3 to the Dome Lyrics
| Song | 3 to the Dome |
| Artist | Sway & King Tech |
| Album | This or That |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL ... | |
| (feat. Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL, Kool G. Rap) | |
| [carried over from previous song] | |
| [Kool G Rap] | |
| Aiyyo check it out yo, this is Kool G Rap | |
| Lettin you know from the foundation, Road to the Riches | |
| Sway & Tech represented for a cat | |
| The next album, Wanted Dead Or Alive | |
| My man Sway & Tech represented, yaknamsayin | |
| The next album, Live And Let Die | |
| What goes on from 4,5,6 | |
| And now The Roots Of Evil | |
| They kept it real through all the freestyles | |
| Wit me, Big Daddy Kane, KRS-One | |
| Namean?, the list goes on and on | |
| No doubt, namsayin? | |
| [Big Daddy Kane] | |
| Uh-huh, you in the perils of the lyrical heroes | |
| That rule just like the pharoahes | |
| Robert DeNiro's got it covered just like sombreros | |
| Seek shelter, here comes the warpath | |
| Anyone who's tryin to reign, I change the whole forecast | |
| If I slip, half a herd he learned | |
| This murder he earned ?in turn? ? turned his body to third-degree burns | |
| You're purely pathetic, I won't let it | |
| And once I set it, the after-party's in the paramedics | |
| Vulgars, come back when you're older | |
| Talkin like you're grown, you cats is small soldiers | |
| Enough of them as the god muscle in, it's puzzlin | |
| You couldn't carry weight if you was hustlin | |
| Style ain't even de-cent, them not gonna squeeze none | |
| Please dun, give me one rea-son | |
| What I, say in a verse will be slayin you worse | |
| As I wet em up just for the sake of obeying my thirst | |
| Anytime anywhere, without any fair | |
| I'll do it with any hair, what da deal, ain't he there? wha what | |
| What I do will be crucially brutally | |
| Usually legal and rippin stupidly, ain't nuttin new to me | |
| What I spit attract felons, crack melons | |
| Leave the chickenheads back swellin | |
| Game tight wit the way I'm livin | |
| I bag birds and I stuff em like Thanksgiving | |
| My bad self, get more love than tennis | |
| >From New York to Venice | |
| Black as a dentist here to represent to live wit the menace | |
| To win the apprentice, if your heart shows stealth | |
| You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health | |
| Cuz then the props here baby, you ain't gettin | |
| You better recognize, the true and livin | |
| You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass | |
| What I meant? Arcades done went up to fifty cent | |
| [Chino XL] | |
| That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of | |
| Wit one verse, shittin on a whole label roster sampler | |
| My first name:Chino, my last name:Went There | |
| Leavin rappers curled up and dyed like Immature's hair | |
| Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit | |
| My style like AIDS, half a y'all got it just none of y'all is sayin shit | |
| I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi | |
| Jesus came in the vocal booth, like "Nigga, you the next me!" | |
| So test me, battle and you will become a dead man | |
| And there's a lot of fake Chino's like Craig Mack's a fake Redman | |
| But I'm above the surface of this rap circus | |
| Writin more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose | |
| You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun | |
| I'm God's bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun | |
| I hate you wit a passion, make white chicks faint like I'm Hanson | |
| Historically know for bringin down the house like I'm Samson | |
| My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there's a bad curse that hurts | |
| I'm leavin wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse | |
| Escapin the wrath of Jerse | |
| It's a sad earth when my pen dirts | |
| Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words | |
| I'm past blurs, I smack herbs | |
| Gritty-green eyes like Badu | |
| Leavin minds fucked up like Maxwell's hair-do | |
| And I'ma be the sickest till I'm dead | |
| The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL's head | |
| My new album is Flo-Jo's heart, watch it blow up | |
| You ain't just wack, you're what wack wants to be when it grows up | |
| [Kool G Rap] | |
| The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka | |
| Funer-als crowded like soccer while I'm watchin opera | |
| Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca | |
| Binoculars is how I'm watchin droppin from the chopper | |
| Mafia imposter | |
| You're left for dead wit your face inside of your plate of pasta | |
| ?Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper (salute) | |
| You know how we do, we icepick the boulder | |
| You get dabbed over glasses of ice wit the Bolla | |
| Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra | |
| Keepin the heater wit the toasters | |
| Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers | |
| We bullet-proof the Rovers, pimp-smack you sober | |
| Our whole crew is ?skippin? lieutenants and soldiers | |
| Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola | |
| Condition vulgar holdin on blowers older than Yoda | |
| Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga | |
| Colder than the caps that's in the Polar, bubble like soda | |
| ?Been in Egypt for loader foreliners over? | |
| Cross me, cut our your momma's ovaries | |
| Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin like potpourri | |
| On the low-key, ship keys to over-seas | |
