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letra de no dancing - stronghold

[intro: poison pen]
ike p. cvees. this shit’s called “no dancing”

[verse 1: ike p]
acknowledge the brolic middle polished on instrumentals
my watchers get spots, so i’m not rocking a presidential
but jaws can get yapped, so watch the shit you get into
‘cause you’re fucking with the wrong one—you’re finished in the long run
[?] only had one son, but i walk the streets like an army
as if i’m holding heat inside of the army
but you wouldn’t find none of that on me
just ten knuckles, two feet, and maybe a box cutter to get some blood on me
i take my hostility out on a corny
so if you looking for a profitable prospect, you got an employee
cvees, the convoy of the century
who ordered the industry whip, like threatening lyrics, then get at an enemy
spitting with enormous energy. a timeless cl-ssic, you rhymeless b-st-rd
i stay designing a smash hit
i could get out of line mad quick and just bash it (yeah!)
with an aluminum bat—i’m the case out the basket, fucker

[hook: ike p]
this ain’t a dance record
this the type of shit to put you and your man in a trance so wanna act reckless
please understand we can spaz at any second
we don’t give a d-mn, leave you on the land breathless
you need to take heed to the message
before it gets worse than words, all you herds will get disrespected
bust rains with insane methods
nut stains that get top in the range—all the gods intrepid

[verse 2: ike p]
i can’t refrain from explaining the facts—it’s just that
nowadays, i really can’t trust rap
at first, i did it for the love and that’s just in my pockets, thought it was fine
can’t rhyme while my stomach’s touching my spine
but now i’m spitting for them heavy duckers
fuck that other shit cats is kicking—in time, i’ll have ‘em kicking a bucket
kid, i did shows for limited budgets
one still is one nigga that mad niggas out there can’t even fuck with
so let the truth be told—i’m living proof for the youth and the old
i’m like a warm feeling that shoots through your soul
but i’m not talking about emotions
i’m more like some hot, flying objects piercing through your body from the shottie smoking
the flow’s got your hottie noses open
put the blows on a brother’s skull with raps ‘til their scalp opens
my heart is cold like i’m in the outs with my coat open
the dope cobra, shock you with pokes at a high voltage

[verse 3: ike p]
back in the days, i was on some shit when i spit
but once the new millennium hit, my brain cells switched to pentium chips
not only ahead of my time, but ahead of myself
with every rhyme, i have no choice but to better myself
my voice with music-blended brethren is bedlam
‘cause you’re listening to a style that’s relentless—every sentence is redrum
can’t fuck with pigeons out for my breadcrumbs
unless they running for president—other than that, they don’t get the dead ones
and that’s word on the heads of my sons
i gotta be one of the hottest niggas in harlem that’s swift with the tongue
you turn b-tch like i’m gripping a gun
barrel in the palm, ‘bout to do some harm to your cranium, dun
i’m the one to blame for the drama—my momma calls me her prodigal son
a product of the diabolical slums
that’s why the fool’ll have you wiring gums—from getting jacked in the jaw
moses split the seas—i split emcees into four

- stronghold

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