Blah Blah Blah Lyrics
| Song | Blah Blah Blah |
| Artist | Brother Ali |
| Album | Shadows On The Sun |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| (feat. Slug) | |
| Get yourself together now because it's hit time | |
| Your known as the hit makers | |
| Breaker breakers, party makers | |
| They'll make your back crack, your liver quiver | |
| For all you cats, who never put more dips in your hips | |
| More cut in your strut, more glide in your stride | |
| If you don't dig that you gotta hold your soul | |
| If you don't dig this mess, you came to the wrong address | |
| Because singing might be loud and clear | |
| (Brother Ali) | |
| Ayo, the music made ‘em jump back | |
| **** that, how y'all gonna contrast somethin fat, without lettin Ali touch that | |
| Gun whack, read his lips | |
| You're not serious, I got few equals and no superiors (so here he is) | |
| A seasoned veteran, an ego reckon | |
| I turn it up another notch to keep the people guessin | |
| Y'all ain't ****in with the ahk so quit your feeble session | |
| Double teamin for the evening, so you heed the lessons | |
| So no | |
| (Slug) | |
| Here we go | |
| Lookin at me like they know me | |
| Only bout as far as they drunk ass can throw me | |
| Do it, somebody's bound to catch it, no breakage | |
| Never that, we keep it basic like breakfast | |
| So taste it, the vitamins are subtle | |
| So tighten up or Slug'll, even try to decipher the puzzle | |
| But shut up though | |
| (**** that, sucka jump back) | |
| I hold the game like Notre Dame, I know your dame | |
| (We call her hunch back), Ali run that | |
| (Brother Ali) | |
| From cats lips to gods ears | |
| We align yall punk bastards and cross hairs | |
| Applying our thug tactics till y'all scared | |
| Don't stop till your punk ass hits the back stairs (ohh yeah) | |
| (Slug) | |
| **** that, jump back, yo, what's that | |
| Drippin off her nuts, wait, why she got a nut sack? | |
| You ****in rappers are she-males | |
| From the retail to the e-mail, defeat felt cause you need help | |
| Chorus (2x) | |
| Y'all need to watch and observe and then follow | |
| If we open for y'all it's still our show | |
| I hear the same ol' shit wherever I go | |
| Like Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah | |
| (Brother Ali) (Slug) | |
| (Rappers steppin to) | |
| ah yeah they get their shits burned | |
| I throw a roll of quarters and cyphers and then I get learned | |
| (Yo I don't care were you represent son, where's your chicks?) | |
| We'll take her out for breakfast if you want to let your lips run | |
| (Slug) | |
| Listen, I know your mission, some type of magician that likes to go fishin | |
| On the mic with air tight precision, the leaders keeping tradition | |
| when you ain't even keeping the rhythm that the DJ is spinnin | |
| Calm down little camper, I've got the answers | |
| You should **** exotic dancers | |
| You should grow a pair of tits and some antlers | |
| It doesn't matter turn it up, what the **** you think that amp's for? | |
| (Brother Ali) | |
| I write poems, write rhymes, write my name in the snow | |
| And I could use all of that to bend the frame of your hoe | |
| And I should but instead I'll just pay the waiter and go | |
| But if I didn't have a wife, yo your kids'll be albinos | |
| Your respect is like a stick in the grass | |
| Mean mugs and tree hugs, I'll go on about it | |
| I wear my toilet paper so that y'all can kiss my ass | |
| with your tongue out and write a love song about it | |
| (Slug) | |
| Write that shit inside of your book full of funny little scribbles | |
| The love comes in vomit, the money comes in dribbles | |
| The Minnesota missiles, self taught | |
| communication, mutilation, holding pictures of your sister naked | |
| (Brother Ali) | |
| Ha ha, You to drunk to walk down the stairs | |
| And now you standing here choking on my pubic hairs | |
| Telling me your name is if you think the brother cares | |
| If you keep bumping your gums, yo we can ****ing take it there | |
| (Slug) (Brother Ali) | |
| Yo Make a room full of bump rocks stop and do twats | |
| (Rest those shots from a cop, and ask him who's your pops) | |
