Lyrics Language: English Song writer/composer(s): Artis Ivey, Paul Jackson, John Austin, William Calhoun, H Mason, Bernie Maupin, Brian Dobbs, Malika Bradford, Herbie Hancock
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CoolioGet Up Get Down Lyrics:
Verse One: Malika
Steppin up out the shadows I comes equipped to wreck
Hold up just a sec Coolio I'm on deck (Malika)
Yes the diction is on point
Causin, friction when I flex up the jaw or hit the joint
That can actually give a blood mob like Gotti
Like the body cool, keep the scrap for the naughty
Niggie trippin why you scheme so don't step up with no bullshit
See that there it's clip for this stickup on the hip
Peep the correct way to get your pimp on
Let me hit the bong oh and my mind's quite strong
Wreck it nice and proper if it's on I'm finsta to stop her
If I'm swingin for the knockout, best believe I'm fit to drop her
Ninety-five's on pocket, representin I keep stompin
Throw up my fists just like this when I'm mobbin
Verse Two: Shorty
I killed the last, killed the ass, with my ninety-five drive
I'm deep like d-cell with my Crimson Tide, nigga
Like Chaka Khan, I tell you something good
I'm Hi-C like Spike Lee with a Tale From the Hood
You need it, I'll feed it, baby check the size
Have you Goin Down like Mary J. Blige
When it's popping like this, you can't be a coward
Shorty freaks fuckin beats like Adina Howard
My squad, is hard, with players, and hustlers
No toleration, for fakers and busters
Fuckin with me with all honesty
You get bombed rap songs coming constantly
Bumpin G-15's, Westside scene
Killin the competition, while making a fuckin green
So ring, around the rosie, and mosey to the Rosie
And I want you to know G
Chorus:
We bust and cuss and kick up dust
Don't none of y'all niggaz want to fuck with us
So what's the time? It's time to get paid
Why you bust your rhyme? Cause I got skills
We bust and cuss and kick up dust
Don't none of y'all niggaz want to fuck with us
So what's the time? It's time to get paid
Why you bust your rhyme? Cause that's how I bail
Verse Three: Leek Ratt (of 40 Thevz)
Watch me swallow this nickel and shit five pennies
I'm the loc'est of them all though the rat is kinda skinny
How many linny and squidgy think they can see me?
I'm from Compton where even in the summer niggaz wear beanies
Bustin lyrics sharper than razor blades catch it from head to toe
if you're shocked, then amazed, when you see me at my stage show
For my stage show beat em up
40 Thevz gettin busy rockin coast to coast
Dogs the most rap the hoes then rocks em up
Givin it up for hip-hop vicitims how
should I drop em and then pop em
for poppin like to get what I got, and I
ain't got a whole lot of nuthin
cuz I been ruffin and scuffin so give it up
when I'm bustin or get to duckin
cuz I ain't given em nuthin
Fools can't get none, so fuck em!
Verse Four: PS
Let me rock the motherfuckin mic
Smoke a whole stick of dynamite, then fight all night
I got jabs like a welterweight champion
The pocket-pincher purse-snatcher pistol-packin
quick to get it crackin
Went from jackin to rappin to runnin with a pack of mad men
Pull a trick out my sleeve like Aladdin
Some fool tried to play me for a punk I had to have him like
lunch or dinner, he's just a beginner
Fuckin with a winner, number one contender top dog
Head nigga in charge runnin with a group of hogs
40 Thevz, MAAD Circle, Cat, and Crowbar
Best to put your daughterWack ass rappers
get tossed upTrying to come in here with
that garbageMy crew see the dopest and
the hardest
So clear the path or get your punk ass Bogart-ed
Chorus 1/2
Verse Five: Ras Kass
I peep game and get recognized, biting on the hard liquor
toothpick and beedy-dyin
Bitch you got dealt, peeled your cap the other way
like a reversible Louis-Vitton Gucci belt
And ain't nothin crackin
For them niggaz steppin up with the funk I'm packin Tinactin
Cuz I be earnin stripes in tight bunches
All the homies carry nines I carry rhymes with sucker punches
What? Tootsie, my knees don't bend
Just like that actor Hoffman I be Dustin off men often
Jay-walking over your coffin with an eleven shot loss and
jaw wrecked that Osten won't soften you're lost and
see arson, to exterminate the flyest nigga like Orkin
Stalkin lofts men to New York and in between
so take caution, leave the flossin for dental hygeine
Mental plus my gene equals nasty young bastard
The raps be lung mastered takin vinyl virginity
Coincidentally I run shit like Walter Payton
Niggaz player hatin cause I spoke like a Dayton
I hit the face like Ron Carter at the corner when
C and B came strollin
Blowin niggaz up like when Mookie's stupid ass got caught smokin
Figure, your stigma is lack of enigma
So bitch-ass niggaz better step, like the Delta Sigma Thetas
Verse Six: Coolio
We don't give a fuck, fools better duck
39 deep in the back of Wino's truck
Like robbin in the paint, fool think I ain't?
Your crew is on stank, that's why I'm pullin rank
I rev like a motor float ON like a boat to
kick a style like Tical from here to North Dakota
The ambassador of funk with amps in the trunk
And when it's time to rock a mic I won't be no punk
I bring death to the evil and power to the people
My name ain't Steve Miller but I Fly Like an Eagle
Don't play me for a chump, I get around like Gump
And I, got more con in my verse than Chuck
And you don't want no motherfuckin problems here
Cuz I can round up a posse like Paul Revere
Your whole crew'll get took out, turned out, shook out
Burned up like a cookout, so fools better look out
Verse Seven: WC
Fresh out the penalty box
Sportin a stockin cap, cut off dickies,
and some high-top striped socks
The freestyle finatic pyschosomatic back at it causin static
with lyrics still as tight as a straight jacket
The last in line but one of the first to get wit cha
bringin more terror to MC's than a Michigan militia
Click click boom, nigga fuck your crew
It's the chanky hip-hopper, takin over pissin in your stage monitor
socket you think that you can fuck with mine in your wildest dreams
You best to wake up and apoligize
Niggaz penetentiary yearn me cuz I, burn like Parker
but anyway, half of y'all couldn't see me
with a pair of Blu Blockers
The lyrical night stalker stalkin at night
in a pair of creased Khakis
Chuck Taylors, my pistol grip tight
Dub-C, that nigga from Westside MAAD Circle
Ay man! Ay ay.
What's up Wino?
Uh like loc, it's like late, let's get the fuck up out of here
Are we out?
Yeah yeah fuck it
Fuck it, MAAD Circle bitch!
The lyrics on the most recent version are sanctioned by the composer, or owner of the rights to the lyrics, however, there may be lyrics that are more complete on the prior version(s) that have been submitted by a contributor to mp3lyrics.org
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