Get Bizy ft. Kurupt & Bad Lucc (Prod. by Terrace Martin) Lyrics
| Song | Get Bizy ft. Kurupt & Bad Lucc (Prod. by Terrace Martin) |
| Artist | Kendrick Lamar |
| Album | King Of New York |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| [Intro: Terrace Martin] | |
| What’s happening y’all? It’s Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out | |
| I got three microphones, three of the ****st emcees, a drum machine, two turntables and a mixer | |
| That’s all we need man, we’ll pass the first mic to Kurupt, yeah | |
| [Verse 1: Kurupt] | |
| I'm the militant military | |
| Bald eagle, squeezer, Caesar, Ebenezer | |
| I am the worst (what) | |
| That's what my ************* told me after I took her purse and shook her down | |
| Looking for a pound in that purse, ************* | |
| I'm scandalous, I poke you like deer antlers, cancerous | |
| Cause I ain't got no time to play | |
| When I ask you a question, answer is the lie where you lay | |
| Lay where you die, never wake up die where you lay | |
| It's hard to survive ************* or the high where you stay | |
| I'm important like the Pope, I'm the king of New York | |
| I'm live from South Central, I'm a Muslim on pork | |
| Kurupt the world's fetish, they feen and scratch | |
| I'm multiplied by twenty thousand fiends and crack | |
| You add me to music and the fiends react | |
| Everybody's addicted, turning bodies to liquid | |
| I love your style but I hate your vibe | |
| I don't want your wife but your ************* is mine | |
| Murder methods of mayhem, tap or dap up the great | |
| Arsenic rapper, sodium cacodylate | |
| Wizardry, misery, young Merlin | |
| She’ll love me, I make her walls fall like Berlin | |
| You ever heard of a murderer, well you must of my ************* | |
| I'm a mixture between Big, Snoopy and Jigga | |
| I spit meat cleavers, I'm saucy as Picante | |
| My wife's a diva like Beyonce but hood like Shante, mother******* | |
| I run amok on busters | |
| They call me Kurupt, forget that, I ************* you up | |
| I sizzle these mother*******s in the inkling of a second, murder method | |
| [Terrace Martin] | |
| Ay yo, where my Compton homeboy at? Kendrick Lamar, haha, yeah | |
| [Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar] | |
| Kurupt, let me erupt (what) | |
| Like flammable gases under the Earth’s crust (uh) | |
| My flammable passion can get the Earth crushed (what) | |
| It’s 2012 once I unveil lyrics that can derail a train of a subway entrance | |
| Say I bust like Jerome Bennett and that’s a must | |
| Offended the best, magnum on my ************* defending my flesh | |
| Seven holes like a clarinet | |
| Clarify your worthiness or foresee funeral services | |
| Affirmative action pop up on your furni*************ng | |
| Unfortunate future for us to fly free under God’s firmament | |
| Me versus whosever’s dead, that’s God’s tournament | |
| Kendrick the Arthritis, hand that hates to write this | |
| What’s good, I’m in your hood like workers of Midas | |
| Purpose is to be righteous | |
| But my Malcolm X is extra’d out like a crip yelling his hood out when he fighting | |
| I never seen a key, all I seen was a triton | |
| I’m always kicking up dust, I’ve never been hiking | |
| I’ve always had a licence for this hip-hop | |
| Influenced by the rap that vocally said they killed cops | |
| I’m riding on E with a ************* that pill pop | |
| Now that’s the irony that I give you when the zip lock | |
| Bag and sell it at doo wop, after that pass the doo wop | |
| Lick a few shots for the few blocks that we on | |
| For ain’t no beat that’s flawed or unique so please don’t try to Xerox | |
| Copy written, *************s bitten | |
| My style since I was backflipping | |
| Inside c*************s, LA gears with the laces missing | |
| Me Against the World in the background, mama had gave me bowl cut in the kitchen | |
| Big cousin became a statistic, I chose the right flows and remained consistent | |
