Lyrics I Shot Ya - LL Cool J
Ha!
(Woo!)
Yeah,
(hah,
hah,
hah,
hah)
L.O.D
Keith
Murray,
Def
Squad
Mr.,
Mr.,
Mr.,
Mr.
Smith
You
wanna
hit?
(You
wanna
hit?)
Uh,
gimme
an
hour
plus
a
pen
and
a
pad
I'm
here
to
make
a
dollar
out
of
15
cents
And
let
my
balls
hang
like
I'm
on
a
toilet
taking
a
shit
My
style
is
all
that
and
a
big
bag
of
chips
with
the
dip
(drip)
Fuck
all
that
sensuous
shit
(drip)
I
represent
intellectual
violence
And
leave
your
clique
holier
than
the
Ten
Commandments
Like
Redman,
I
shift
with
the
ruck
If
your
"if"
was
a
spliff,
we'd
be
all
fucked
up
(word
up)
No
need
to
ask
who
is
he,
son,
I
get
busy
Scuffed
my
Timbs
on
the
boulevard
on
many
rough
cities
(Chicago,
LA,
any
of
'em)
I'll
have
to
Norman
Bate
you
(yeah)
I
love
to
hate
you,
'cause
you's
a
freak
by
nature
Can't
wait
to
face
ya,
mutilate
ya
Drink
your
style
down
straight
with
no
chaser
(word
up)
My
verbal
combat's
like
a
mini-Mac
to
your
back
(uh-huh)
As
soon
as
one
of
you
niggas
try
to
overreact
(blaow)
The
L.O.D.
love
good
confrontation
or
vamp
(word
up)
Break
your
concentration,
murder
your
camp
(haha)
For
the
jealous,
overzealous,
we
fellas
Blow
the
spot
like
Branford
Marsalis
(bom-bom-bom,
bom-bom-bom)
Niggas
coming
through
and
acting
wild
(word)
Y'all
commercial
niggas
better
have
a
Coke
and
a
smile,
I
shot
ya
I
conversate
with
many
men
(what?)
It's
time
to
begin
again
Forgot
what
I
already
knew,
ayo,
you
hear
me
friend?
Illuminati
want
my
mind,
soul,
and
my
body
Secret
society,
trying
to
keep
they
eye
on
me
(nah,
nah)
But
I'ma
stay
incogni'
in
places
they
can't
find
me
Make
my
moves
strategically,
the
G.O.D
It's
sorta
similar
but
iller
than
a
chess
player
I
use
my
thinker,
it
coincides
with
my
blinker
While
you
wondered
what
we
saying
on
the
records
real
(what?)
Yeah,
you
motherfucking
right,
kid,
you
know
the
deal
My
Mobb
is
infamous
just
like
the
fuckin'
title
read
You
get
back-slapped
so
hard,
make
ya
nose
bleed
Some
- kids
feeling
guilty
'bout
the
-
The
truth
hurts,
baby
girl,
so
just
face
it
(alright)
But
anyway,
back
on
the
real
side
of
things
My
niggas
sling
cracks
and
wear
fat
diamond
rings
Not
only
is
it
inside
the
songs
that
we
sing
(kid)
Everything
is
real,
not
just
a
song
that
we
sing
(word
up)
From
my
life
to
the
paper
(what?)
Very
accurately
Give
you
all
of
my
two
so
maybe
you
can
three
Prodigy
will
forever
S-H-I-N-E
(shine,
baby)
My
shit
attract
millions
like
the
moon
attract
the
sea
(shine,
shine,
yeah)
How
dare
you
ever
in
your
life
walk
past
me
(what?)
Without
acknowledging
this
man
as
G-O-D?
I
shot
your
faggot
ass
Now
who
the
fuck
you
think
you
talking
to?
