White Rappers Lyrics
"White rappers, you're coming to this almost as a guest...matter of fact, you are guests in the house of hip hop..."
[Hook: Your Old Droog]
Some wise words from Your Old Friend
What matters is the beats and if the emcee goes in
Its not about the color, its not about the color
It's not about the color of your skin, your skin
[Verse 1: Droog]
Back again, it's the realest dude on the panel
Napkin tucked in the collar of my new flannel
Only t.v. dinner I want is my bitch
Cooking some shit she saw on the Food Channel
Wise, the way I analyze
Made a vigil for the mourn, you still couldn't hold a candle
To what I did on wax before ever signing contracts
No numbers by memory, no contacts
And you thought it was perfect like Curt Hennig
I remember when we weren't sinning, condition worsening
Came along way from the first inning
Getting better with every verse I'm penning, know what I mean?
On the mic I'm witty, but we wear ByCommittee
And my demographic is cats like Diddy
Not one of your fans got cash, it makes sense though
Bums gravitate towards hot trash
You write bars out of boredom, pa
I give them songs that'll live long like Lord Jamar
It's for today and for tomorrow
I don't know about your kids' kids' kids' kids though
Diddo, loco, your flow is crazy
Rhyme a phrase like 'quid pro quo' with 'coco'
Track is straight butter wavy
Just don't let any soul blow get on my polo
Power, with every beat, I begin to devour
In the wee hours, writing rhymes for dolo
The clutches, and my team is hands-off
They just come in at the end to put the finishing touches
On whatever we's doing, turning nobs and EQing
Son comes through and fucks shit up like "What you doing?"
I never do that, but good guess
Gave me shade like scantrons but I stood the test
[Verse 2: Droog]
"Can a white rapper fool a Muslim?"
"No, Not nowadays, bro"
"So what the hell makes them think they have to say so?"
"I don't know, but I'm glad that you're not like them
Your stuff's emotive, you didn't come into this with a motive"
The way he flowed on the track was straight bananas
Came right in our house with great manners
Wrote that shit down quick, the clique dug it
Old Droog been a legend like the chick that had a Mcnugget
Never purchase a Mcrib
The Droog even takes his shoes off when he gets in the crib
I don't push the 'hold it now' gender or women's lib
More concerned with women's libido, coquito
Mosquitoes try to bite em, Rubies wishing to be an item
They throw Winston's on stage hoping I'll light them
Haven't met anyone dopier
Son, you's a cornier cornimus, be a cornicopia
It's like Don't be a Menace to South Central
While Drinking your Juice in the Hood, damn he's good
Like L.L. the hooker with the handicap
She's still "sweet as brown sugar with the candied yams"
Oh, my bad, that's Nia Long?
Your raps put me to sleep, guess I won't have a song near long
I'm not singing a sad sad song
Flow is like being cut down on the cool, it's mad strong
Like Menthol bringing the strength, y'all
I'm Funkmaster Flex night, excite and enthrall
I'm Italian in the mental
A lot of rappers want to vent, but when they do it, it's uneventful
Tumbleweeds get humbled like seeds
For trying to impede the path of the pimp
Fuck up your whole anatomy, remember
Pistol-whipping is the sincerest form of battery
Got cash that go the bathroom for me like a pinch hitter
Rhyme words with 'orange' but I'm more than just a spitter
A good guess, no longer in his hood, stressed
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