| My shit gets sold quicker than groceries | |
| K-double-O-L-and-G, you know it's me |
| zuo qu : Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL ... | |
| feat. Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL, Kool G. Rap | |
| carried over from previous song | |
| Kool G Rap | |
| Aiyyo check it out yo, this is Kool G Rap | |
| Lettin you know from the foundation, Road to the Riches | |
| Sway Tech represented for a cat | |
| The next album, Wanted Dead Or Alive | |
| My man Sway Tech represented, yaknamsayin | |
| The next album, Live And Let Die | |
| What goes on from 4, 5, 6 | |
| And now The Roots Of Evil | |
| They kept it real through all the freestyles | |
| Wit me, Big Daddy Kane, KRSOne | |
| Namean?, the list goes on and on | |
| No doubt, namsayin? | |
| Big Daddy Kane | |
| Uhhuh, you in the perils of the lyrical heroes | |
| That rule just like the pharoahes | |
| Robert DeNiro' s got it covered just like sombreros | |
| Seek shelter, here comes the warpath | |
| Anyone who' s tryin to reign, I change the whole forecast | |
| If I slip, half a herd he learned | |
| This murder he earned nbsp? in turn? nbsp? turned his body to thirddegree burns | |
| You' re purely pathetic, I won' t let it | |
| And once I set it, the afterparty' s in the paramedics | |
| Vulgars, come back when you' re older | |
| Talkin like you' re grown, you cats is small soldiers | |
| Enough of them as the god muscle in, it' s puzzlin | |
| You couldn' t carry weight if you was hustlin | |
| Style ain' t even decent, them not gonna squeeze none | |
| Please dun, give me one reason | |
| What I, say in a verse will be slayin you worse | |
| As I wet em up just for the sake of obeying my thirst | |
| Anytime anywhere, without any fair | |
| I' ll do it with any hair, what da deal, ain' t he there? wha what | |
| What I do will be crucially brutally | |
| Usually legal and rippin stupidly, ain' t nuttin new to me | |
| What I spit attract felons, crack melons | |
| Leave the chickenheads back swellin | |
| Game tight wit the way I' m livin | |
| I bag birds and I stuff em like Thanksgiving | |
| My bad self, get more love than tennis | |
| From New York to Venice | |
| Black as a dentist here to represent to live wit the menace | |
| To win the apprentice, if your heart shows stealth | |
| You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health | |
| Cuz then the props here baby, you ain' t gettin | |
| You better recognize, the true and livin | |
| You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass | |
| What I meant? Arcades done went up to fifty cent | |
| Chino XL | |
| That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of | |
| Wit one verse, shittin on a whole label roster sampler | |
| My first name: Chino, my last name: Went There | |
| Leavin rappers curled up and dyed like Immature' s hair | |
| Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit | |
| My style like AIDS, half a y' all got it just none of y' all is sayin shit | |
| I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi | |
| Jesus came in the vocal booth, like " Nigga, you the next me!" | |
| So test me, battle and you will become a dead man | |
| And there' s a lot of fake Chino' s like Craig Mack' s a fake Redman | |
| But I' m above the surface of this rap circus | |
| Writin more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose | |
| You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun | |
| I' m God' s bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun | |
| I hate you wit a passion, make white chicks faint like I' m Hanson | |
| Historically know for bringin down the house like I' m Samson | |
| My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there' s a bad curse that hurts | |
| I' m leavin wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse | |
| Escapin the wrath of Jerse | |
| It' s a sad earth when my pen dirts | |
| Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words | |
| I' m past blurs, I smack herbs | |
| Grittygreen eyes like Badu | |
| Leavin minds fucked up like Maxwell' s hairdo | |
| And I' ma be the sickest till I' m dead | |
| The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL' s head | |
| My new album is FloJo' s heart, watch it blow up | |
| You ain' t just wack, you' re what wack wants to be when it grows up | |
| Kool G Rap | |
| The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka | |
| Funerals crowded like soccer while I' m watchin opera | |
| Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca | |
| Binoculars is how I' m watchin droppin from the chopper | |
| Mafia imposter | |
| You' re left for dead wit your face inside of your plate of pasta | |
| ? Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper salute | |
| You know how we do, we icepick the boulder | |
| You get dabbed over glasses of ice wit the Bolla | |
| Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra | |
| Keepin the heater wit the toasters | |
| Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers | |
| We bulletproof the Rovers, pimpsmack you sober | |
| Our whole crew is nbsp? skippin? lieutenants and soldiers | |
| Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola | |
| Condition vulgar holdin on blowers older than Yoda | |
| Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga | |
| Colder than the caps that' s in the Polar, bubble like soda | |
| ? Been in Egypt for loader foreliners over? | |
| Cross me, cut our your momma' s ovaries | |
| Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin like potpourri | |
| On the lowkey, ship keys to overseas | |
