Peanut Butter Wolf - Styles, Crews, Flows, Beats lyrics

Loot Pack in the place for the 1998 to the year 2000 You, your crew and we We're forced to break you down 'til your eyes can see 'Til the day comes when you feel that sonic drum Your dogs can't speak, cause the cat got your tongue (Repeat) [Verse One: Wild Child] LP, what's up you cerebellum at a hella rate Tell 'em wait You're not gonna see me kick thirty freestyle lines And watch your a** regenerate Lines I rejuvenate, jack elevates Levels so thick, so you can't even tell your fate When my freestyle rhymes starts to accelerate I'll step back in the b-boy stance Style will stop innovate 75% of signed n***as who can't participate Waiting for the right time to rain on n***as, come and precipitate Damn, I hate two-faced brothers always agitate First thought, put your head on the mantle And watch it decapitate I rhyme early, like Laverne and Shirley You're rapping late Sport a 'L' on my chest Can your elegantness rapulate, jack infiltrates On all you wack n***as who manipulate Brothers irritate, watch a likwit emcee step up and irrigate Still I wait for the right time, when Wild Child's feelin' great Hungry, cause I got the munchies, and my rhyme style still ain't ate L's in the airs, sisters yellin' Loot to the Pack Closin' up and illin' and searchin' brothers right to the back Before my rap attacks, your wack style sends you back And all ya' hear from the crowd is "We wanna' hear Cracker Jack!" I kick a freestyle, brothers know I don't come wack Ya' already clappin' that, a dope-a** Madlib track Matter of fact, Wild Child known to pick up the slack Known to pick up a wack emcee straight by the neck Ask him why he rap Cause I might tightly strap you in a seat To win a trip straight to the Boombap [Break] Style, if it wasn't for the style It would be hard for me to show my culture profile What about the crew? If it wasn't for the crew It would be, only lonely me, payin' dues Don't forget the flow, if it wasn't for the flow Possibly, how could I suppose I could rock the shows What about the beats? The beats.......... [Verse Two: Quasimoto and Madlib] Quasimoto It's Mad Lib, the bad kid, watch out DJ Romes, Peanut bu*ter Wolf From this Stones Throw era Yo' we bringin' it, West Coast How we do? Mad Lib [Mad Lib] We drop sh** like some architects Spark and get, lit to make some underground hits Madlib, the bad kid, we drop original Precise, conceptual, house of wood, innovation nine thousand We keep in business like Erick and Parrish Have you hype like '89 like we buggin' on Terrence Sometimes on the low-pro, styles like the no show I'm comin' from the 'O', What we do? [Quasimoto] The Quas, representin' Quasimoto Peanut bu*ter's on the drum set I grab the mic to run rec I'll have you hype like illegal gun sets Plus the Beat Conductor got my back Attack, whenever, whoever You wanna test me? Be bold and don't cry The bad character you see up on the screen We keep it clean, like a diamond ring Or dirty like a one-night fling (Quas and Lib) You gots to let us do our thing We droppin' loops with static cling While we steppin' on the scene It's the Loop digga' Man, it's the Loop digga' My n***a Yo', it's the Loop digga' The Quas and the Pack and it's peace like Greece For fried chicken (two million) or for Astro black sticken' n***as talkin' sh**? Yo' watch the plot thicken I'll leave y'all s**as wit yo' auditory sicken ( We put a curse on you) Like Wild Man fisher If it's trouble in the West We'll bring back the juice like we're Bishop I'll smack yo' b**h up, like a pimp And it's low-high And your whole zoo could get revved up, and that's no lie Quasimoto and the Pack, we keep it raw like s** Mic check on the sets