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    LL Cool J
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    Straight From Queens

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    Straight From Queens

      About "Straight From Queens"

      Lyrics for LL Cool J - "Straight From Queens"

      Rippin' the microphone
      And blowin the stage apart.
      These MC's ain't got no heart,
      They need to quit before they start.
      Shakin' and breakin' 'em down.
      Best at least.
      Fuckin' 'em up, up at least.
      Smackin' 'em in a pilek.
      Now have a stomp and a smile, G.
      Like Jason.
      When I be chasin'
      These rappers,
      Machete style,
      Choppin' down.
      Their petty style's bassin',
      All in my face.
      You got the mic,
      But I gotta getcha off it.
      You got my rhyme,
      Now cough it.
      Brother, sweat the tip and forfeit.
      You're nada,
      Know not a,
      I'm hotter.
      You're a slow trotter.
      Switch the 'e' into an 'a,'
      And it's karata.
      When I come on
      I'm rippin it up
      Just like a madman.
      I fly your head,
      Chop off your legs,
      And make your head stand.
      Tax and wreckin' these chumps
      All of them I rub out.
      You know the time.
      What's on your mind?
      You know I never go out.
      I be breakin' bouts.
      Ya boys;
      Your block; is full of bums, see.
      You never was too clever
      Stick the fork in you,
      You're done G.

      The instrument'll rip
      With the ultimate
      Of all the rappers.
      Toe to toe.
      Whenever I go
      I guarantee
      The flow will smack ya.
      Pumpin' ya full a lead,
      Just like a nine.
      Kickin' it off in half the time.
      Takin' a break
      And makin' mine.
      You're way behind.
      Ya needed a title,
      And all the uncle
      Made your title for ya.
      And prayin',
      And wishin',
      That I can't rap,
      But I rip all a y'all
      In half.
      Look at me laugh
      Ya hee-haw style.
      Ya kick it.
      Mmm, I see goodies.
      Gimme the mic and hoodie.
      Now I'll dick it.
      The every,
      The his,
      The hers,
      Of those,
      Of theirs,
      Of them,
      I see your title
      Around your neck,
      Just swingin' loose.
      I take your gem.
      I'm takin' it off your neck
      With every line that I select,
      And wrappin' it up and cuttin'.
      While I'm starin'
      With disrespect.
      Bustin off.
      Squeezin' like a vice grip,
      Blowin' ya off the stage,
      Into the crowd,
      So have a nice trip.

      I'm takin' control.
      I hold
      The microphone as good as gold.
      Fly, so many heads.
      I built my twenty-fifth
      Totem pole.
      Turnin' it out,
      And gettin' wrecked
      Is just a understatement.
      How special to rap a flat,
      Puttin' his head
      Inside the pavement.
      Burnin' 'em up,
      Just like a flame thrower.
      Rippin' 'em
      With the cool flower.
      Takin' 'em out in pairs,
      Like the man, Noah.
      Holdin' 'em up
      Just like a trophy,
      For the world to see.
      You really ain't superb,
      You see.
      You're goin' out,
      Like a girl to me.
      Takin' your little
      Boo-hoo, baby.
      Tear drop.
      Cryin' style.
      Breakin' it down
      Until there's dust,
      And I'ma vacuum up the pile.
      And provin',
      And groovin',
      And makin a movie
      On the mic.
      Slappin' a Marlboro
      In his mouth,
      Just like
      A dirty little tyke.
      Master of the murderous
      Mad style,
      Amazin' man.
      Mackin' the mic
      Since I was just
      A mere child.
      Props and props;
      More props than Terminator 2.
      With pen and pad
      I play to you,
      And on the cross-fader too.
      Endlessly with energy,
      Undefeatable lyrically,
      Expandin' my empire.
      You don't want to test me.

      Wizard of funkadelic.
      Every album's like a relic.
      Bite the line,
      Chewin' on mine,
      But ya never live to tell it.
      Bustin' it off quick,
      Flippin the script.
      That's in the bushes,
      Then walkin' around the jam.
      I'm handin' out pounds
      And mushes.
      You're makin' a face.
      You want to test my slick maneuver?
      Your best to rock a break beat,
      Or somethin' you can groove to.
      Even if every rapper
      In the world was makin' jams,
      As soon as I set this off
      Their mics are slidin'
      Out their hands.
      Rockin' the junky's world
      With the release
      Of every single.
      Back in the days
      I told ya,
      I need a beat
      To make ya jingle.
      Droppin' the sword,
      And choppin off the mic cord.
      Rappers are dead
      All over the street
      In every state I toured.
      I'm dealin' the truth,
      With living god
      That's right before ya eyes.
      And I'll be rollin'
      In hoods and sneakers,
      You can keep the suit and ties.
      No sell out.
      Bet ya uncle never dies.
      Gimme that microphone,
      I'll rip it up
      Until sunrise.

      Smith, James Todd / Williams, Marlon Lu'Ree / Starks, John H / Brown, James
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