Lived In The Projects Lyrics
| Song | Lived In The Projects |
| Artist | Kool Keith |
| Album | Matthew |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Yeah mother****er.. that's right.. | |
| The mother****er in the house.. kool keith.. | |
| **** all the bullshit, let's get to the real shit.. | |
| Yeah.. | |
| Your rhyme touch is soft kid | |
| Like a stripper's ass with a touch of plastic | |
| Writin with a local style | |
| Talkin about competitive shit you never mastered | |
| Youse a wannabe thug nigga, you ain't bugged nigga | |
| I cut your bitch-ass up, leave your legs under the rug nigga | |
| Who want the whiplash? | |
| Cigarette burns, broken face hair pinned up in a cast | |
| Me standin on the top of your tour bus | |
| Butt-naked with a ****in hockey mask | |
| Slicin your cashmere with a sharp 7-up glass | |
| Don't you know i'm sick nigga? lick my dick nigga! | |
| Forty-four caliber killer gun-toter | |
| Hide your kneecaps in a lexus motor | |
| Pack your stomach in a compartment | |
| Old dingy ****ed up bronx apartment | |
| Don't piss me off with a tec-9 loaded in a bullshit street argument | |
| I don't care how hard you get | |
| You just another man that never lived in the projects poppin shit | |
| You ain't stoppin shit, **** that batman and robin shit | |
| And what block you with | |
| Kneel down, make a nigga like you call me big ernest | |
| Bake your intestines, throw your stomach in the furnace | |
| Watch the thermostat, you ain't no ****in fat cat | |
| Chorus: kool keith | |
| [sung] you never lived in the projects! | |
| You ain't no drug dealer | |
| *repeat chorus 3x* | |
| [kool keith] | |
| Rude bwoy with a temper like a jamaican off a haitian boat | |
| Carribean ruckus - with an elvis wig | |
| Slap the piss out of one of you untalented rap mother****ers | |
| Bodyguards won't work | |
| With a 30-shot car bomb under my dominican shirt | |
| Submachine in the duffle bag | |
| Watchin sesame street with my daughter, peepin ernie and bert | |
| With backstage passes, wearin a long trenchcoat | |
| Get morris in your projects | |
| And jackson in a madison square garden concert | |
| Ready for cbs and nbc, to do a big network | |
| The average guy, havin a product manager | |
| And a female publicist wearin a ****in bulletproof vest | |
| I got time for mother****ers actin like elliot ness | |
| Winchester sawed off blow your rolex through your ****in chest | |
| Splatted body pieces while blood drips off your girl's dress | |
| I'm ready for more progress | |
| Have your head sent home | |
| And a piece of your leg sittin on the record company desk | |
| Extort like a mad nigga western union | |
| You don't have a clue men how i get through men | |
| *repeat chorus 4x* |
| Yeah mother er.. that' s right.. | |
| The mother er in the house.. kool keith.. | |
| all the bullshit, let' s get to the real shit.. | |
| Yeah.. | |
| Your rhyme touch is soft kid | |
| Like a stripper' s ass with a touch of plastic | |
| Writin with a local style | |
| Talkin about competitive shit you never mastered | |
| Youse a wannabe thug nigga, you ain' t bugged nigga | |
| I cut your bitchass up, leave your legs under the rug nigga | |
| Who want the whiplash? | |
| Cigarette burns, broken face hair pinned up in a cast | |
| Me standin on the top of your tour bus | |
| Buttnaked with a in hockey mask | |
| Slicin your cashmere with a sharp 7up glass | |
| Don' t you know i' m sick nigga? lick my dick nigga! | |
| Fortyfour caliber killer guntoter | |
| Hide your kneecaps in a lexus motor | |
| Pack your stomach in a compartment | |
| Old dingy ed up bronx apartment | |
| Don' t piss me off with a tec9 loaded in a bullshit street argument | |
| I don' t care how hard you get | |
| You just another man that never lived in the projects poppin shit | |
| You ain' t stoppin shit, that batman and robin shit | |
| And what block you with | |
| Kneel down, make a nigga like you call me big ernest | |
