| Song | Where You Think You Goin' |
| Artist | Flipmode Squad |
| Album | The Imperial Album |
| 作词 : Fisher, Jones, Lewis, McNair ... | |
| Intro: | |
| Yeah, where you think you goin. where you think you goin. | |
| Ladies and gentlemen, it the unit for the 9-8. | |
| Flipmode squad baby. that my word. | |
| All you sucker mc, try to hide this stuff. come back here. | |
| Where you think you goin, nigga. come back here. | |
| Yll niggaz ain seein jack. shit !!! | |
| Verse 1: baby sham | |
| Aiiyo, speak the truth. | |
| Too short to let it hurt. some talk dirt, and be the first slangin hertz. | |
| Freestylin of the hum of the birds. | |
| Fall back when i shine on my shine, two shows follow behind. | |
| It a fucked up vehicle. switchin my lines. | |
| Hotel asks a nigga: "could i share my dimes? | |
| Picture that, when you scared to draw toes. | |
| Playin me close. | |
| Rollin with the dogs wearin yesterdays clothes. | |
| Left a fouled sin into my squad without permition. | |
| I started dissin, hopin you listen. pay attention. | |
| Fatheresly. the shadow leads you back to the hood. | |
| You wanna switch up because some niggas stalked you up. | |
| Or is the fact that they thought you was rollin with us. | |
| Left you all draged, like two trains crashin it up. | |
| Verse 2: spliff starr | |
| Aiiyo, spliff starr drama. | |
| Bullet him to sonna. | |
| Type of nigga that would sell crack to your mama. | |
| Take the cash and give me a bind marijuana. | |
| Check me bound, and some turn bull panic . | |
| Back in the days. i off the drugs like a sonna. | |
| Nigga pushin ! boy. kill emselves like no other. | |
| Kid don like blues brothers. | |
| Cold weather rock the ramma. | |
| Lye in front off the jerry d.a. and ya . | |
| I represent street niggas, carry heat niggas. | |
| Wants to keep niggas. ain nothing but these sweet niggas. | |
| I stay tooken. gun but cha scar open. | |
| If you fuck wit my squad nigga where you think you goin. | |
| Corus: | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Aiiyo, what you doin nigga. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Aiiyo, what you movin for. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin | |
| Aiiyo, what you doin nigga. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Verse 3: busta rhymes | |
| You think that you can run (ha) | |
| You think that you can hide (haa) | |
| You best believe you still comin. i think you better slide. | |
| While you stay bitchin, another nigga missin. | |
| Bodies snatch you up.! behold the cream. . | |
| Cought in hells kitchen. my trigger fingers itchin. | |
| Nervous system fucked up. | |
| That why my nerves twitchin. | |
| Inslave your mentality. nigga brain fried. | |
| We after you, runnin sergeon for a free ride. | |
| Where you think you goin son ? | |
| We gon?catch you soon. | |
| We here to take over this shit. | |
| Pour the tycoon. | |
| Blossom and gloom. capture any nigga sober in a little dark room. | |
| Ha ha ha ha ha. | |
| Verse 4: rah digga | |
| Uh oh. you lil league boy i know your beats. | |
| You sound bullshitely, you rock . | |
| Swearin you to ball, when you know youe wack. | |
| In a studio settin of a reverands track. | |
| Boy ! rah gets busy, my shit be way slaver. | |
| Curder rapper ernest like the one slave labour. | |
| One first be like the bitch tap oil. | |
| Loyal to my niggas. enemies are fucked around, and riders rappin for you. | |
| Spot stays blowin. goin?to the top. | |
| Where you think youe goin. | |
| Pocket stay throwin. smooth like the lowin. | |
| Rap chick flowin. | |
| Where you think youe goin. | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 5: rampage | |
| I a hard man at work. | |
| Lyrical expert. | |
| Look out before you get hurt. | |
| Bury the dirt. line for line. | |
| Ramp i be the mastermind. | |
| That be full time watch me shine. | |
| I know the seven sign. | |
| I rich, and still life is a bitch. | |
| Losin?snitch like camey fake beggar. | |
| Jim baker. i take youe life like the undertaker. | |
| Flipmode money-maker, make that kill for this paper. | |
| It on the poppin. | |
| People wanna know when the album droppin. | |
| Start talkin. keep walkin. | |
| Flatbush new york and we live for you. | |
| Sling for you. | |
| My squad struck oil. | |
| Now we coppin platinum things. | |
| Diamond rings. nice cosy things. | |
| And a party for free. | |
| From the tunnel to envy. | |
| Ramp the rugged mc. | |
| My squad ke! eps growin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Verse 6: lord have mercy | |
| Chief gunnin to. | |
| Splash rain potters pooves. | |
| Fuck is you. start stand peach. | |
| Chuff for choose. | |
| Scoffer booves. | |
| Now low muscles moves. | |
| Smash crew like statue with jungle jewels. | |
| Son gets school, wit the dummin crew. | |
| Pay double dues. cradle to the graves, hustle grooves. | |
| Flesh tissue. death kiss you. no love for you. | |
| Ooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. | |
| And me the most wanted fool. | |
| Unfriendly in horrical, make power moves. | |
| Snatch colors loose. a dollar rule. | |
| Raw business shit in my hands, and shakes yours with it. | |
| Till you cause fridget. | |
| Local or long distance. | |
| Gets master served. | |
| And crash a burn | |
| Like james evans when i blowin. | |
| Fuck is wrong wit cha. | |
| Where you think youe goin. | |
| Where you think youe goin. | |
