Give Me My Freedom Lyrics
| Song | Give Me My Freedom |
| Artist | MC Shan |
| Album | Born to Be Wild |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Marley Marl, MC Shan | |
| M.C. Shan's what I'm called, I stand tall and brave | |
| And me and Marley Marl is as close as a shave | |
| My rhymes lock jaw like a pitbull bite | |
| Suckers always try to sleep on me cause I look light | |
| See, a lotta wack rappers try to rack their brains | |
| To feel a style of MC, come on, break these chains | |
| Speak now or hold your peace when I decide to pass this | |
| But every rhyme you ever had could never surpass this | |
| If rhymes were food, the main source for livin | |
| You would swear that every line of my rhyme was Thanksgiving | |
| I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I don't need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy - give me my freedom | |
| [VERSE 2] | |
| I wanna break away clean, I mean virtually spotless | |
| And all year long I been schemin and plottin this | |
| If beats were cakes, then my rhymes'd get frosted | |
| This is '88 and I still ain't lost it | |
| For all of those who still got a doubt in their mind | |
| There ain't a rapper livin bad enough to take mine | |
| There ain't no studio-illusion and no scratch-syncin | |
| Stop - if that's what you're thinkin | |
| Write rhymes simultaneously, say em in pairs | |
| And I would hate to have a rapper proclaim they're theirs | |
| Instead in comin in a limo, bring a casket and hearse | |
| Before we speak we'll hear the preacher from the deacon first | |
| We won't be gathered that day to unite no couple up | |
| Marley, are we gettin this on tape? (Yup) | |
| All you dirty low-down better slow down faster | |
| Your technique isn't good enough to hang with the master | |
| I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I dont need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| [VERSE 3] | |
| I'm the opposite of what you say a slob is | |
| Dumpin suckers off is exactly what my job is | |
| I'm feared like Napoleon and blessed like Buddah | |
| You couldn't face me solo, you'd have to bring your crew to | |
| Dump me off, I don't recollect the mumble | |
| I ain't soft, homeboy, and picture me crumble | |
| And forget all of those that don't like my rap | |
| I don't be kickin that old shooby-dooby-doo-wop crap | |
| Rappers often brag about their bitin deejay | |
| But they can't do Marley nothin, no how, so hey | |
| It's clear to the ear what I'm sayin, son | |
| That's why we feel like slaves on the freedom run | |
| And each and every time a wack rapper walks by me | |
| His head starts singin: Come on and fly me... | |
| I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I don't need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| [VERSE 4] | |
| We can do this like Brutus, I'm not mad, I'm pissed | |
| This parade of mine I doubt that you can rain on this | |
| You couldn't place my rhymes amongst mortal men | |
| When I be rhymin on beats that set the hip-hop trend | |
| I will always exist because I'm bein preserved | |
| Don't agree to set me free, then you gotta be served | |
| I earned a name amongst society as lyrically ill | |
| But yet I'm loyal, see, cause Marley hooks the beat up still | |
| There's no way that you could say there's a day I'd fess | |
| Hamana-hamana-nothin, you can kill that mess | |
| My rhymes are ruthless, no heart, and totally wretched | |
| And if they was to fall down, then the beats would catch it | |
| I don't bite styles, weak rhymes, I don't need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| Give me my freedom or not | |
| I DON'T GIVE A F- | |
| You don't wanna play this? | |
| Suck my - | |
| Fuck off, muthafuckas | |
| You don't like this? | |
| I don't give a fuck | |
| Just gimme my muthafuckin freedom | |
| Goddamn! |
| zuo ci : Marley Marl, MC Shan | |
| M. C. Shan' s what I' m called, I stand tall and brave | |
| And me and Marley Marl is as close as a shave | |
| My rhymes lock jaw like a pitbull bite | |
| Suckers always try to sleep on me cause I look light | |
| See, a lotta wack rappers try to rack their brains | |
| To feel a style of MC, come on, break these chains | |
| Speak now or hold your peace when I decide to pass this | |
| But every rhyme you ever had could never surpass this | |
| If rhymes were food, the main source for livin | |
| You would swear that every line of my rhyme was Thanksgiving | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy give me my freedom | |
| VERSE 2 | |
| I wanna break away clean, I mean virtually spotless | |
| And all year long I been schemin and plottin this | |
| If beats were cakes, then my rhymes' d get frosted | |
| This is ' 88 and I still ain' t lost it | |
| For all of those who still got a doubt in their mind | |
| There ain' t a rapper livin bad enough to take mine | |
| There ain' t no studioillusion and no scratchsyncin | |
| Stop if that' s what you' re thinkin | |
| Write rhymes simultaneously, say em in pairs | |
| And I would hate to have a rapper proclaim they' re theirs | |
| Instead in comin in a limo, bring a casket and hearse | |
| Before we speak we' ll hear the preacher from the deacon first | |
| We won' t be gathered that day to unite no couple up | |
| Marley, are we gettin this on tape? Yup | |
| All you dirty lowdown better slow down faster | |
| Your technique isn' t good enough to hang with the master | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I dont need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| VERSE 3 | |
