Текст и слова песни Mystikal – 13 Years
19 nigga 7, bitch what's happenin?
Chorus:
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
So bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
This ain't no fluke, this pure deep talent.
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
So bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
[Verse 1]
Bow, when I hold the microphone and hold it
Keepin me rappin until I hoarse and swollen
Thirteen years and rollin
I rate colder than coldest
Gettin part of this, niggas don't want no more of this
Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selectin and sellin rhymes
Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine
Mad enough you screamin "It AIN'T!"
(This line whispered, can't hear)
You be pissin me off some the time, take you down one at a time
I'ma be known for fuckin over your whole album
Who want my rhyme?
Keep decling, I'ma keep climbing
Keep duckin, I'ma keep buckin
Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you bitches off me
Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..)
Hard to break, if it comes that way
It took me thirteen muthafuckin years just to make a tape
But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest
All I know I been tryin to make it for the fuckin longest
Fuck the side of all this, long as you done it
When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this bitch
Takin them riders down with me, clown with me
Leave thirteen in your muthafuckin chest and you can count em
Chorus
[Verse 2]
Nigga go pass the vibe, dividin mad this year
Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets
Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets
Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches
Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pissy mattress
Droppin like the temperature in December
Clippin em, tippin em, been writin raps far back as I can remember
Fulla them rocks, everybody move key
It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs
Handle your buisness in this industry of competition
Or be at F.W. Bulls washin dishes
Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes
Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85
86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape
We dropped some real shit in the basement
I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement
To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface
That's when I got discouraged and joined the service
Pissed of and I (?) before long
I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home
No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream
Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen
Chorus
[Verse 3]
I hit the bitch like BOSH! Owwwwww!
Never gon bounce could rap and doin time before I bow
How in the fuck you like me right now
Told your ass she had said I'd be on top of the pile
Cause my rap style is my hustle
I shot niggas up like Muslims
Chorus:
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
So bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
This ain't no fluke, this pure deep talent.
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
I know what to do to knock your stupid ass
So bad you ain't no challenge.
Thirteen muthafuckin years!
[Verse 1]
Bow, when I hold the microphone and hold it
Keepin me rappin until I hoarse and swollen
Thirteen years and rollin
I rate colder than coldest
Gettin part of this, niggas don't want no more of this
Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selectin and sellin rhymes
Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine
Mad enough you screamin "It AIN'T!"
(This line whispered, can't hear)
You be pissin me off some the time, take you down one at a time
I'ma be known for fuckin over your whole album
Who want my rhyme?
Keep decling, I'ma keep climbing
Keep duckin, I'ma keep buckin
Keepin heat seekin rhymes comin to get you bitches off me
Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..)
Hard to break, if it comes that way
It took me thirteen muthafuckin years just to make a tape
But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest
All I know I been tryin to make it for the fuckin longest
Fuck the side of all this, long as you done it
When I done it, gettin blunted bout to run this bitch
Takin them riders down with me, clown with me
Leave thirteen in your muthafuckin chest and you can count em
Chorus
[Verse 2]
Nigga go pass the vibe, dividin mad this year
Creative catastrophy, leave MCs in closed caskets
Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets
Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches
Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pissy mattress
Droppin like the temperature in December
Clippin em, tippin em, been writin raps far back as I can remember
Fulla them rocks, everybody move key
It was ghetto Djs and sucka MCs
Handle your buisness in this industry of competition
Or be at F.W. Bulls washin dishes
Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes
Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85
86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape
We dropped some real shit in the basement
I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement
To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface
That's when I got discouraged and joined the service
Pissed of and I (?) before long
I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home
No more rips in my jeans and gettin my cream
Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen
Chorus
[Verse 3]
I hit the bitch like BOSH! Owwwwww!
Never gon bounce could rap and doin time before I bow
How in the fuck you like me right now
Told your ass she had said I'd be on top of the pile
Cause my rap style is my hustle
I shot niggas up like Muslims
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