Low Profile - Comin' Straight From The Heart lyrics

Comin' from the left, now here's a little somehin' I slapped together just for you and your weak posse I dedicate it to those who don't know That I'm a maniac straight from the heart of Low Pro And for a livin' I break necks of punk chumps who slipped Matter of fact, I should bust you in the lip But nah, I ain't livin that way, so bro I rather slap you with knowledge as I go solo Hey yo, Aladdin, what's up with all these wanna-be M-i-c fake controllers takin over the scene? They don't know who I am, the young boy and yours truly Step off, new jack, you're just a new Rudy Of rap, you're bound to get slapped steppin to me Strunger than a smoker on PCP I cannot lose, I got the downest deejay in the world Aladdin break the needles while the Technics twirl Hey yo, I know there's nowadays a lotta rappers holdin a mic Wastin time but naw, they ain't hype They same old styles, yo, with the same old things And at shows the same old wack routines I like runnin on stage and clownin MC's So when you see me at a show, don't even step to me Be alert, cause the W will spin the chart You can't touch me, boy, I come straight from the heart Most MC's nowadays, they don't come from the heart They rap what the record label wants But why can't I talk about the way that I'm livin'? Yo, day by day s**ers robbin' and stealin' Bein shot at, stabbed, that ain't nothin' to me Just another damn way of l-i-f-e But then again I ain't supposed to even mention a gun Or I be charged with corruptin' the mind of a young one Yo, that's wack, what up with showbiz? Bannin' my shows cause I tell it like it is If I was rich, then I'd rap about a Lamborghini Got some pretty women in grip-tight bikinis But I ain't, like I first said from the start I'm a muthaf**a, I come straight from the heart Anxiety is buggin' me to cold get ill Grab a bat, engrave on a s**er face 'Louisville' But naw, I better chill that ain't the life to live Couple years in the county bread and water for a meal Over what? A peasy knuckleheaded MC Who doubted my ability, y'all know what I mean The kinda s**ers who brag, yo, you know who they are They make one wack record and think they a star s**ers gettin airplay, but the record ain't kickin' You punks doin' shows for Kentucky Fried Chicken Every rapper now wanna wear a clock on his neck There's one Flavor Flav, so give it a rest Hey yo, Aladdin, help me out, rip the record apart Pay attention, I come straight from the heart *Cold get stupid* Power, pat, rhymes are goin gold More soul, bro, than the Angelist David Saphro I come straight from the heart with the rhyme Givin s**ers like you and him a piece of my mind Conditioning my dome to wax and tax s**ers who're wack Where's the milk, I eat you up like applejacks To describe myself three words to tell Hm - the W is crazy as hell Back in the streets of L.A. I be rockin' And you can find Aladdin cuttin records in Compton Though we ain't from the same city, we're down You got beef with that, punk, you're bound to get clowned s**ers in line to get dissed, I'm ballin my fist Who's next up to taste some of this? Hysterical, critical, flexible lyrical?????? Yo, MC's can't hang, boy, I put em in a hospital You shoulda known from the jump or the start Every lyric I throw I come straight from the heart