| Bake your intestines, throw your stomach in the furnace | |
| Watch the thermostat, you ain' t no in fat cat | |
| Chorus: kool keith | |
| sung you never lived in the projects! | |
| You ain' t no drug dealer | |
| repeat chorus 3x | |
| kool keith | |
| Rude bwoy with a temper like a jamaican off a haitian boat | |
| Carribean ruckus with an elvis wig | |
| Slap the piss out of one of you untalented rap mother ers | |
| Bodyguards won' t work | |
| With a 30shot car bomb under my dominican shirt | |
| Submachine in the duffle bag | |
| Watchin sesame street with my daughter, peepin ernie and bert | |
| With backstage passes, wearin a long trenchcoat | |
| Get morris in your projects | |
| And jackson in a madison square garden concert | |
| Ready for cbs and nbc, to do a big network | |
| The average guy, havin a product manager | |
| And a female publicist wearin a in bulletproof vest | |
| I got time for mother ers actin like elliot ness | |
| Winchester sawed off blow your rolex through your in chest | |
| Splatted body pieces while blood drips off your girl' s dress | |
| I' m ready for more progress | |
| Have your head sent home | |
| And a piece of your leg sittin on the record company desk | |
| Extort like a mad nigga western union | |
| You don' t have a clue men how i get through men | |
| repeat chorus 4x |
| Yeah mother er.. that' s right.. | |
| The mother er in the house.. kool keith.. | |
| all the bullshit, let' s get to the real shit.. | |
| Yeah.. | |
| Your rhyme touch is soft kid | |
| Like a stripper' s ass with a touch of plastic | |
| Writin with a local style | |
| Talkin about competitive shit you never mastered | |
| Youse a wannabe thug nigga, you ain' t bugged nigga | |
| I cut your bitchass up, leave your legs under the rug nigga | |
| Who want the whiplash? | |
| Cigarette burns, broken face hair pinned up in a cast | |
| Me standin on the top of your tour bus | |
| Buttnaked with a in hockey mask | |
| Slicin your cashmere with a sharp 7up glass | |
| Don' t you know i' m sick nigga? lick my dick nigga! | |
| Fortyfour caliber killer guntoter | |
| Hide your kneecaps in a lexus motor | |
| Pack your stomach in a compartment | |
| Old dingy ed up bronx apartment | |
| Don' t piss me off with a tec9 loaded in a bullshit street argument | |
| I don' t care how hard you get | |
| You just another man that never lived in the projects poppin shit | |
| You ain' t stoppin shit, that batman and robin shit | |
| And what block you with | |
| Kneel down, make a nigga like you call me big ernest | |
| Bake your intestines, throw your stomach in the furnace | |
| Watch the thermostat, you ain' t no in fat cat | |
| Chorus: kool keith | |
| sung you never lived in the projects! | |
| You ain' t no drug dealer | |
| repeat chorus 3x | |
| kool keith | |
| Rude bwoy with a temper like a jamaican off a haitian boat | |
| Carribean ruckus with an elvis wig | |
| Slap the piss out of one of you untalented rap mother ers | |
| Bodyguards won' t work | |
| With a 30shot car bomb under my dominican shirt | |
| Submachine in the duffle bag | |
| Watchin sesame street with my daughter, peepin ernie and bert | |
| With backstage passes, wearin a long trenchcoat | |
| Get morris in your projects | |
| And jackson in a madison square garden concert | |
| Ready for cbs and nbc, to do a big network | |
| The average guy, havin a product manager | |
| And a female publicist wearin a in bulletproof vest | |
| I got time for mother ers actin like elliot ness | |
| Winchester sawed off blow your rolex through your in chest | |
| Splatted body pieces while blood drips off your girl' s dress | |
| I' m ready for more progress | |
| Have your head sent home | |
| And a piece of your leg sittin on the record company desk | |
| Extort like a mad nigga western union | |
| You don' t have a clue men how i get through men | |
| repeat chorus 4x |
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