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Absolom - Текст песни St. Louis Alumni
* Jewely, M.K., Penelope, Kujo, Mic Checker, Boogee Mann, Suga Chi, 
 King Jacob, Iceberg, Foundation, Storm, West Stone, Goobee Thug & Fister
 (Intro: Ali)
 Check it out, my name is Ali
 I roll with them Lunatics
 You know us, know what I'm sayin'
 But what you might not know
 Is we got a lot of MC's in St. Louis
 So we gon' do it like this
 First up we got my man Jewely!!!
 (Jewely)
 Now what's a grand finale
 If you ain't drinkin' grams in Cali? El Caminos on toners
 Hotel Nico with Mona, weed from Pamona
 And any ghetto catch this St. Louis nigga on the corner
 My persona known to leave rappers in a coma
 So faggotts stop the grinnin', them chrome rims reflect
 The hate in your face as you see em spinnin'
 MC's are screamin', "No mo' shoutouts" through nine innin's
 I'm drama, like two baby mommas and one pendin'
 This here rapper split up your vest, cause the shit I'm packin' Dawg'll 
 knock your heart out your chest
 Rappers suffer from cardiac arrest
 If I'm uncomfortable I dump a few
 You niggas are actin' like, I won't send em to the afterlife
 This is Judah Zor, a hard act to follow
 Murderous clique nigga, known as desperado.
 (Ali)
 Up next, Hillsdale representative
 My nigga M.K.!!!
 (M.K.)
 You knew what time it was soon as you stepped in the door
 Bitches gigglin' and pointin', and whisperin', "There he go!"
 Where he go? Me I be loungin' between the ice
 Sippin' Don P with a dime piece right!
 Whisperin' in my ear about menage a trois
 Us and her partners, El Passe panties and bras
 Freaky deaky baby I'm lovin' that
 Dig the way that you think, them your partners?
 Get them a drink, shit one bitch was strippin'
 Cause she didn't get picked, but baby
 We roll with time, it's only rippin' the six, trick
 Minutes later nigga rollin' four deep
 Them bitches tonguin' in the back
 I'm gettin' some head up in the frontseat
 She like, "I got this" you control the cockpit
 While her partners in the back sixety-ninin' tradin' cock spit.
 (Ali)
 Up next, we got that hazel-eyed heartthrob
 Miss Fo' Reel, Penelope!!!
 (Penelope)
 Hot like fire, makin' these niggas yearn
 Don't be stressin' me dirty, you got shit to learn
 How to keep these seven zeroes that's my only concern
 Put a torch to these hoes, make these bitches burn
 Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit
 Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip
 Don't make me put a lump on your lip
 A dip in your hip, I'm snatchin' your shit
 I want it all so give me it
 Am I a Luna-chic? Uh huh, I'm a looney bitch
 More deadly than the venom that some anacondas spit
 The Marilyn Monroe, of the ghetto
 I'm a sucker for cornrows, niggas in Timbos hey
 (I got old Timbos mama, let me, let me, can I hit that?)
 Oh Lord, look nigga (C'mon mama let me hit that)
 Get the fuck on out of my face talkin' all that
 Old silly ass bullshit.
 (Ali)
 Up next, Kujo!!!
 (Kujo)
 Niggas hate me cause I'm nice in the game
 And got a style priceless like ice in the chain
 Aiyyo so who am I? I'm the best to ever spit
 I got that, "Hot Shit" like I'm Nelly and the Tics
 I pop a hot block dodge the cops and the dics
 Cause they want me gone, been in the game too long
 Here's how you want it, you come with guns nigga
 We cock two, got work? I comp too
 Block one, we pop two
 For the love for my family, and my seed
 Makin' sure them records live on, from now until infinity
 I'm from the 34, live in 3D
 Southsiiiiiiide, hot boy like I'm Figi
 Spit the truth til I die, give a fuck you niggas sick of me
 No matter what the fuck you faggotts do
 You can't get rid of me.
 (Ali)
 Peace, to my cousin Trife, up next
 The one and only Mic Checker!!!
 (Mic Checker)
 St. Louis, what you know bout high-grade we wastin' it?
 What you know bout 76 pounds to break down in the basement?
 What you know bout chances enough Air Course
 Suitcases and pretty pictures out in Lambert Air Port?
 What you know bout losin' count cause there's so many stacks?
 How many niggas can say shit like this
 But there's truth in the tracks?
 What you know bout clicked up nigga? Out the country whilin'
 How many you niggas done had pussy from the Virgin Islands?
 What you know bout your broad beggin' to be my mama?
 Lunatics and Skunk dick player up in Trulany
 What you know bout mo' bail? We brolic like Brutis
 Come for them, everyday and my clique's all exclusive
 What you know bout Spanish Town? Amongst the gun clappers
 Buff they penis soup head still on my red snapper.
 (Ali)
 One love to PL-Spin
 Naw you know, up next Boogee Mann!!!
 (Boogee Mann)
 Well Mr. B-double-O-G what? M-A-double-N
 I smoke joke and grin, and fuck your best friend
 Only if she a ten, then I slide right in
 Boogee and DJ Spin, be thunder and lightenin'
 Damn that's frightenin, so tuck your vest in
 My lyrical Mack-10, spit flows that kill men
 It's the Midwest y'all, we aimin' at all y'all
 We the ball til we fall or it's nothin' at all
 So just warm up the water, cause we Blink like Trotter
 Half-baked half slaughter, comin' like Vince Carter
 How you want it head or cut? We in the back of the truck
 Tryin' to see if baby girl can make me bust this nut
 Cause I'm 24 inches above the gun creek
 Get these hoes deep, so you pack yo heat.
