy)
Kill, kill, kill
Voices tell me to kill, kill, kill
Should I shoot [?] 'cause the voices are real
Livin' on the shit in Zug Island
Come across to Delray [?]
Dragged 'em back to my underground crawlspace
Cut off the head, but I save the face
And staple gun it to the wall
And that's all we know when ICP is on call
Play That Hoe lyrics - Inner City Posse
"Play that fuckin' ho!"
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this? Whose is it?"
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this?"
"This is yours, yours, yours"
Excuse me, bitch, I don't mean to trouble you
Can you guess the beat? Yeah, it's EMW
The Inner City Posse's gettin' fucked up
It's the Faygo and the OE gettin' sucked up
Bitches puttin' me in a bad mood
'Cause I was itchin' on my nuts and her sayin' that it's rude
The ho said "That's disgusting, J"
Don't worry about it, bitch, 'cause you'll be sucking on 'em anyway
Mind your own, sewer freaks
She stormin' out the house mad, and I'm starin' at their buttcheek
When a bitch lets everyone hit it in the butt
She's always comin' back with a fat gut
She's showin' pictures, and then nothing was said
They all know it's mine 'cause the baby had a big forehead
I ain't no kind of daddy, ho
I'll be fillin' up its bottle with Faygo
You better get an abortion, no fuckin' doubt
Or I'ma reach down your throat and pull the mother fucker out
She's bitchin' and bitchin', but I ignore it
And then she gonna ask me to fuckin' pay for it
I gave the ho an empty twelve-pack
Take your ass to the store and take a two-liter back
That's all I'll pay for, bitch, now get the fuck on, ho
Stick around, I got something you can suck on, yo
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this? Whose is it?"
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this?"
"This is yours, yours, yours"
Rollin' down West Vernor, it's the same
I'm gettin' sick of seein' [?]'s God damn name
Spray painted on the walls all around you
It's a damn shame that the deadly doughnuts never found you
Latin Counts, Young Gun, and X-Men
The Cobra's will bring they ninety-eights down to ten
Yet the second the ICP shows they face
Billy clubs and handcuffs all over the place
Runnin' from the [?] through the alleyway
They can't catch Violent crazy-ass motherfuckin' J
But I guess I wasn't so crazy this time
'Cause now I'm chillin' in the back of car forty-nine
Sittin' in a bull pin, I heard a switch
I looked up, and the cop was a fuckin' bitch
I jumped up and quickly started frontin'
I said, "Baby, we can go out for doughnuts or somethin'"
She brought my [?] juice
If I could only get this bitch to cut me loose
She snuck in one night, and we started to rub
Next thing I know, I was fuckin' her with my billy club
I was out the next day, I called her on the phone
She said, "Hello, Joe," I said, "Bitch, fuck on"
I'm a free man now, so fuck you, ho
That's why I tried to tell you so, yo
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this? Whose is it?"
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this?"
"This is yours, yours, yours"
I'm a mack daddy, ho, there's no stoppin' me
I'm playin' bitches like a motherfuckin' game of Monopoly
Take a look at my boy Nate the Mack
By the time he was twelve, he had your mother on her back
When you were growin' up thinkin' love notes'll get her
I was at home fuckin' my babysitter
Bitch buy me a slice at Little Caesar's
You bitches, hoes, sluts, and skeezers
Hit it, quit it, and get away wit' it
You'd like it too, bitch, so why don't you fuckin' admit it
I forgot your name, so I'ma call you ho
When I snap, you'll answer to your uncle Joe
Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch
You're hangin' on my dick 'cause I can make you rich
Yeah, okay, you can stay then at night
In the back, with the rest of them sewer rats
Well, you know we'll fuck in my bed, of course
But then I'll keep you in the back like a fuckin' horse
I'm finna head to the Faygo sto'
But remember, homie, you gotta play that ho
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this? Whose is it?"
"Whose pussy is this? Whose pussy is this?"
