rakim - hip hop lyrics
that’s what it is, uh huh
nick wiz, turn my headphones up, man
uh, uh
(hook)
ayo, if you miss hip-hop, then stand up
reminisce when this drop, get amped up
any hit that’s this hot is an anthem
do ya’ dance, love, she need a hand, breh
lyricist that spit pop get stamped up
hit or miss, then flip-flop, them clam up
they fearing this to hit blocks and slam clubs
put yo’ hands up, here ya’ man come
(verse 1)
its mister word renowned with the best verse
one of the illest the streets, from the east to the west, heard
get greeted with ghetto gestures like “yessir”
a pre-meditated killer for the way i stretch words
some of us love to flow ’til the club close
and some in love with blow for the love of dough
in it for fortune and fame, flamboyant for gurls
they extorting the game, exploiting the hood
rappers ride for bread while the gossip spread
it’s only hot ’cause we ride, spotted cops with feds
plus, lots of heads go pop instead
that’s the word on the block is, “hip-hop is dead”
so consumers quit copping, rappers flip-flopping
artist pimped by they labels like a slave pick cotton
pop charts killing underground hip-hopers
while the world still looking for ra like bin laden, let’s go
(hook)
ayo, if you miss hip-hop, then stand up
reminisce when this drop, get amped up
any hit that’s this hot is an anthem
do ya’ dance, love, she need a hand, breh
lyricist that spit pop get stamped up
hit or miss, then flip-flop, them clam up
they fearing this to hit blocks and slam clubs
put yo’ hands up, here ya’ man come
(verse 2)
me and my dude’s the new cool in the game
that old-school feel with the new-school slang
the boomerang with the true duke flame
shoot through yo’ brain like smoking poom-shoong-pang
ghetto galactic, the next level and back sh-t
something like heroine, crack, mixed
the combination of mike and lebron, the life of a don
yeah, just give the god the mic and it’s on
my brand new vision gives you aneurisms
my fans’ll listen, see my words like its camera’s in ’em
we just anxious to bust like a new fo’-pound
so, the hood is reacquainted to the new york sound
every verse is a mountain of proof, a man of my words
even on the curb when i’m out of the booth
my style’s the truth, unlimited amounts to produce
and my flow still tight when i’m about to get loose, let’s go
(hook)
ayo, if you miss hip-hop, then stand up
reminisce when this drop, get amped up
any hit that’s this hot is an anthem
do ya’ dance, love, she need a hand, breh
lyricist that spit pop get stamped up
hit or miss, then flip-flop, them clam up
they fearing this to hit blocks and slam clubs
put yo’ hands up, here ya’ man come
(verse 3)
the boogey-down, the buck-town mic flavor
i’m in yo’ hoods like neighbors
operation shut down, 0-60 like “later”
it’s rider, up-town, high-top, nike lacer
in the gut of the beast where they don’t dwell
the gut of the streets but they don’t sell
i still hold mics and stay so real
my flow tight with mo’ sight’s than aol
i change climates like a plane pilot
’cause hurricanes and rain violent
crack yo’ skull, sn-tch yo’ brain out it, uou out ya’ mind if it ain’t talent
and keep it out yo’ rhymes if you ain’t bought it
raps tsunami, the track’s behind me
cats that try me, the raps too grimey
i rap a mami in black armani
clap with a body and tap punani
(hook)
ayo, if you miss hip-hop, then stand up
reminisce when this drop, get amped up
any hit that’s this hot is an anthem
do ya’ dance, love, she need a hand, breh
lyricist that spit pop get stamped up
hit or miss, then flip-flop, them clam up
they fearing this to hit blocks and slam clubs
put yo’ hands up, here ya’ man come
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