 (Ali)
 What up Spud? Up next representin' V.I.P.
 King Jacob and Suga Chi!!!Absolom - St. Louis Alumni - http://ru.motolyrics.com/absolom/st-louis-alumni-lyrics.html
 (Suga Chi)
 Microphones I burn bitches to whom it may concern with this
 Gotta learn this is to all my foes
 Them baby mommas swervin' Neons and Geos
 Cause they nigros to peep my steelo
 In a ??? ready for war, suited and booted
 Undisputed dame, been the same, in the game
 Since my Tenants had fat laces, smack faces
 With Tipsy (Ouch) intoxicated feel it bitch
 You gettin' thrown out of clubs ever time you see me.
 (King Jacob)
 Uugh, everybody want to be street
 Guaranteed they bring the most heat
 And swear to God ain't nothin' sweet
 I agree, but I also feel I ain't got to prove shit
 To do it to them punk ass niggas from your click
 I fuck hoes that be so thick, when I roll you know this
 And them twenty inch chrome rims sit so sick
 Motorola shit for communication, this is to aid my flows
 Take over the whole nation.
 (Ali)
 Iceberg!!!
 (Iceberg)
 It's the nigga the player that keeps it duplicated
 Or faded in no type of way, hate it if you like
 But you can't stop us gettin' paid
 Unless you sabotage the stage, or drop us in a place we stand
 And then you have to worry bout your whole state
 We made it now the legacy's forever more
 Style be forever raw, heaven or hell
 I'll stay forever S-T-L
 Catch me down down baby, in a black Humvee
 Comin' to get my fuckin' corner back for Nelly, (E.I.!)
 My fuckin' record sales were barely, (Uh Ohhhhhhhhh!)
 Now there's nothin' they can tell me
 What I do is always too late, for the Louie
 See how you fools respond to these bomb frees
 Bigger Big Lee released all these beats
 And everytime we do what's fuckin' million ???
 And come to answer their question of how come I-C-E-B-G
 Gon become part of this Alumni nigga
 (Ali)
 All the way from the Cle-Town we got my man E
 Hella (Louie Town) Foundation!!!
 (Foundation)
 You never met a four, better with metaphors
 Metal for whores, like Tiger's metal four
 Shit, that's what I met her for, strictly city
 Thick cliques mixed with Big Lee
 Can't disturb, stand clap hands dance and swerve
 For the spot where nobody else should fix a hand or word
 E-Perior bless, since we all wreck mic checks
 You guess me on, Midwest be songs, and testin' Jones
 F with the best be gone, no quest-ion
 School yard parties, fourty-four-four
 Seventy West and East, don't get it F in streets
 Style shows like sandals, pumps get handled
 Dismantled, St. Louis is Tony Soprano
 No two, heffers with blow poor, ghetto mo' gurr
 Blow bolo get fooled around the clock.
 (Ali)
 Up next, we got two live MC's
 My man Storm and his home' West Stone.
 (Storm)
 You can't fuck with Storm, six niggas in the truck with Storm
 You want to jack him, but you won't got no luck with Storm
 My dirty run with dirty niggas and he from St. Lou
 Plus he know Kung-Fu, and he got guns too
 That big dick dude, that flip kick fools like Tom Cruise
 You don't wanna battle me dude you gon' lose
 Hit you with one-two's, your lungs bruised
 My foot in the butter so many crews call me doo-doo shoes.
 (West Stone)
 You know Stone is known to break them bones
 Meet your chick and take her home
 Get one chick and make her moan
 And you wonder why these niggas hate the Stone
 Broke their backs, when I wrote the raps
 Nigga don't drink I'll smoke to that
 Niggas hopin' that, I'll take a bow
 Want to take my life? Better take it now
 I'm still alive let me break it down
 Turn this shit to the O.K. Corral
 Get to blastin', whippin' asses
 Forget that talk shit, I'm with the action
 Want to make it hot? I'ma bring the heat
 Ain't no nigga that can hang with me.
 (Ali)
 Up next we got Goobee Thug
 The rhyme spitter!!!
 (Goobee Thug)
 We gon' get two seats recline and lean harder
 X, smoke green, and buy the spring water
 Y'all niggas polish your jewels to bling harder
 I cock the fifth, y'all drop your shit
 Type of nigga rob you to cop the whip
 Catch me, on 23's with a boxter-twist
 See the rocks twinkle twinkle right in front of your eyes
 I shine brighter than the sun in the skies
 Got a gun on my waist, got one in your eye
 And I stays blowin' haze and that Chocolate Thai
 Y'all smoke swag weed that's brown with seeds in it
 I hustle from first to first through seasons
 And you gotta accept this, I ball like the Celtics
 A. Walker, shake you up
 And I have Ted Foster to make you up.
 (Ali)
 Up next from the Rawkus Crew
 My homeboy Fister!!!
 (Fister)
 I'm the man before time, move hands before time
 Like Don Bluth I made The Land Before Time
 Some MC's think they're nice, but not hardly
 That's what they "Say Say Say" like Paul McArtney
 And Michael Jackson, I cypher the action
 To anyone who assists like John Packson
 Who these kids think they is tryin' to act all wild
 They temporary like members of Destiny's Child
 I'm spottin' the top Feds, poppin' the hot lead
 All in his pothead, makin' him drop dead
 Call me Shanksoon, lyrically snatchin' your soul
 Your squad's useless, like the right arm on Bob Dole
 Behold, the manifold of a black Aristotle
 Roadkillin' MC's, with my hand on the throttle
 Smashin' em all, mashin' em all, bashin' em all
 Picked up my Friday check cashin' em all