I
pay
dues,
I
spray
crews
Look,
I'm
Joey
Crack,
motherfuckers
be
like,
"He's
bad
news"
Runnin'
this
racket,
from
New
York
to
Montego
Slaughtering
people,
bring
a
ton
of
keys
from
Puerto
Rico
I'd
rather
be
feared
than
loved
because
the
fear
lasts
longer
These
bitch-ass
niggas
know
we
stronger
than
these
weaklings
Seeking
for
respect
that
ain't
there
Knuckleheads
beware,
there's
mad
tension
in
the
air
Tommy
guns
for
fun,
shotties
for
block
parties
While
fresh
lead
heats
up
your
insides
like
a
fifth
of
Bacardi
Call
the
ambulette,
this
man's
wet
Bullets
cut
him
down
from
the
root
up
just
like
a
Gillette
Razor,
which
I
keep
hidden
in
my
oral
Ready
to
spat
out
at
any
adult
that
wants
to
quarrel
These
feds
want
me
for
some
tax
evasion
Mad
at
the
fact
that
somebody's
getting
lucci
that's
not
Caucasian
Bullets
be
blazing
through
these
streets
filled
with
torture
Joey
Crack
AKA
Keyser
Söze
(what
the
deal,
pop?
Uh)
Thug
niggas
give
they
minks
to
chinks,
tore
down
We
sip
drinks,
rockin'
minks,
flashin'
rings
and
things
(on
the
real)
Frontin'
hardcore
deep
inside
the
Jeep,
mackin'
Doin'
my
thing,
fly
nigga,
you
a
Scarface
kid
(uh)
Bitches
grab
ya
tetas,
get
them
niggas
for
they
cheddar
Fuck
it,
Gucci
sweaters
and
Armani
leathers
(uh)
Flossin'
rocks
like
the
size
of
Fort
Knox,
four
carats,
the
ice
rocks
Pussy
bangin'
like
Versace
locs,
pops
(so
what
the
deal?)
Wanna
creep?
Open
like
raw
asscheeks,
I'm
sexin'
Raw-dog
without
protection,
disease
infested,
uh
Italiano
got
the
Lucciano
I
gets
down,
fuckin'
with
Brown,
Fox,
extra
keys
to
the
drop
Boo,
I'm
jingling,
baby
(uh,
yeah
yeah)
I
got
crazy
Dominicans
who
pay
me
to
lay
low,
I
play
slow
Roll
with
The
Firm,
mafioso
crime
kingpin
It
all
real,
nigga,
what
the
deal?
I
shot
ya
What
the
fuck?
I
thought
I
conquered
the
world
Crushed
Moe
Dee
(uh),
Hammer
and
Ice-T's
curl
But
still,
niggas
want
to
instigate
shit
I'll
battle
any
nigga
in
the
rap
game
quick
Name
the
spot,
I'll
make
it
hot
for
you
bitches
Female
rappers
too,
I
don't
give
a
fuck,
boo
Word,
I'm
here
to
crush
all
my
peers
Rhymes
of
the
month
in
The
Source
for
20
years
Niggas
scared,
I'm
detrimental
to
your
mental
state
I
use
my
Presidential
Rolex
to
be
the
bait
Niggas
fight,
Glock
cocked,
ya
temple
gets
fucked
MCs
that
fuck
with
LL,
they
gets
bucked
That's
real,
what's
up
with
that
"I
Shot
Ya"
deal?
Light
shit,
niggas
slip,
now,
how
the
bullet
feel?
New
York
appeal,
in
L.A.,
they
gangbang
But
if
you
touch
a
mic,
your
motherfuckin'
ass
hang
That's
facts,
niggas
don't
receive
no
type
of
slack
'Cause
if
they
do
(uh),
they
ass
is
always
runnin'
back
(yeah)
Not
this
time,
but
next
time,
I'ma
name
names
LL,
shitting
from
on
top
of
the
game,
I
shot
ya
1 The Intro - Skit
2 Make It Hot
3 Hip Hop
4 Hey Lover
5 Doin' It
6 Life As...
7 I Shot Ya
8 Mr. Smith
9 No Airplay
10 Loungin
11 Hollis To Hollywood
12 God Bless
13 Get The Drop On Em
14 Prelude - Skit
15 Papa Luv It
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