Kool Keith - sh** Expands lyrics

Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens Manhattan, Staten Island Keith! In the house [Kool Keith] It ain't about the b**h with a wig like she comin from China Y'all fronted in rented Benzes with Avis on 'em No breakfast, I'm goin home, f** Chelsea or diner Let the guys with the chrome buckets expose the cuffs, be a co-signer I'm in your a** man, close like your Starter jacket liner Dr. J sharper, plug your a**hole up with a tub stopper Your wife's a New York City Breaker Your baby's mom is a pop-locker, know the metropolitan area Custodian n***a, you sanitation worker sh** cleaner Floor mopper, look down on the city with binoculars Piss out at choppers Defecate 80 thousand feet in the air I flip your small game, take your small urban territory Put the street in the air My sh** rise, increase like subway fare Scuffle your dinner wear Your sneaker line ain't makin it, I piss on four pair You know the big-head boy from the projects, retarded motherf**er You know you be in child care, you better stay there Your crew get picked up with sh**ty diapers from daycare Your foe be his crib d**h The top rappers receive hot dogs up they a**, they get F Mark flush the toilet, you sh** next Expand your stomach range with tummy pains sh** in the back of your Bentley when it rains Leave your wooden panels with sh** stains Throw the turds out the windows Watch them bounce in the carpool lanes Hot 97 [Chorus: repeat 4X] The sh** expand, over your Jacob the diamond watch The penis is loose, we piss in your hand [Mark Live] Yo... yo where's the block at? Uhh They say 106th & Park is on, I'm mad, f** it it's on I haven't heard a hard record in years, uhh Everybody dancin, Harlem Shakin, strip Free naked And put a pole up, and watch the ratings go up And if AJ steps, take his Jacob and slap off the makeup I'm in the crowd like Lee Malvo, with a sniper rifle A hockey mask, a butcher knife Yo who knows what I'll do They sellin dreams with a rap battle - uh-huh Look - yeah - you rappers are kids, and rappin with a rap rattle ... nobody ever comes out - that's right No twelve inches, no fires, no jets Early retired, no links No chains, no videos, no baguettes - uhh "Don't Speak," uh-huh - I'm gettin Gwen Stefani She's tossed up, sellin p**y like every week So don't fight me - uhh, you can hype me - that's right I'm liable to go out with a terrorist style I'm liable to flow out with a terrible style Viacom bought you (s**ers) I'm outta here n***a I'm changin the dial [Kool Keith] Hot 97 [Chorus] [Kool Keith] No more cars and sh**, we suicide bombers n***a, walk up in your radio station We get gas from the gas station n***a You better ask public relations, blow out your DJ booth With hats off, like motherf**in Dr. Seuss No buckets, strictly bombs under the North Face goose Caught you with acid baby We put it in your motherf**in orange juice f** a turned up cap How bout a burnt up motherf**in baseball cap With a whack-a** rap We detonate with three sticks of dynamite through your turntables Blow out your a** crack You ain't the motherf**in pimp, you ain't the motherf**in mack Review this right, you gon' drink a daquiri Are you gon' come back to me Are you gon' get smacked from me f** around look how you act to me... b**h... Hot 97 [Chorus]