| Voila, now they got me, haha | |
| Expectations is high, Compton or Bed-Stuy | |
| To them skinny *************s in the Chi bumping Common | |
| But the only thing in common is crime and more violence | |
| I play a little game, you say you fly, I’m over fly | |
| I’m the pilot that’s left on the plane, cloud nine | |
| That’s where I’m at with it | |
| Punchlines till your jaw dented | |
| Catapult your Buick till your car spinning | |
| [Terrace Martin] | |
| Watts up, Bad Lucc | |
| [Verse 3: Bad Lucc] | |
| Believe me, I’m Martin Luther and Jeezy | |
| Hard to shoot and they need me | |
| Created from a grain of sand that’s rolled up in a rizla | |
| First time I met the RZA, I reminded him of GZA | |
| Back then I was a cold little ************* painting pictures | |
| Avalon did that, [?] six pack | |
| Raised by them killers that’ll never bring them kids back | |
| Tiny Archibald on the dirty side of law | |
| I was inches from that building till my ******* tucked the raw, I’m lawless | |
| Hell to the supreme, I should beam that beamer for gleaming | |
| And blame it on that lean cause I’m leaning | |
| The movie is rated R, [?] Shady, huh | |
| ************* off his lady friends in a Bentley, huh | |
| You ain’t seen us in a while, jack | |
| Rastic, I’m god and a buggy is a mousetrap | |
| You’ll become about that, big homies ain’t out yet | |
| Youngins run the city or the biddy like I’m about that | |
| Sharpen my tools, step out the kitchen homie | |
| Young Drake from kitchen [?] told me that street *************t is what they missing from me | |
| Is so I’m outside with the Eastside | |
| Sound of the piece and the heat flies | |
| Flat fleece, the fleece bang when *************s get DP’d at beef time | |
| Warren, no Griffin | |
| You listen, you’ll be held accountable to what I’m spitting | |
| I’m Johnny Cage with Timberlands mean I come with me | |
| You got the blogs, I got the streets | |
| I guess we even, not really | |
| I’m cut from a different cloth, rappers pissing them off | |
| Serving drinks out of gun stores, *******tails is Molotovs | |
| I’m bored crazy in a booth, if I don’t get that coupe soon | |
| I swear to God I’ll turn Hip-Hop Awards to a saloon | |
| Move, make way for the fat kid with an attitude | |
| If I batter you, I cook that last meal to ************* food, on mama’s dough | |
| You sugar puffs and honor rolls | |
| I’m angus like, Genghis Khan in my video | |
| You can’t stop it though, from P.F. Changs to Pappadeaux | |
| I eat a ************* up like Domino's, yeah | |
| [Outro: Terrace Martin] | |
| Yeah yeah, ay so there you have it | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Kurupt, Young Gotti | |
| Kendrick Lamar, Compton stand the ************* up | |
| Bad Lucc, Watts stand the ************* up, you feel me | |
| Crazy Toones, South Central, what up hood? | |
| I’mma get the ************* outta here, man I’m done, man let the *************t talk man |
| Intro: Terrace Martin | |
| What' s happening y' all? It' s Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out | |
| I got three microphones, three of the st emcees, a drum machine, two turntables and a mixer | |
| That' s all we need man, we' ll pass the first mic to Kurupt, yeah | |
| Verse 1: Kurupt | |
| I' m the militant military | |
| Bald eagle, squeezer, Caesar, Ebenezer | |
| I am the worst what | |
| That' s what my told me after I took her purse and shook her down | |
| Looking for a pound in that purse, | |
| I' m scandalous, I poke you like deer antlers, cancerous | |
| Cause I ain' t got no time to play | |
| When I ask you a question, answer is the lie where you lay | |
| Lay where you die, never wake up die where you lay | |
| It' s hard to survive or the high where you stay | |
| I' m important like the Pope, I' m the king of New York | |
| I' m live from South Central, I' m a Muslim on pork | |
| Kurupt the world' s fetish, they feen and scratch | |
| I' m multiplied by twenty thousand fiends and crack | |