| Who's you daddy, **** that, Jump back and act happy | |
| (Sing my ****ing chorus before I punch you in the face) | |
| (Chorus) - 2X |
| feat. Slug | |
| Get yourself together now because it' s hit time | |
| Your known as the hit makers | |
| Breaker breakers, party makers | |
| They' ll make your back crack, your liver quiver | |
| For all you cats, who never put more dips in your hips | |
| More cut in your strut, more glide in your stride | |
| If you don' t dig that you gotta hold your soul | |
| If you don' t dig this mess, you came to the wrong address | |
| Because singing might be loud and clear | |
| Brother Ali | |
| Ayo, the music made ' em jump back | |
| that, how y' all gonna contrast somethin fat, without lettin Ali touch that | |
| Gun whack, read his lips | |
| You' re not serious, I got few equals and no superiors so here he is | |
| A seasoned veteran, an ego reckon | |
| I turn it up another notch to keep the people guessin | |
| Y' all ain' t in with the ahk so quit your feeble session | |
| Double teamin for the evening, so you heed the lessons | |
| So no | |
| Slug | |
| Here we go | |
| Lookin at me like they know me | |
| Only bout as far as they drunk ass can throw me | |
| Do it, somebody' s bound to catch it, no breakage | |
| Never that, we keep it basic like breakfast | |
| So taste it, the vitamins are subtle | |
| So tighten up or Slug' ll, even try to decipher the puzzle | |
| But shut up though | |
| that, sucka jump back | |
| I hold the game like Notre Dame, I know your dame | |
| We call her hunch back, Ali run that | |
| Brother Ali | |
| From cats lips to gods ears | |
| We align yall punk bastards and cross hairs | |
| Applying our thug tactics till y' all scared | |
| Don' t stop till your punk ass hits the back stairs ohh yeah | |
| Slug | |
| that, jump back, yo, what' s that | |
| Drippin off her nuts, wait, why she got a nut sack? | |
| You in rappers are shemales | |
| From the retail to the email, defeat felt cause you need help | |
| Chorus 2x | |
| Y' all need to watch and observe and then follow | |
| If we open for y' all it' s still our show | |
| I hear the same ol' shit wherever I go | |
| Like Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah | |
| Brother Ali Slug | |
| Rappers steppin to | |
| ah yeah they get their shits burned | |
| I throw a roll of quarters and cyphers and then I get learned | |
| Yo I don' t care were you represent son, where' s your chicks? | |
| We' ll take her out for breakfast if you want to let your lips run | |
| Slug | |
| Listen, I know your mission, some type of magician that likes to go fishin | |
| On the mic with air tight precision, the leaders keeping tradition | |
| when you ain' t even keeping the rhythm that the DJ is spinnin | |
| Calm down little camper, I' ve got the answers | |
| You should exotic dancers | |
| You should grow a pair of tits and some antlers | |
| It doesn' t matter turn it up, what the you think that amp' s for? | |
| Brother Ali | |
| I write poems, write rhymes, write my name in the snow | |
| And I could use all of that to bend the frame of your hoe | |
| And I should but instead I' ll just pay the waiter and go | |
| But if I didn' t have a wife, yo your kids' ll be albinos | |
| Your respect is like a stick in the grass | |
| Mean mugs and tree hugs, I' ll go on about it | |
| I wear my toilet paper so that y' all can kiss my ass | |
| with your tongue out and write a love song about it | |
| Slug | |
| Write that shit inside of your book full of funny little scribbles | |
| The love comes in vomit, the money comes in dribbles | |
| The Minnesota missiles, self taught | |
| communication, mutilation, holding pictures of your sister naked | |
| Brother Ali | |
| Ha ha, You to drunk to walk down the stairs | |
| And now you standing here choking on my pubic hairs | |
| Telling me your name is if you think the brother cares | |
| If you keep bumping your gums, yo we can ing take it there | |
| Slug Brother Ali | |
| Yo Make a room full of bump rocks stop and do twats | |
| Rest those shots from a cop, and ask him who' s your pops | |
| Who' s you daddy, that, Jump back and act happy | |
| Sing my ing chorus before I punch you in the face | |
