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classic rhymes- name yours

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i'm gonna wuss out and go 'in no particular order'...

'there she goes again

the dopest ethiopian

and now the world around me keeps moving in slow motion,

whenever she happens to walk by..."

'i'm your idol, the highest title, numero uno

I'm not a Puerto Rican, but I'm speakin so that you know

and understand I got the gift of speech

and it's a blessin,

so listen to the lesson I preach...'

'put up, what up, BO BO BO!

Suckers want to flow but they got no show

So I'm a grab the mic, flip a script, and leave ya stunned

Buckshot's the one that gets the job done

Mic check, I get paid to wreck your set

Get ready and jet, cause I'm a threat to your fret...'

'i start to think

and then i sink

into the paper, like i was ink,

when i'm writin i'm trapped in between the lines

i escape, when i finish the line'

'I got a letter from the government

The other day

I opened and read it

It said they were suckers

They wanted me for their army or whatever

Picture me given' a damn - I said never

Here is a land that never gave a damn

About a brother like me and myself

Because they never did...'

honorable mentions

I am Posdnous

I be the new generation of slaves

here to make papes to buy a record exec rakes

the pile of revenue I create

But I guess I don't get a cut cuz my rent's a month late...

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special ed, de la, black moon....thanks for taking me back...

when i think of the classics these lyrics come to mind

i like a girl with extensions in her hair

bamboo earings at least 2 pair

a fendi bag and a bad attitude

thats what i need to get me in a good mood...

and who can forget

Stop whatcha doin'

'cause I'm about to ruin

the image and the style that ya used to.

I look funny

but yo I'm makin' money see

so yo world I hope you're ready for me.

Now gather round

i'm the new fool in town

and my styles laid down by the underground

i'll drink up all the hennesee ya got on ya shelf

so just let me introduce myself...

(sorry i couldn't stop...)

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Def with you on that P.E. joint

& it don't make sense

either you're a soldier from the start

or an actor with a record deal

tryna play a part

It's Grand Puba fo sho here

that same nigga from last year

Girbuads hangin' baggy

Tommy Hilfiger top gear

I'm lovely in all sports

I ain't takin' no shorts

can even swing the pole at the hole on my golfcorse

(or something like that? It's been a minute & I'm not gonna look any of this shit up)

I'm an addict for sneakers twenties of buddah and bitches with beepers

In the streets i can greet ya, about blunts i can teach ya

Inhale deep like the words of my breath

I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death

I lay puzzle as i backtrack to earlier times

nothing's equivalent to the New York state of mind


I sip the Don P, watching Gandhi till I'm charged

And writing in my book of rhymes, all the words pass the margin

Then hold the mic, I'm throbbing, mechanical movement

Understandable smooth shit that murderers move wit

I met a gypsy and she hipped me to some life game

To stimulate then activate the left and right brain

Said baby boy you only funky as your last cut

You focus on the past your ass'll be a has what

Industry rule number four thousand & eighty

record company people are shady

The entire "Fat Cats" joint from The Coup

This is impossible.. I quit!


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grand puba, DU, nas, atcaq- all nice-

i am surprised there aren't many replies to this thread, maybe there aren't that many 'classic' heads on super, maybe classic to some would be slim/luda's first joint?

check this classic!

Copy cat do this, do that.

Wanna do something ?

Do this.

Chicky chaka chubaka.

Gitty getty gothca.

Ah man, all of a sudden people say I be buggin'

Rugged culture musikal Hip-Hop! I be lovin'

Gimme, gimme, gimme something.

Gimme something for nothing.

Rich blood sucker of the poor I see you.

Hickory, dickory.

Hay watch out for the trickery.

What happened to creativity, dignity, integrity.

Hey Mr. Sneaky-one don't try to read my mind.

Just worry about getting yours, because I'm getting mines.

Leaders made a commitment to keep this type of music.

Livin' forever.

Whatever, whatever.

We live in an era where errors aren't made to

Remain an error, but I think that's kinda better.

Understand that word and how you use it.

Rap is business music, Hip-Hop is cultural music.