| Where you think youe goin. | |
| Chorus (*fades*) |
| zuò cí : Fisher, Jones, Lewis, McNair ... | |
| Intro: | |
| Yeah, where you think you goin. where you think you goin. | |
| Ladies and gentlemen, it the unit for the 98. | |
| Flipmode squad baby. that my word. | |
| All you sucker mc, try to hide this stuff. come back here. | |
| Where you think you goin, nigga. come back here. | |
| Y ll niggaz ain seein jack. shit !!! | |
| Verse 1: baby sham | |
| Aiiyo, speak the truth. | |
| Too short to let it hurt. some talk dirt, and be the first slangin hertz. | |
| Freestylin of the hum of the birds. | |
| Fall back when i shine on my shine, two shows follow behind. | |
| It a fucked up vehicle. switchin my lines. | |
| Hotel asks a nigga: " could i share my dimes? | |
| Picture that, when you scared to draw toes. | |
| Playin me close. | |
| Rollin with the dogs wearin yesterdays clothes. | |
| Left a fouled sin into my squad without permition. | |
| I started dissin, hopin you listen. pay attention. | |
| Fatheresly. the shadow leads you back to the hood. | |
| You wanna switch up because some niggas stalked you up. | |
| Or is the fact that they thought you was rollin with us. | |
| Left you all draged, like two trains crashin it up. | |
| Verse 2: spliff starr | |
| Aiiyo, spliff starr drama. | |
| Bullet him to sonna. | |
| Type of nigga that would sell crack to your mama. | |
| Take the cash and give me a bind marijuana. | |
| Check me bound, and some turn bull panic . | |
| Back in the days. i off the drugs like a sonna. | |
| Nigga pushin ! boy. kill emselves like no other. | |
| Kid don like blues brothers. | |
| Cold weather rock the ramma. | |
| Lye in front off the jerry d. a. and ya . | |
| I represent street niggas, carry heat niggas. | |
| Wants to keep niggas. ain nothing but these sweet niggas. | |
| I stay tooken. gun but cha scar open. | |
| If you fuck wit my squad nigga where you think you goin. | |
| Corus: | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Aiiyo, what you doin nigga. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Aiiyo, what you movin for. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Where you think you goin | |
| Aiiyo, what you doin nigga. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Verse 3: busta rhymes | |
| You think that you can run ha | |
| You think that you can hide haa | |
| You best believe you still comin. i think you better slide. | |
| While you stay bitchin, another nigga missin. | |
| Bodies snatch you up.! behold the cream. . | |
| Cought in hells kitchen. my trigger fingers itchin. | |
| Nervous system fucked up. | |
| That why my nerves twitchin. | |
| Inslave your mentality. nigga brain fried. | |
| We after you, runnin sergeon for a free ride. | |
| Where you think you goin son ? | |
| We gon? catch you soon. | |
| We here to take over this shit. | |
| Pour the tycoon. | |
| Blossom and gloom. capture any nigga sober in a little dark room. | |
| Ha ha ha ha ha. | |
| Verse 4: rah digga | |
| Uh oh. you lil league boy i know your beats. | |
| You sound bullshitely, you rock . | |
| Swearin you to ball, when you know you e wack. | |
| In a studio settin of a reverands track. | |
| Boy ! rah gets busy, my shit be way slaver. | |
| Curder rapper ernest like the one slave labour. | |
| One first be like the bitch tap oil. | |
| Loyal to my niggas. enemies are fucked around, and riders rappin for you. | |
| Spot stays blowin. goin? to the top. | |
| Where you think you e goin. | |
| Pocket stay throwin. smooth like the lowin. | |
| Rap chick flowin. | |
| Where you think you e goin. | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse 5: rampage | |
| I a hard man at work. | |
| Lyrical expert. | |
| Look out before you get hurt. | |
| Bury the dirt. line for line. | |
| Ramp i be the mastermind. | |
| That be full time watch me shine. | |
| I know the seven sign. | |
| I rich, and still life is a bitch. | |
| Losin? snitch like camey fake beggar. | |
| Jim baker. i take you e life like the undertaker. | |
| Flipmode moneymaker, make that kill for this paper. | |
| It on the poppin. | |
| People wanna know when the album droppin. | |
| Start talkin. keep walkin. | |
| Flatbush new york and we live for you. | |
| Sling for you. | |
| My squad struck oil. | |
| Now we coppin platinum things. | |
| Diamond rings. nice cosy things. | |
| And a party for free. | |
| From the tunnel to envy. | |
| Ramp the rugged mc. | |
| My squad ke! eps growin. | |
| Where you think you goin. | |
| Verse 6: lord have mercy | |
| Chief gunnin to. | |
| Splash rain potters pooves. | |
| Fuck is you. start stand peach. | |
| Chuff for choose. | |
| Scoffer booves. | |
| Now low muscles moves. | |
| Smash crew like statue with jungle jewels. | |
| Son gets school, wit the dummin crew. | |
| Pay double dues. cradle to the graves, hustle grooves. | |
| Flesh tissue. death kiss you. no love for you. | |
| Ooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. | |
| And me the most wanted fool. | |
| Unfriendly in horrical, make power moves. | |
| Snatch colors loose. a dollar rule. | |
| Raw business shit in my hands, and shakes yours with it. | |
| Till you cause fridget. | |
| Local or long distance. | |
| Gets master served. | |
| And crash a burn | |
| Like james evans when i blowin. | |
| Fuck is wrong wit cha. | |
| Where you think you e goin. | |
| Where you think you e goin. | |
| Where you think you e goin. | |
| Chorus fades |