| Chorus 2X |
| feat. Slug | |
| Get yourself together now because it' s hit time | |
| Your known as the hit makers | |
| Breaker breakers, party makers | |
| They' ll make your back crack, your liver quiver | |
| For all you cats, who never put more dips in your hips | |
| More cut in your strut, more glide in your stride | |
| If you don' t dig that you gotta hold your soul | |
| If you don' t dig this mess, you came to the wrong address | |
| Because singing might be loud and clear | |
| Brother Ali | |
| Ayo, the music made ' em jump back | |
| that, how y' all gonna contrast somethin fat, without lettin Ali touch that | |
| Gun whack, read his lips | |
| You' re not serious, I got few equals and no superiors so here he is | |
| A seasoned veteran, an ego reckon | |
| I turn it up another notch to keep the people guessin | |
| Y' all ain' t in with the ahk so quit your feeble session | |
| Double teamin for the evening, so you heed the lessons | |
| So no | |
| Slug | |
| Here we go | |
| Lookin at me like they know me | |
| Only bout as far as they drunk ass can throw me | |
| Do it, somebody' s bound to catch it, no breakage | |
| Never that, we keep it basic like breakfast | |
| So taste it, the vitamins are subtle | |
| So tighten up or Slug' ll, even try to decipher the puzzle | |
| But shut up though | |
| that, sucka jump back | |
| I hold the game like Notre Dame, I know your dame | |
| We call her hunch back, Ali run that | |
| Brother Ali | |
| From cats lips to gods ears | |
| We align yall punk bastards and cross hairs | |
| Applying our thug tactics till y' all scared | |
| Don' t stop till your punk ass hits the back stairs ohh yeah | |
| Slug | |
| that, jump back, yo, what' s that | |
| Drippin off her nuts, wait, why she got a nut sack? | |
| You in rappers are shemales | |
| From the retail to the email, defeat felt cause you need help | |
| Chorus 2x | |
| Y' all need to watch and observe and then follow | |
| If we open for y' all it' s still our show | |
| I hear the same ol' shit wherever I go | |
| Like Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah | |
| Brother Ali Slug | |
| Rappers steppin to | |
| ah yeah they get their shits burned | |
| I throw a roll of quarters and cyphers and then I get learned | |
| Yo I don' t care were you represent son, where' s your chicks? | |
| We' ll take her out for breakfast if you want to let your lips run | |
| Slug | |
| Listen, I know your mission, some type of magician that likes to go fishin | |
| On the mic with air tight precision, the leaders keeping tradition | |
| when you ain' t even keeping the rhythm that the DJ is spinnin | |
| Calm down little camper, I' ve got the answers | |
| You should exotic dancers | |
| You should grow a pair of tits and some antlers | |
| It doesn' t matter turn it up, what the you think that amp' s for? | |
| Brother Ali | |
| I write poems, write rhymes, write my name in the snow | |
| And I could use all of that to bend the frame of your hoe | |
| And I should but instead I' ll just pay the waiter and go | |
| But if I didn' t have a wife, yo your kids' ll be albinos | |
| Your respect is like a stick in the grass | |
| Mean mugs and tree hugs, I' ll go on about it | |
| I wear my toilet paper so that y' all can kiss my ass | |
| with your tongue out and write a love song about it | |
| Slug | |
| Write that shit inside of your book full of funny little scribbles | |
| The love comes in vomit, the money comes in dribbles | |
| The Minnesota missiles, self taught | |
| communication, mutilation, holding pictures of your sister naked | |
| Brother Ali | |
| Ha ha, You to drunk to walk down the stairs | |
| And now you standing here choking on my pubic hairs | |
| Telling me your name is if you think the brother cares | |
| If you keep bumping your gums, yo we can ing take it there | |
| Slug Brother Ali | |
| Yo Make a room full of bump rocks stop and do twats | |
| Rest those shots from a cop, and ask him who' s your pops | |
| Who' s you daddy, that, Jump back and act happy | |
| Sing my ing chorus before I punch you in the face | |
| Chorus 2X |
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