Now you get to see the one sun getting super dumb.

Dance around because you know that we doin' it for fun.

Flippin' and trippin'.

You little sorry sucker you slippin'

Lay over my lap bacause I'm gonna

Give you a whippen.

Trippin', dippin' and winin'

Stop the damn crying.

I don't know what you tryi! n'

You better stop lyin'.

With correct intellect, wetter, bigger and better.

As I come straight.

Check my Syntax Era.

Straight off my 1993 LONS cassette liner notes! WTF!!

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When Busta was the shit... Young & stupid.

Launched himself into the stratosphere with that "Scenario" Tribe joint though.

I could type lyrics for days but nobody cares...

Keep bangin' kremedla


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Masta Ace in his High And Mighty dis-track Acknowledge :

...And don't answer back cause it's hard shit to follow

and you can't spit nigga so you obviously must swollow

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Beat a motherfucker down like he was a stepchild

Break him up in the ribs with the knuckles of brass

Take off my belt and then I buckle your ass

You say you've never ran but we'll have you running fast

Lord Jamal is quick to blast when...

"i know you and you know me... it's the sob story, the sob story"

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Imma go w/ Nas' verse on "Live at the BBQ"... when I was 12, I went to hell for snuffin Jesus.

I come fresher than a moist towelette

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niggas talking

asking how you get that in that fiend/

no homo, but how you fit that in ya jeans?/

cuz i'ma hustler

i'm into coke and fiends/

rocks on the block be fatter than oprah's knees

girl you already know what my game is about/

brains then im out/

could get it in your face/

but like the toothpaste/

my Aim's for your mouth

both by jr writer (dipset)

p1087600.gif X empavatar.gif

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One two, one two, gonna do it like this

Where brooklyn at, where brooklyn at

Where brooklyn at, where brooklyn at

We gonna do it like this

Anytime you’re ready, check it

I got seven mack 11’s, about eight 38’s

Nine 9’s, ten mack tens, the shits never ends

You can’t touch my riches

Even if you had mc hammer and them 357 bitches

Biggie smalls; the millionare, the mansion, the yacht

The two weed spots, the two hot glocks

That’s how I got the weed spot

I shot dread in the head, took the bread and the lamb spread

Little gotti got the shotty to your body

So don’t resist, or you might miss christmas

I tote guns, I make number runs

I give mc’s the runs drippin

When I throw my clip in the ak, I slay from far away

Everybody hit the d-e-c-k

My slow flow’s remarkable, peace to matteo

Now we smoke weed like tony montana sniffed the yayo

That’s crazy blunts, mad l’s

My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells

Oh my god, I’m droppin shit like a pigeon

I hope you’re listenin, smackin babies at they christening

you know you have to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues

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It's time to dip dive dip

You might break a hip

To the sound that's legit

I've come to make a hit

I usually bust scratches with my man C.L. Smooth

But I decided to get wreck on this groove

As I provide the slide

You're going on a ride

I know the weather's nice

There's no need to play the outside

Guess who's on the flyer

The man of your desire

Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth all the honey dips admire

Beats are rough and rugged

Pete Rock is the creator

Now I'm busting raps while switching cross-faders

Making sure my sound hits from here to Grenada

Honey gave me skins, man, I told her friends I ate her

But, wait up

I save this subject for later

But, it's time to catch wreck with the creator

you know you have to pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues

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ok... classics... lets see

Di-di di-da, di di-di, dida di-day, aiy!

All you sucka MC, won't you please come out to play, cause

Here's an example of KRS-One, bo!

Here's an example of KRS-One

They wish to battle BDP, but they cannot

They must be on the dick of who? DJ Scott LaRock

Cause, we don't complain nor do we play the game of favors

Boogie Down Productions comes in three different flavors

Pick any dick for the flavor that you savor

Mr. Magic might wish to come and try to save ya

But instead of helpin ya out he wants the same thing I gave ya

I finally figured it out, Magic mouth is used for suckin

Roxanne Shante is only good for steady fuckin

MC Shan and Marley Marl is really only bluffin

Like Doug E. Fresh said I tell you now, you ain't nuthin

Compared to Red Alert on KISS and Boogie Down Productions

So easy now man, I me say easy now mon

To KRS-One you know dem can't understand

Me movin over there and then me movin over here

This name of this routine is called Live At Union Square

Square, square, square, ooooooooooooooooooooooo

What's the matter with your MC, Marley Marl?

