Ant - Talkin' My sh** lyrics

* originally a B-side to "Uncle Sam God Damn" 12" (the blue version) Intro Sample: sh**, motherf**er you talkin' to the kid Talking (Brother Ali): Yeah. Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls The one and only Brother Ali is in the house tonight That's me. We gettin' directly into this right here Verse One: Hold up Do you mind? I'm trying to build a kingdom here Walk to the store with your boy let's get a ginger beer Listen here I got some sh** to sprinkle in your ear Rip and tear the kick and snare, whistle like Rakim was near Independent penmanship, sending b**h-tendency-havin'-rich-rappers to their residences My present tense is legendary livin' Like my fifty grand merch, work for what I'm givin' Build and add to it with the sk** I mastered it Carefully grabbin' sh** to build a castle with Ended up champion of underground rappin' It ain't what I imagined but I still ain't mad at it I'm in a college town bossin' that crowd around Raise your hands, wave em up, do it like this and holler out Like a Gladiator movie score Try to teach a cracker rapper how to clap on two and four In the crowd I'm shakin' peoples hands Just to take an equal stance with my barely legal fans Can't believe they a** came and heard him raw Made em want to run and hug him with a sweaty shirt and all Labels turn me off, I ain't what they lookin' for I ain't got a six pack, tatoo or a bullet hole But I'm muscle underneath all that You get your peanut smacked I scrap like I'm bu*terbean on crack How he manage not to catch heat flashes? On stage Adidas jacket doin' Heavy D dances These rappers are graffiti on canvas Even if they snappin' they could only be half of it Chorus: I say sh** motherf**er sh** Ali and them sitting on another hit He got his fist up to the government Still tryin' to get his dick s**ed, son of a b**h So let me talk my sh** C'mon now, let me talk my sh** Calm down, let me talk my sh** Verse Two: Let me start off my sh** like this Quiet down now the masters rappin' And Ant got his back trying to craft a cla**ic Joe Mabbott track, they have to grab it Like my dick when they...naw, I ain't sayin' that sh** We all thought some weak lines by now But you actually rewind and write yours down You must be high in the studio to speak it And then decide to keep it and release it So either you believe it Or you don't give three sh**s about havin' lyrics, you can take it or leave it So if you're not really thinkin' about the things that you say Then don't call me a hater when I feel the same way Came up in the day, listening to the greats Learned to smell a fake half a continent away I ain't dumbin' down you're gonna have to smarten up Too tough, your blade ain't sharp enough to cut Bout to f** em up Someone should have ran and told him that I'm nuts bu*tercup ain't tryin' to knuckle up Sock 'em in the eye, baby, slug 'em in the gut Should have never let the Brother run a muck What the f**! Chorus Verse Three: Big bad, fat a** Cat that can rap fast Straight up nasty like a New Orleans lap dance Last chance to pa** on the chitterlings But act now and we can still split a thing of chicken wings Fredo Corleone, b**h kiss the pinky ring Backpack raps answer to Sam Kinison Is in your town Act like your sh** isn't brown Your highness probably piss sitting down These Eddie Brock MCs is so venomous Can't seem to picture the authenticness Trying to keep up is bad for your health It's a walk in the park, I'm photographing myself Chorus Scratching: "People round town talkin' this and that" - EPMD on "So Whatcha Sayin'"