paroles de chanson Sh.Fe.MC's - A Tribe Called Quest , De La Soul

(Check it out, y'all)

We are here to tell the world just who we are
Shocking females! (MC's, MC's)
Shocking females! (MC's, MC's)
We are here to tell the world just who we are
Shocking females! (MC's, MC's)
Shocking females! (MC's, MC's)

No need for introductions, 'cause I know you know my name and
Knockin' MC's out the frame and, puttin' them suckers to shame and
I live for hip-hop, so I have no time for fun and games and
So just come peep the unique styles that we're displayin'
The beats, just ridiculous, the lyrics, articulate
Feels good, as if a girl had just touched her clitoris
Sucka MC's, I'm killin' 'em

I'm so sick of seein' 'em silly when they rhymes
Like that red rugby shirt worn by Gilligan
Plus the hat, they shit is wack!
When you see me comin', take ten steps back
I make usage of the pronouns, adjectives, verbs
My granny says, "You always had a way with words"
And that's because my word is bond, lyrics are laws
Sucka MC's look at me like a friggin' eyesore

Here comes a brother hippin' others on the style they lack
I've always rhymed abstract, I even know the brother named Abstract
I am the earner of the soul and mind
Forget the physical, 'cause physical will die with time
I'm shaped to vibrate indefinite proportions of the kids who need the fix
(Just listen to the mix)
I got the knowledge constant non-stop for the rubbishin'
Like niggas usin' Clinton loops as if they owned the publishing
Gums be bleedin' from illegal feedin' on my verb

I bring the Mardi Gras to your face
I outwit vipers in my rhyme cipher
I can easily lick them 'cause they victims of the subconscious race
Tossin' periods in front of foes reps
It's not the 187 when the 360 slept
You swallow the cake from the plate of elevate
Or you might get sparked by the crew who got the weight
So resuscitatin' rap like the hicks do with Presley

Is the kid who peeled the jeans in Orleans off of Leslie
Sh.Fe.MC number nine
If you let me rhyme, nine times infinitely I will climb
I let my Walkman from Sony play cassettes from Rabboni
Which guarantees to put me on the narrow road
Ayo, that's it from me
Plug three and Ali, explode!

Yeah
'Bout to get real

When I rhyme, the effect just ripples
You sound sick, I hope your cells get sickles
And formulate into real stiff shit
Then I bet that ass cut the chit-chit
'Cause the Ab' will be sharper than a Ginsu
Cutter or your bum niggas head for the gutter
This is not a game, and we ain't lookin' for the fame
That's not the aim, we came to rip the jam out the frame

My inter-reaction with paper is amazin'
So needless to say, mad trails are left blazin'
A whole lot of bullshit rhymes start to get played
But I'm here to say that real rhymes do pay
I'm the type of brother that writes until my knuckles get nary
And through the dome piece, the rhymes will carry
Then transported to my throat, then the quotes hit the air
As I stand, dipped with the wares

Rhymes get slot times, move back from the jack
It's the verbal constructor, some MC's is wack
I make a girl do the bogle, doo-doo brown and all
Make a nigga jump up, drink Dom, and have a ball
I animate the unlively with the verbal combat
The Abstract, never the wack

Motivator of the many like Moses
Movin' through, bringin' danger to the dummies that poses
That means you, the sub relator of the sub-culture
Like a vulture, I swoop down on clowns, cause confusion all around
Mental burdens I bring to MC's who sing they sad song
Money, your dough's not long
Mines, on the other hand, is lengthy type
The Abstract gets real, real, real

Real down to Earth, I hit the Long Island Rail
You never see me tango with the horn and the tail
I got the kit for your mind, I design it like Zender
Smokin' mad hope from my neighbors, and da
50-50 luck takes the "S" off my chest
'Cause the "S" on my chest makes a mess
Settlin' for Superman, stupid man, put on your glasses
Now your asses be slow gassin' like molasses

Continue the menu, next on the platter
Hey, where that nigga at? (He's right here, boy!)
I gots to see what I got and who I'm gettin' it wit'
This ain't no nickel-dime game that I'm peddlin' wit'
Mikey Roads said "Stop ridin', it be dividin'
Takin' me out how I be vibin'"
Niggas actin' hard like gristle but my pops got the pistol
Told me if I ever need it, just

Respects to Griff Dog for the razor
Much respects to Joe Buck for the favor
It's about a million brothers tryin' to be MC's in this world
I'm glad I got a baby girl