| You add me to music and the fiends react | |
| Everybody' s addicted, turning bodies to liquid | |
| I love your style but I hate your vibe | |
| I don' t want your wife but your is mine | |
| Murder methods of mayhem, tap or dap up the great | |
| Arsenic rapper, sodium cacodylate | |
| Wizardry, misery, young Merlin | |
| She' ll love me, I make her walls fall like Berlin | |
| You ever heard of a murderer, well you must of my | |
| I' m a mixture between Big, Snoopy and Jigga | |
| I spit meat cleavers, I' m saucy as Picante | |
| My wife' s a diva like Beyonce but hood like Shante, mother | |
| I run amok on busters | |
| They call me Kurupt, forget that, I you up | |
| I sizzle these mother s in the inkling of a second, murder method | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Ay yo, where my Compton homeboy at? Kendrick Lamar, haha, yeah | |
| Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar | |
| Kurupt, let me erupt what | |
| Like flammable gases under the Earth' s crust uh | |
| My flammable passion can get the Earth crushed what | |
| It' s 2012 once I unveil lyrics that can derail a train of a subway entrance | |
| Say I bust like Jerome Bennett and that' s a must | |
| Offended the best, magnum on my defending my flesh | |
| Seven holes like a clarinet | |
| Clarify your worthiness or foresee funeral services | |
| Affirmative action pop up on your furni ng | |
| Unfortunate future for us to fly free under God' s firmament | |
| Me versus whosever' s dead, that' s God' s tournament | |
| Kendrick the Arthritis, hand that hates to write this | |
| What' s good, I' m in your hood like workers of Midas | |
| Purpose is to be righteous | |
| But my Malcolm X is extra' d out like a crip yelling his hood out when he fighting | |
| I never seen a key, all I seen was a triton | |
| I' m always kicking up dust, I' ve never been hiking | |
| I' ve always had a licence for this hiphop | |
| Influenced by the rap that vocally said they killed cops | |
| I' m riding on E with a that pill pop | |
| Now that' s the irony that I give you when the zip lock | |
| Bag and sell it at doo wop, after that pass the doo wop | |
| Lick a few shots for the few blocks that we on | |
| For ain' t no beat that' s flawed or unique so please don' t try to Xerox | |
| Copy written, s bitten | |
| My style since I was backflipping | |
| Inside c s, LA gears with the laces missing | |
| Me Against the World in the background, mama had gave me bowl cut in the kitchen | |
| Big cousin became a statistic, I chose the right flows and remained consistent | |
| Voila, now they got me, haha | |
| Expectations is high, Compton or BedStuy | |
| To them skinny s in the Chi bumping Common | |
| But the only thing in common is crime and more violence | |
| I play a little game, you say you fly, I' m over fly | |
| I' m the pilot that' s left on the plane, cloud nine | |
| That' s where I' m at with it | |
| Punchlines till your jaw dented | |
| Catapult your Buick till your car spinning | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Watts up, Bad Lucc | |
| Verse 3: Bad Lucc | |
| Believe me, I' m Martin Luther and Jeezy | |
| Hard to shoot and they need me | |
| Created from a grain of sand that' s rolled up in a rizla | |
| First time I met the RZA, I reminded him of GZA | |
| Back then I was a cold little painting pictures | |
| Avalon did that, ? six pack | |
| Raised by them killers that' ll never bring them kids back | |
| Tiny Archibald on the dirty side of law | |
| I was inches from that building till my tucked the raw, I' m lawless | |
| Hell to the supreme, I should beam that beamer for gleaming | |
| And blame it on that lean cause I' m leaning | |
| The movie is rated R, ? Shady, huh | |
| off his lady friends in a Bentley, huh | |
| You ain' t seen us in a while, jack | |
| Rastic, I' m god and a buggy is a mousetrap | |
| You' ll become about that, big homies ain' t out yet | |
