No I.D. - Orange Pineapple Juice lyrics

Hand me a little bit of umm, orange pineapple juice I'mma sip on it, check it out I got a rhyme, you got a rhyme But my rhyme is better than yours (repeat 2X) U-A-C, they get they P's and No I.D., be gettin his P's and The Late Show, they get they P's and ProfessaNots, they get they P's and Peep the maneuver, how bout the Heim-lich I rhyme sick and you can get the duck, coon I'm the sh**, you're sh** out of luck, tough I'm the act to follow, housing kids like Ronald Mac like Donald Goines, flows I change like coins Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng, choyoyoyoyyyyyng I draw a crowd like blood with the 'pint of' technique And everybody there be like, "YEAH!" Cause cain't near a nig dat'll say 'Whoomp, There It Is' I'm like a mom on section 8, over-bearing kids sh** they be like, "Com-mon!" That's my muhf**a (true) Youse a hamburger, I'mma Fuddrucker Askin me to let us catch up, knowin you can't cut the mustard So where's the beef, jerky? I'm as Worthy as James, not that good with names But I do remember your face from someplace this is one taste Of Chicago, we got mo' many mo' many mo' many mo' flavors Don't just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin n***as under On the tundra, cause "they're plain, they're plain" I'm on a plateau that is fat so It's just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see How I land, I'm grand like a finale I'm goin back to Cali (why?) cause Cali got b**hes check it Aiyyo Dart this is a sickness Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da, ah-eh-da-da Dee-da-da-da-DOO-doo, dee-da-da, dee-da-da South Side, rock on and The West Side, we gotta rock on and Hey yo Chicago, we gotta rock on and The East coast, you gotta rock on and The West coast, you gotta rock on and Ah down South, you gotta rock on and Check it... "Now you can go!" Mister p**y Emcee, just get on gone Get on gone, you p**y MC! Steppin to me, with them dirty feets you'll get defeated Like Kunta Kinte, I'm kin to the Lynn crew My great, great, grandpap done been through So much it's in my hemoglobin to be a ill n***a So I figure like a father... that I'mma Turn This Mutha Out But Common you ain't hittin in New York I don't know what you thought hops, but chief I got tall props Some cats think I'm six feet I'm so deep Some stunts be thinkin I'm six-fo', my sh** be hittin like switches b**hes, ask, why my, britches, sag I ask the b**hes, "Why your titties saggin?" Put your nipple to the bottle I bust rhymes like breastses I can get down, d-d-d-down like pessimist "Ring the Alarm", I got Charm like a neck-a-lace Tell the truth, tell the truth, y'all had to move your neck to this Didn't you, didn't you... and it, and it, and it And it don't stop, bust it "Gotta crew ya better tell em" --> Keith Murray