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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
[Lyrics from: https:/]
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

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