| I' m the opposite of what you say a slob is | |
| Dumpin suckers off is exactly what my job is | |
| I' m feared like Napoleon and blessed like Buddah | |
| You couldn' t face me solo, you' d have to bring your crew to | |
| Dump me off, I don' t recollect the mumble | |
| I ain' t soft, homeboy, and picture me crumble | |
| And forget all of those that don' t like my rap | |
| I don' t be kickin that old shoobydoobydoowop crap | |
| Rappers often brag about their bitin deejay | |
| But they can' t do Marley nothin, no how, so hey | |
| It' s clear to the ear what I' m sayin, son | |
| That' s why we feel like slaves on the freedom run | |
| And each and every time a wack rapper walks by me | |
| His head starts singin: Come on and fly me... | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| VERSE 4 | |
| We can do this like Brutus, I' m not mad, I' m pissed | |
| This parade of mine I doubt that you can rain on this | |
| You couldn' t place my rhymes amongst mortal men | |
| When I be rhymin on beats that set the hiphop trend | |
| I will always exist because I' m bein preserved | |
| Don' t agree to set me free, then you gotta be served | |
| I earned a name amongst society as lyrically ill | |
| But yet I' m loyal, see, cause Marley hooks the beat up still | |
| There' s no way that you could say there' s a day I' d fess | |
| Hamanahamananothin, you can kill that mess | |
| My rhymes are ruthless, no heart, and totally wretched | |
| And if they was to fall down, then the beats would catch it | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| Give me my freedom or not | |
| I DON' T GIVE A F | |
| You don' t wanna play this? | |
| Suck my | |
| Fuck off, muthafuckas | |
| You don' t like this? | |
| I don' t give a fuck | |
| Just gimme my muthafuckin freedom | |
| Goddamn! |
| zuò cí : Marley Marl, MC Shan | |
| M. C. Shan' s what I' m called, I stand tall and brave | |
| And me and Marley Marl is as close as a shave | |
| My rhymes lock jaw like a pitbull bite | |
| Suckers always try to sleep on me cause I look light | |
| See, a lotta wack rappers try to rack their brains | |
| To feel a style of MC, come on, break these chains | |
| Speak now or hold your peace when I decide to pass this | |
| But every rhyme you ever had could never surpass this | |
| If rhymes were food, the main source for livin | |
| You would swear that every line of my rhyme was Thanksgiving | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy give me my freedom | |
| VERSE 2 | |
| I wanna break away clean, I mean virtually spotless | |
| And all year long I been schemin and plottin this | |
| If beats were cakes, then my rhymes' d get frosted | |
| This is ' 88 and I still ain' t lost it | |
| For all of those who still got a doubt in their mind | |
| There ain' t a rapper livin bad enough to take mine | |
| There ain' t no studioillusion and no scratchsyncin | |
| Stop if that' s what you' re thinkin | |
| Write rhymes simultaneously, say em in pairs | |
| And I would hate to have a rapper proclaim they' re theirs | |
| Instead in comin in a limo, bring a casket and hearse | |
| Before we speak we' ll hear the preacher from the deacon first | |
| We won' t be gathered that day to unite no couple up | |
| Marley, are we gettin this on tape? Yup | |
| All you dirty lowdown better slow down faster | |
| Your technique isn' t good enough to hang with the master | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I dont need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| VERSE 3 | |
| I' m the opposite of what you say a slob is | |
| Dumpin suckers off is exactly what my job is | |
| I' m feared like Napoleon and blessed like Buddah | |
| You couldn' t face me solo, you' d have to bring your crew to | |
| Dump me off, I don' t recollect the mumble | |
| I ain' t soft, homeboy, and picture me crumble | |
| And forget all of those that don' t like my rap | |
| I don' t be kickin that old shoobydoobydoowop crap | |
| Rappers often brag about their bitin deejay | |
| But they can' t do Marley nothin, no how, so hey | |
| It' s clear to the ear what I' m sayin, son | |
| That' s why we feel like slaves on the freedom run | |
| And each and every time a wack rapper walks by me | |
| His head starts singin: Come on and fly me... | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| VERSE 4 | |
| We can do this like Brutus, I' m not mad, I' m pissed | |
| This parade of mine I doubt that you can rain on this | |
| You couldn' t place my rhymes amongst mortal men | |
| When I be rhymin on beats that set the hiphop trend | |
| I will always exist because I' m bein preserved | |
| Don' t agree to set me free, then you gotta be served | |
| I earned a name amongst society as lyrically ill | |
| But yet I' m loyal, see, cause Marley hooks the beat up still | |
| There' s no way that you could say there' s a day I' d fess | |
| Hamanahamananothin, you can kill that mess | |
| My rhymes are ruthless, no heart, and totally wretched | |
| And if they was to fall down, then the beats would catch it | |
| I don' t bite styles, weak rhymes, I don' t need em | |
| Stop jockin me, boy | |
| Jockin me, son | |
| Jockin me, punk | |
| Jockin me, kid | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my | |
| Give me my freedom | |
| Give me my freedom or not | |
| I DON' T GIVE A F | |
| You don' t wanna play this? | |
| Suck my | |
| Fuck off, muthafuckas | |
| You don' t like this? | |
| I don' t give a fuck | |
| Just gimme my muthafuckin freedom | |
| Goddamn! |
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