Don't know you know that he's out of touch

What's the matter with your DJ, MC Shan?

On the wheels of steel Marlon sucks

You'd better change what comes out your speaker

You're better off talkin bout your wack Puma sneaker

Cause Bronx created hip-hop, Queens will only get dropped

You're still tellin lies to me

Everybody's talkin bout the Juice Crew funny

But you're still tellin lies to me

or maybe this...

Back in the days when I was a teenager

Before I had status and before I had a pager

You could find the Abstract listening to hip hop

My pops used to say, it reminded him of be-bop

I said, well daddy don't you know that things go in cycles

The way that Bobby Brown is just ampin like Michael

Its all expected, things are for the lookin

If you got the money, Quest is for the bookin

Come on everybody, let's get with the fly modes

Still got room on the truck, load the back boom

Listen to the rhyme, to get a mental picture

of this black man, through black woman victim

Why do I say that, cuz I gotta speak the truth man

Doing what we feel for the music is the proof and

Planted on the ground, the act is so together

Bonafied strong, you need leverage to sever

The unit, yes, the unit, yes, the unit called the jazz is

deliberatley cheered LP filled with streeet goods

You can find it on the rack in your record store (store)

If you get the record, then your thoughts are adored

and appreciated, cause we're ever so glad we made it

We work hard, so we gotta thank God

Dishin out the plastic, do the dance till you spastic

If you dis... it gets drastic

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How about Jeru the Damaja circa 1996:

Don't provok the wrath of this rhyme-inventor,

Cuz I blow up spots, like the World Trade Center

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Knuck if you buck boy [repeat 10x]

Knuck if you buck

Knuck if you buck

Knuck if you buck

Kn Kn Kn Kn Kn Kn

Knuck if you buck boy

wind breakin necks with that neon air tech

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all you muthafuckas dont even try to dis

think ya rulin this

thats fuckin ludacris

im true to this

while yall new to this

lyric smellin sour like a matress filled with piss

my rhymes got the power to be takin over this

philosophys to teach ya

similar to kris

and im minded like a criminal

like a television

remote controllin you subliminal

liek the hand of god im makin moves in silence

an you can call me ghandi cause i never stoop to violence\

see im the most high

like halie selassie I

while yall just fade away

like cheap indgo dye

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one more... from tip again


i do the figure 8 so concicely


we are the herb so sit back and light me


my style is kinda fat

reminicent of a whale

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black boy black boy turn that shit down,

you know that america don't want to hear the sound

of that bass drum jungle music go back to africa

nigga i'll arrest you if your holding up the traffic

i'll be damned if i listen, so cops save your breath

write another lyric if i have any left,

i'll be breaking ear drums, while i'm breaking the law,

disturbing the peace cause sista soulja said war!

well i'm too young for fourties, too young for blunts

the only thing i'm not to young for is the stunts,

the girlies the ladies, i love em with a passion

but back to the mic cause i'm always down for action;

many mcs fall to the dust, try to bumrush

but i'm the child of wild, flavor of the nile,

i gave you plenty of chance to get buck with this style,

now that you know chi ali can't be taken

pass the 40 cause my mom's not looking

rain rain go away, the sun was shining, now the sky is grey

please rain go away.

five minutes of funk, this ain't no junk,

so pull your bottom off the tree trunk

ladies look pretty from city to city

and i'm a break this down to the nitty gritty...

yo. but for real... all you people who are into this stuff, you know, cloudy memories of youth with hip hop; check out the radio player @ www.heavy.com they have pretty good hip=hop and old school stations.... good way to pass the time listening to good music. TROY.