| My shit gets sold quicker than groceries | |
| KdoubleOLandG, you know it' s me |
| zuò qǔ : Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL ... | |
| feat. Big Daddy Kane, Chino XL, Kool G. Rap | |
| carried over from previous song | |
| Kool G Rap | |
| Aiyyo check it out yo, this is Kool G Rap | |
| Lettin you know from the foundation, Road to the Riches | |
| Sway Tech represented for a cat | |
| The next album, Wanted Dead Or Alive | |
| My man Sway Tech represented, yaknamsayin | |
| The next album, Live And Let Die | |
| What goes on from 4, 5, 6 | |
| And now The Roots Of Evil | |
| They kept it real through all the freestyles | |
| Wit me, Big Daddy Kane, KRSOne | |
| Namean?, the list goes on and on | |
| No doubt, namsayin? | |
| Big Daddy Kane | |
| Uhhuh, you in the perils of the lyrical heroes | |
| That rule just like the pharoahes | |
| Robert DeNiro' s got it covered just like sombreros | |
| Seek shelter, here comes the warpath | |
| Anyone who' s tryin to reign, I change the whole forecast | |
| If I slip, half a herd he learned | |
| This murder he earned nbsp? in turn? nbsp? turned his body to thirddegree burns | |
| You' re purely pathetic, I won' t let it | |
| And once I set it, the afterparty' s in the paramedics | |
| Vulgars, come back when you' re older | |
| Talkin like you' re grown, you cats is small soldiers | |
| Enough of them as the god muscle in, it' s puzzlin | |
| You couldn' t carry weight if you was hustlin | |
| Style ain' t even decent, them not gonna squeeze none | |
| Please dun, give me one reason | |
| What I, say in a verse will be slayin you worse | |
| As I wet em up just for the sake of obeying my thirst | |
| Anytime anywhere, without any fair | |
| I' ll do it with any hair, what da deal, ain' t he there? wha what | |
| What I do will be crucially brutally | |
| Usually legal and rippin stupidly, ain' t nuttin new to me | |
| What I spit attract felons, crack melons | |
| Leave the chickenheads back swellin | |
| Game tight wit the way I' m livin | |
| I bag birds and I stuff em like Thanksgiving | |
| My bad self, get more love than tennis | |
| From New York to Venice | |
| Black as a dentist here to represent to live wit the menace | |
| To win the apprentice, if your heart shows stealth | |
| You better watch yo' self before I stop yo' health | |
| Cuz then the props here baby, you ain' t gettin | |
| You better recognize, the true and livin | |
| You played yourself fast, put two quarters in your ass | |
| What I meant? Arcades done went up to fifty cent | |
| Chino XL | |
| That lyric tarantula, Chino about to make this example of | |
| Wit one verse, shittin on a whole label roster sampler | |
| My first name: Chino, my last name: Went There | |
| Leavin rappers curled up and dyed like Immature' s hair | |
| Wit lyrical warfare, when I spray shit | |
| My style like AIDS, half a y' all got it just none of y' all is sayin shit | |
| I hate and spit at devils that want to posses Chi | |
| Jesus came in the vocal booth, like " Nigga, you the next me!" | |
| So test me, battle and you will become a dead man | |
| And there' s a lot of fake Chino' s like Craig Mack' s a fake Redman | |
| But I' m above the surface of this rap circus | |
| Writin more incredible verses on accident than you can on purpose | |
| You a worthless waste of flesh, like fat asses on a nun | |
| I' m God' s bastard son, that blasts and thinks bloodbaths are fun | |
| I hate you wit a passion, make white chicks faint like I' m Hanson | |
| Historically know for bringin down the house like I' m Samson | |
| My damn tongue bursts, in the the first verse there' s a bad curse that hurts | |
| I' m leavin wack church passengers inside of a fast hearse | |
| Escapin the wrath of Jerse | |
| It' s a sad earth when my pen dirts | |
| Axe murderer type of massacre occurs if we match words | |
| I' m past blurs, I smack herbs | |
| Grittygreen eyes like Badu | |
| Leavin minds fucked up like Maxwell' s hairdo | |
| And I' ma be the sickest till I' m dead | |
| The type to rent Halloween 4 eight times just to laugh at LL' s head | |
| My new album is FloJo' s heart, watch it blow up | |
| You ain' t just wack, you' re what wack wants to be when it grows up | |
| Kool G Rap | |
| The Godfather saga, hit you dead in the chest like shots of Vodka | |
| Funerals crowded like soccer while I' m watchin opera | |
| Last like Sinatra, blast like Binaca | |
| Binoculars is how I' m watchin droppin from the chopper | |
| Mafia imposter | |
| You' re left for dead wit your face inside of your plate of pasta | |
| ? Freddy in a hasa?, salute to my crew to prosper salute | |
| You know how we do, we icepick the boulder | |
| You get dabbed over glasses of ice wit the Bolla | |
| Blood on your shoulder, make costra nostra | |
| Keepin the heater wit the toasters | |
| Dough in the sofa, cashmeres and gator loafers | |
| We bulletproof the Rovers, pimpsmack you sober | |
| Our whole crew is nbsp? skippin? lieutenants and soldiers | |
| Flip on you the way Montana did to Minola | |
| Condition vulgar holdin on blowers older than Yoda | |
| Leave bad odors when we give cobras crystal like Yoga | |
| Colder than the caps that' s in the Polar, bubble like soda | |
| ? Been in Egypt for loader foreliners over? | |
| Cross me, cut our your momma' s ovaries | |
| Kid you know the steez, have your wake smellin like potpourri | |
| On the lowkey, ship keys to overseas | |
| My shit gets sold quicker than groceries | |
| KdoubleOLandG, you know it' s me |
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