| Youngins run the city or the biddy like I' m about that | |
| Sharpen my tools, step out the kitchen homie | |
| Young Drake from kitchen ? told me that street t is what they missing from me | |
| Is so I' m outside with the Eastside | |
| Sound of the piece and the heat flies | |
| Flat fleece, the fleece bang when s get DP' d at beef time | |
| Warren, no Griffin | |
| You listen, you' ll be held accountable to what I' m spitting | |
| I' m Johnny Cage with Timberlands mean I come with me | |
| You got the blogs, I got the streets | |
| I guess we even, not really | |
| I' m cut from a different cloth, rappers pissing them off | |
| Serving drinks out of gun stores, tails is Molotovs | |
| I' m bored crazy in a booth, if I don' t get that coupe soon | |
| I swear to God I' ll turn HipHop Awards to a saloon | |
| Move, make way for the fat kid with an attitude | |
| If I batter you, I cook that last meal to food, on mama' s dough | |
| You sugar puffs and honor rolls | |
| I' m angus like, Genghis Khan in my video | |
| You can' t stop it though, from P. F. Changs to Pappadeaux | |
| I eat a up like Domino' s, yeah | |
| Outro: Terrace Martin | |
| Yeah yeah, ay so there you have it | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Kurupt, Young Gotti | |
| Kendrick Lamar, Compton stand the up | |
| Bad Lucc, Watts stand the up, you feel me | |
| Crazy Toones, South Central, what up hood? | |
| I' mma get the outta here, man I' m done, man let the t talk man |
| Intro: Terrace Martin | |
| What' s happening y' all? It' s Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out | |
| I got three microphones, three of the st emcees, a drum machine, two turntables and a mixer | |
| That' s all we need man, we' ll pass the first mic to Kurupt, yeah | |
| Verse 1: Kurupt | |
| I' m the militant military | |
| Bald eagle, squeezer, Caesar, Ebenezer | |
| I am the worst what | |
| That' s what my told me after I took her purse and shook her down | |
| Looking for a pound in that purse, | |
| I' m scandalous, I poke you like deer antlers, cancerous | |
| Cause I ain' t got no time to play | |
| When I ask you a question, answer is the lie where you lay | |
| Lay where you die, never wake up die where you lay | |
| It' s hard to survive or the high where you stay | |
| I' m important like the Pope, I' m the king of New York | |
| I' m live from South Central, I' m a Muslim on pork | |
| Kurupt the world' s fetish, they feen and scratch | |
| I' m multiplied by twenty thousand fiends and crack | |
| You add me to music and the fiends react | |
| Everybody' s addicted, turning bodies to liquid | |
| I love your style but I hate your vibe | |
| I don' t want your wife but your is mine | |
| Murder methods of mayhem, tap or dap up the great | |
| Arsenic rapper, sodium cacodylate | |
| Wizardry, misery, young Merlin | |
| She' ll love me, I make her walls fall like Berlin | |
| You ever heard of a murderer, well you must of my | |
| I' m a mixture between Big, Snoopy and Jigga | |
| I spit meat cleavers, I' m saucy as Picante | |
| My wife' s a diva like Beyonce but hood like Shante, mother | |
| I run amok on busters | |
| They call me Kurupt, forget that, I you up | |
| I sizzle these mother s in the inkling of a second, murder method | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Ay yo, where my Compton homeboy at? Kendrick Lamar, haha, yeah | |
| Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar | |
| Kurupt, let me erupt what | |
| Like flammable gases under the Earth' s crust uh | |
| My flammable passion can get the Earth crushed what | |
| It' s 2012 once I unveil lyrics that can derail a train of a subway entrance | |
| Say I bust like Jerome Bennett and that' s a must | |
| Offended the best, magnum on my defending my flesh | |
| Seven holes like a clarinet | |
| Clarify your worthiness or foresee funeral services | |
| Affirmative action pop up on your furni ng | |
| Unfortunate future for us to fly free under God' s firmament | |