Edited by rigga on Oct 27, 2005 at 11:09 AM

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Well then

How did it all begun?

Ah jus' through vanity,man no stop shot man

"Are you a slave?" no, I am an Ethiopian!

Prime Minister tell Elizabeth repatriation

Babylon,yuh get gun out all by me--run come come

Then a ghetto youth ah turn strong

Ah tell yuh say...

Couldn't be mi king

Remember when Selassie l shot dah boy dey with de sling

De people dem confuse,still suffering

From unu take dem from Africa,unu hide dem king

well den give dem images fi praise and ting

And then de government bring down imperialism

And then de politics fliction,dat jump in

Then the masses of the nation,they began killing

Every flesh shall perish if you nah wan hail Selassie l,The King

i gotta say not many mcs can keep up with sizzla kalonji

jah bless

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Guest Fade to Black

The best verse in the history of hip-hop, IMHO:

Through the lights cameras and action, glamour glitters and gold

I unfold the scroll, plant seeds to stampede the globe

When I'm deceased, by then the beast arise like yeast

to conquer peace leaving savages to roam in the streets

Live on the run, police paying me to give in my gun

Trick my Wisdom, with the system that imprisoned my son

Smoke a gold leaf I hold heat, nonchalantly

I'm grungy, but things I do is real it never haunts me

while, funny style niggaz roll in the pile

Rooster heads profile on a bus to Riker's Isle

Holdin weed inside they pussy with they minds on the

pretty things in life, props is a true thug's wife

It's like a cycle, niggaz come home, some'll go in

Do a bullet, come back, do the same shit again

From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictable

Guns salute life, rapidly, that's the ritual

copied from OHHLA so there might be some errors...didn't bother looking it over.

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Who do the fightin for these rich white folks and their wars

No it ain't Drew Carrey Dennis Miller or STARZ

FOX News mike savage bruce willis or Rush

won't be MSNBC CNN or a Bush

Never Toby Keith, Hannity, O'Reilly, or Clint

Ain't Clear Channel. No they ain't supportin dissent.

Never Blair, Kid Rock, Tom Cruise or vows

of James Woods, Rob Lowe Tom Selleck or Powell

Never Arnold Schwarzenegger. He ain't gonna shoot.

Or Ted Nugent, cuz in war targets got weapons too.

Ain't Cheney, Rumsfeld, Halliburton, or Ridge

Or Ann Coulter, or Joseph Liberman, or the rich.

Or any bitch up in congress. They just make laws.

When it come to fightin we the ones that end up in gauze.

So when you say, "Support that murderer!" I have no applause.

Even if he got his jump suit on we pay the cost.

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Aiyyo, crash thru, break the glass, Tony with the goalie mask

That's the pass, heavy ice Roley layin on the dash

Love the grass, cauliflower hurtin when I dumped the trash

Sour mash surgeon, heavy glass up at the Wally bash

Sunsplash, autograph blessin with your name slashed

Backdraft, four-pounders screamin with the pearly hats

Children fix the contrast as the sound clashes

Mrs. Dash, sprinkle with her icicle eyelash

Ask Cap or Pendergrass for backstage passes

Special guest, no more Johnny Blaze, Johnny Mattress

Acrobat, run up on that Love Jones actress

Distract the cat while I'm high sugar get a crack at this

Dickin down Oprah, jumprope, David Dinkins

Watch the Black mayor of DC, hit them open

Tangerine sofa, two super soakers in the Rover

Hit the sport's bar, tell a young lady to bend over

Meditated yoga, powder ball, dancin with the vulture

Castor Troy layin for Travolta

Yo, switch the lingo, five-nine-seventy

God glow, seven-fifteen, fall be heavenly


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Turntable metabolism, watercoloring words, with the visions

Respect original graf writer modern day mathematical pattern detracts biters

Hardcore hip-hop in its purest form, only real b-boys can weather the storm

cause I'm a b-boy chillin in my b-boy stance

I'm lookin for a b-girl that wants to breakdance

One of my favorites

Edited by Ahlvahroe on May 21, 2006 at 02:12 PM

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