"This is yours, yours, yours"
"You bitch! Ain't that right, ghetto style?"
"Yeah"
Ghetto Style lyrics - Inner City Posse
Inner City Posse holdin' it down
Playin' that yay yo by the pound
Gangstas in the South side runnin' things
[?] straight up 'cause I'm livin' like king
In the alley roads in the dark of the night
[?] rolls through tryin' to make things right
Chaos in the ghetto lasts more than a while
Lyrically and physically, I'm ghetto style
Clickin' on a 40, and it's makin' me brave
If a punk jumps up, then I put him in his grave
Chill in ICP on a full-time basis
Your crew's gettin' worried, I can see it on the faces
Scared 'cause my boys just macked on your freak
Dropkicked your dad and called your sister a geek
Should've kept your mouth shit, I'd have let it pass
Keep talkin' shit, I'ma whip ya ass
Drop the pieces, quit runnin' your lip
Or we'll go head up and I'm gonna whip
Your Kentucky ass straight back to the hills
I'll be drivin' the car when Kid Villain fills
Your ass with lead and then laughs about it
'Cause in Delray, a drive-by ain't shit
We stay in the slums, steal wine from a bum
Sell dope to a basehead whose money comes from
Armed robbery or BNE
But how he gets his money ain't shit to me
Gettin' paid, gettin' laid, and my style is cold
Blowin' holes in a court to follow gansta code
Ghetto style, the boy don't play
Kill in Military Southwest Delray
Inner City Posse fuckin' shit up
I drink 8-ball from a forty, you drink Kool-Aid from a cup
Down with Too Much and Violent J
Pimp a different ho each and every day
Not the ugly girls with the saggy butts
Those skanky-ass hoes don't even make me nut
ICP pullin' nothin' but babes
If the bitch ain't fuckin', get the hell away
'Cause we ain't got time for a stingy-ass bitch
Only want the money, never want to hitch
Up to one girl, or five at that
Inner City Posse [?]
The I.C.P. lyrics - Inner City Posse
Ghetto style, style of the ghetto
Mean Mug, Scarface, [?] Mike, Metal
Goin' crazy, these sluts are tryin' to fade me
Don't get too mad your girls just laid me
Ey, yo, the J stands for Joe
Violent [?] means that I'm a mother fuckin' psycho
Reputation like Jason on the Southwest side
Shot forty-seven times, boy, and still ain't died, yeah
Inner City Posse hittin' in the ghetto zone
Yo, with Rude Boy and Nate the mother fuckin' Mac, Too Dope, 7-Up, Kid Villain
Always killin'
J tall, and double back round kickin' Shay, haha, Laylo, Pumpkin, Rerun, Mike McQuary, and that noodle and neden sandwich eatin' mother fucker, MC JBO, Jason Mills, the crazy-ass Ireland Brothers, fat mother fuckin' Ryan, bitch-fuckin' Rich [?]
Nate
And neden colors
Jumpsteady red and have year (yo)
Shuferd, Valistic, greezy and Will ad, Fourth brag, my homeboys Lawernce and Shane
(The undergrounds in the back G)
Yo, and shouts go out to D lyrical
(Breakin it down till dawn)
Mike D, and Chris B stole the producer off some alley
(Eh now for the punk list)
You punk mother fucker
Q-tip, ya had ta slip
Oreo, we gotta twist ya in half and eat your insides out, mother fucker
Swade Rap, sellin out ass bitch
Joe Down, Im'a pop you like the zit you are
All you punk mother fuckers, fuck off
Yo this is the first of the ICP Bass-ment tapes
"No bodys around to answer your call, but this rappin machine is gonna help ya out
So don't say goodbye, don't hang up the phone. Just leave your bad rap a the sound of the tone."
Wait for the beep...HUHHH!
Wait for the beep...HUHHH!
Wait for the beep...HUHHH!
Check at the beep"
-for booking information or producer interests call 1-313 548-5707
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)