| Me versus whosever' s dead, that' s God' s tournament | |
| Kendrick the Arthritis, hand that hates to write this | |
| What' s good, I' m in your hood like workers of Midas | |
| Purpose is to be righteous | |
| But my Malcolm X is extra' d out like a crip yelling his hood out when he fighting | |
| I never seen a key, all I seen was a triton | |
| I' m always kicking up dust, I' ve never been hiking | |
| I' ve always had a licence for this hiphop | |
| Influenced by the rap that vocally said they killed cops | |
| I' m riding on E with a that pill pop | |
| Now that' s the irony that I give you when the zip lock | |
| Bag and sell it at doo wop, after that pass the doo wop | |
| Lick a few shots for the few blocks that we on | |
| For ain' t no beat that' s flawed or unique so please don' t try to Xerox | |
| Copy written, s bitten | |
| My style since I was backflipping | |
| Inside c s, LA gears with the laces missing | |
| Me Against the World in the background, mama had gave me bowl cut in the kitchen | |
| Big cousin became a statistic, I chose the right flows and remained consistent | |
| Voila, now they got me, haha | |
| Expectations is high, Compton or BedStuy | |
| To them skinny s in the Chi bumping Common | |
| But the only thing in common is crime and more violence | |
| I play a little game, you say you fly, I' m over fly | |
| I' m the pilot that' s left on the plane, cloud nine | |
| That' s where I' m at with it | |
| Punchlines till your jaw dented | |
| Catapult your Buick till your car spinning | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Watts up, Bad Lucc | |
| Verse 3: Bad Lucc | |
| Believe me, I' m Martin Luther and Jeezy | |
| Hard to shoot and they need me | |
| Created from a grain of sand that' s rolled up in a rizla | |
| First time I met the RZA, I reminded him of GZA | |
| Back then I was a cold little painting pictures | |
| Avalon did that, ? six pack | |
| Raised by them killers that' ll never bring them kids back | |
| Tiny Archibald on the dirty side of law | |
| I was inches from that building till my tucked the raw, I' m lawless | |
| Hell to the supreme, I should beam that beamer for gleaming | |
| And blame it on that lean cause I' m leaning | |
| The movie is rated R, ? Shady, huh | |
| off his lady friends in a Bentley, huh | |
| You ain' t seen us in a while, jack | |
| Rastic, I' m god and a buggy is a mousetrap | |
| You' ll become about that, big homies ain' t out yet | |
| Youngins run the city or the biddy like I' m about that | |
| Sharpen my tools, step out the kitchen homie | |
| Young Drake from kitchen ? told me that street t is what they missing from me | |
| Is so I' m outside with the Eastside | |
| Sound of the piece and the heat flies | |
| Flat fleece, the fleece bang when s get DP' d at beef time | |
| Warren, no Griffin | |
| You listen, you' ll be held accountable to what I' m spitting | |
| I' m Johnny Cage with Timberlands mean I come with me | |
| You got the blogs, I got the streets | |
| I guess we even, not really | |
| I' m cut from a different cloth, rappers pissing them off | |
| Serving drinks out of gun stores, tails is Molotovs | |
| I' m bored crazy in a booth, if I don' t get that coupe soon | |
| I swear to God I' ll turn HipHop Awards to a saloon | |
| Move, make way for the fat kid with an attitude | |
| If I batter you, I cook that last meal to food, on mama' s dough | |
| You sugar puffs and honor rolls | |
| I' m angus like, Genghis Khan in my video | |
| You can' t stop it though, from P. F. Changs to Pappadeaux | |
| I eat a up like Domino' s, yeah | |
| Outro: Terrace Martin | |
| Yeah yeah, ay so there you have it | |
| Terrace Martin | |
| Kurupt, Young Gotti | |
| Kendrick Lamar, Compton stand the up | |
| Bad Lucc, Watts stand the up, you feel me | |
| Crazy Toones, South Central, what up hood? | |
| I' mma get the outta here, man I' m done, man let the t talk man |
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