Tha Proem

[Intro 2]

"The following presentation is rated R."

[DJ Quik, scratching Hi-C vocals]

Uhh! God damn! Yeah!

[Intro 2: Hi-C]

This my nigga DJ motherfuckin' Quik

We gon' take this shit back to the Mixmaster days

And put it all in your jawmeat

And wiggle it around a little bit, hahaha

YouknowhatI'msayin? Party favors, nigga

Ahh yeah, y'all need a couple of 'em

We ain't playin wit' yo' bitch-ass either

YouknowhatI'msayin? Niggas try to walk the walk, talk the talk

But that bullshit ain't nothin, man {*scratches*}

I said, that bullshit ain't nothin, man!

{*scratches: "Aw, niggas, niggas..."*}

Niggas can't do what we do {"NO!"}

{*"Bullshit ain't nothin' man!"*}

Damn; so what you need to do... is... {"stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP!"}

Shut the fuck up and listen for a minute {"Listen!"}

Pay attention – might learn somethin {"Now LISTEN!"}

Don't you carry yo' ass in the studio fuckin' wit' dem boys neither

Or they put knots all UPSIDE ya motherfuckin' head with the beats!

That's my nigga, Q... I call him...

{"Quik, Quik-Quik, Q-Quik, Quik-Quik"}

Quik-a-lodeon {"Too Quik!"}

Yeah... huh? Yeah... {"Quik-Quik-Quik-Quik-Quik-Quik-Quik"}

Talk... {"Motherfuckin Quik"} spit it

Yeah.. ooh! Haha, yeah

[Verse 1: HI-C]

Now off of 2 fifths of drank (Drank, drank)

They got yo' boy lookin for a bitch to spank (Spank, spank)

Baby, you can kick it, but ya sister cain't (Nah, nah)

Runnin 'round smellin like a septic tank (Ewwwahh)

Girl, you need to stop, you know your ass is stank (Stank, stank)

Runnin 'round beggin all the ballers for bank (Bank, bank)

Tryin' to hit a lick, but like that you cain't (Nah, nah)

'Cause every time your ass come around, I faint (Wooo!)

People get to passin' out

I'ma give you one more chance, but yo' ass is out

Now don't you bring yo' ass back smellin' like raw trout (Trout)

'Cause everytime I see you, I'ma bust you out!

(Here she come, look out!)

And you niggas with the demos (Demos)

Man, you just as bad as dem hoes (Hoes)

Talkin' 'bout your record comin' out (Out, out)

But you need to put some gum in your mouth (Hell yes)

Cuz, before I hear you rhyme or you get a beat from Quik

[Verse 2: Shyheim Da Kid]

Yo, yo, this Shyheim, and y'all can suck my dick!

Son you owe me, fuck the dough, I want it in blood

You was my homie, showed me nothin' but thug love

Put me on to the game, bought me my first chain

Let me ride shotgun, in your Benz and Range

I'm thinkin' how this big nigga gon' go against the grain

Hit him up when it's foggy outside, about to rain

It's about to rain teflon cop-killers

But we ride teflon can't-stop-killers

I thought you was fam 'til you switched the love

Now you rich, and, fuck, you forget the thug?

Heard you on the radio, but I ain't get no plug

And if you come around the way, I should get you stuck

I wish you luck, I'ma make you kiss the gun

And I ain't gon' stop until my justice done

What you wanna be labelled as, a coward or a duck?

What powder you cut, you wanted that building for what?

When you rep that building, what you said for that building

If it wasn't for me, you woulda been dead in that building

You don't know what it feel like to say I own that building

Get dough in that building, or control that building

You don't know that feeling, you ain't condone that killing

'Cause when the cops came, you was like, "Shy' in that building"

I remember the days when you was shook in them buildings

You in front of these buildings, frontin' like you built them

When Scrams was home, you was on his dick

And you gave that bitch money, 'cause you always been a trick

You know Shy Da Kid, I'm back on the block

Bought the crack in the spot, spit back in the block

Fuckin clap at the cops, if I'm rappin' or not

What you gon' do, nigga? Shoot or get shot?

I'm hot on the block like new Glocks out the box

All y'all fulla dope, at the bow(?)... what?

[Verse 3: Talib Kweli]

Yeah, yeah... yo

Kweli, I'm rock this body and so forth and so on

You can get the dick, one to grow on or one to blow on

Bet you Quik get his dough on, I spit-kick the flow on

Got swift shit I throw on, 'cause I'ma leave what I float on

Plus I get my roll on like Baby and Mannie Fresh

After I go on, y'all niggas'll never bust like tantric sex

The universal nigga that represent the planet best

How I manifest from Brooklyn to Los Angeles – people!

We hold this down like wherever you're from

Got my name all in your mouth like you pierced your tongue

Pimped the game so hard we leave them whores numb

The more I come, Kweli, I'm 'bout to blow like George Young

I'm the Don Cheadle of rap, dope like arms and needles of crack

My lyrics attack and arm the people like gats

In Cali studios, we rest the heat up on the console

Peep Hollywood niggas who think it's sweet like Comanco

Claimin they gangster and street like they lookin' for beef

But with a gun in they teeth, they just MC's lookin' for beats

Y'all don't want trouble, we pop bubbles and flex muscle

Niggas don't respect the lyrics, they respect your hustle

The industry is like Kinko's, makin' copies while you wait

And the people always scream for "NEW SHIT!" like Clue tapes

Y'all speed this in your face, slow down like Screw tape

'Cause as long as you rockin' with Quik, nigga, you straight