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letra de eastern conference all stars - tame one

yeah, uh, yeah, uh (formaldyhide salmons)
northface gooses, south orange avenue producers
eastcoast is the loosest (yeah)
west district is ruthless (boom squad n-gg-uh!)
we leave you toothless (p-p-p)
eastern conference all-stars, ah
ghetto stars (like this)

[tame 1]
the hip-hop anthony perkins, constantly merkin
for certain, excuse me – y’all say for sheez-ay
dogs like me be like “we want eazy!”
tame 1 be talkin greasy, this became a d-day
burnin more rent lines than eight major freeways
my motto is ‘f-ck you, don’t follow’
skirts who won’t swallow, or get stunk tomorrow
oh well, i still can’t tell, you actin beat b-tch
beat it, no secret, i’ll merk you half weeded
my bars are like zanex’s
broke it down to fours, they bring down yours
encyclopedia brown, kick it in punk!

[copywrite]
in this most aggressive artform, none of you b-st-rds want it
cause i don’t paint on a canvas, i slam rappers on it
laughin at clowns with they demos, p-ssin ’em out
p-ss it to me, get it tossed to the trash with a smile
bad boy, with a long barrel that’s all narrow
shyne behind bars like jamal barrow
you got a cast-iron stomach?
let’s see how strong it is when i c-ck this and blast iron from it
you flow sick, but too slow spitting your coldest
i’ll come up with a cure before any symptoms are noticed
you trying to sh-t on me – it’s a dream
i got a way/weigh with words like alphabet soup on a triple beam

[j-zone]
you want a free verse, your label was a joke from the start
you want a free beat, then put a stethoscope to your heart
you want free d-ck, then baby go back to your ex
you want free advice chump, shave the back of your neck
i use threats over money so deejays won’t play my jams
internet b-boy’s wanna know what race i am
black, white, or spanish, you figure it out
learn how to rhyme offline and take the d-ck out your mouth
it’s ’bout to get ill in here, so stop staring b-tch
old maid billionaire, christina aguilera’s pimp
ups is hiring so close the trap
cause my old gym teacher ain’t supposed to rap

[cage]
i went to my grandmother’s funeral, f-cked up in a rush
stood over that b-tch, smelled embalming fluid fiendin for dust
my baby’s mama taught my daughter to ask for paper
told her disney world blew up, so i ain’t had to take her
my engineer’s a dominatrix trying to master me
my out of body experiences got dead cops after me
how my anti-pop records get played on tv?
the explanation’s the same as why you hate on e.c
so don’t be alarmed when you see me and my soundman
holding a firearm, stomping some b-tches for a skit i’m on
if my ex tries to come to the show to dumb out
i’ll make the crowd beat the f-ck out of her ‘fore i come out

[mr. eon]
it’s julius err-ving, with wordsling
mics inverting, f-ck all you stupid earthlings
y’all couldn’t shed light, if y’all were the sun
wipe the c-m off her head and take a load off her mind
one top could never invade my paradigm
see propaganda pamphlets through the asinine
trounce with mic-stands, jump over techniques
my soul got caught up in mom’s ovaries
no angel on my shoulder just two devils
feeding chemicals, pushing blood past legal levels
it’s the accomplice who’s too obnoxious
to accomplish, leaving you rookie f-cks astonished

[sk!llz]
yo it’s the g-h the o the s-t writer
conversing with me, sh-t that’s like talking to fire
if you touch it it burns, and y’all don’t wanna do that
you could talk to it all day and it won’t talk back
i still battle n-ggas so scr-p ya plans
i ain’t gotta be in promotions to rap ya van
cats 2-way me all day to deliver a hit
but i ain’t writing sh-t down ’til they deliver some chips
if b.i.g. was here, he’d say i was “dead wrong”
cause i don’t get on the radio and say verses that i said in a song
it’s mad sk!llz muhf-cker the v.a. don
e.c. emcee, aka shaquan

[camu tao]
all my n-ggas buggin out, wasted on drugs
talk sh-t n-gga, thug it out, ya waitin on guns
cuz i’m a dirty n-gga that likes the guts cut up
and put my hands in the heat until my fingers burn up
and pick my t–th with the remains when the bodies turn up
i’ll stay rotten, stay plottin on ya b-tch and her c-nt
aids victim, stickin my bl–dy d-ck in the cup
cuz i’m hotter than the bobbins and sk!llets in ya momma kitchen
i’m even hotter than the f-ckin seat the devil sits in
cold shoulder n-ggas get blazed forever
and your heat’ll never happen like rubbin to wet sticks together
you f-gs wanna fight and shoot its whatever…

- tame one

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