N.o.r.e. - Thiz Iz Hip Hop lyrics

[Verse 1: Noreaga] Take soft white and turn it into tan hard That sh** is chemistry, at least a form of science I was raised by the wolves but the dogs my alliance My hood used to call me "Papi Shoot-a-lot" Cause all I really did was sell coke and just shoot a lot Increase the crime rate every time I drop a new tape in the Tri-State My stick Pyrex n***as getting shot up and locked up for directs Hand-to-hand, that was something I enjoyed to do I told my workers nine-to-five I'm employing you You could do the nine-to-five or the ten-to-six I'm twenty five-eight, holmes, that's my shift Them n***as out of bounds like a referee I'm a chef with the coke, no recipe I could show you to your grave, that's your destiny So them so-called shooters don't mess with me [Hook: Noreaga] This is hip-hop, this is how it's supposed to sound Don't dance to it, just hear the sound Nah, you can't dougie to this You could only get high and get gully to this [Verse 2: Noreaga] See, I'm a bodybuilder with the fly sh** I spit Change my whole sculpture, rose wine exquisite Nore's the hurricane, cold like a blizzard Sodom, Gomorrah, Expedition Ford Explorer Cover me, lay low This help when we play God Cocaine on steroids, call the sh** A-Rod New York play yard, painting like Pica**o This sh** colossal, spit like Soppo Catch me in a Tahoe, G-Shock rubber watch Newport smoker, Googoun drinker f** your vest, n***a, cause I'm aiming for your thinker What up to all my n***as hand-to-hand in the morning Doing it, yeah, and got it locked like a vice grip What up to all my n***as that's scrambling on the night shift The night life with the right white White tops got colors like Mike & Ikes [Hook] [Verse 3: Bumpy Knuckles] Talk stupid out your a**, I'll blast No cash, free throwing, Steve Nash So fast, see blowing b**h n***a, you scared, Deebowing That bum don't stop, he keep going Leave you dead in your birthday suit From downstairs I shoot Through the roof, bada bing, through the California King Put the money on the table It's mine, n***a, you boxed in Freddie Foxxx and Noreaga, the locked-in Goons on the Voltron, turning the volts on .45 Colts on, military coats on Hip-hop general, .38 snub by the genitals That's spitting; no casing, defacing Got green like Boston You're a team Ben Rothman Once I leave you in the coffin, shot [Hook]