Get Up Get Down

[Featuring Malika Shorty Leek Ratt PS Ras Kass WC] 
Verse One: Malika 
Steppin up out the shadows I comes equipped to wreck 
Hold up just a sec Coolio I'm on deck (Malika) 
Yeap the diction is on point 
Causin friction when I flex up the jaw to hit the joint 
That can actually give a blood mob like Gotti 
Like the body cool keep the strap up by the naughties 
Niggie trippin why you beam us I don't step up with no bullshit 
See that there it's clip for this stickup on the hip 
Peep the correct way to get your pimp on 
Let me hit the bong oh and my mind's quite strong 
Wreck it nice and proper if it's on I'm finsta to stop her 
If I'm swingin for the knockout, best believe I'm fits to drop her 
Ninety-five's on poppin, representin I keep stompin 
Throw up my fists just like this when I'm mobbin 
Verse Two: Shorty 
I killed the last, killed the ass, with my ninety-five drive 
I'm deep like Denzel with my Crimson Tide, nigga 
Like Chaka Khan, I tell you something good 
I'm Hi-C like Spike Lee within Tales From the Hood 
You need it, I'll feed it, baby check the size 
Have you Goin' Down like Mary J. Blige 
When it's poppin like this, you can't be a coward 
Shorty freaks fuckin beats like Adina Howard 
My squad is hard, with players, and hustlers 
No toleration, for fakers and busters 
Fuckin with me with all honesty 
You get bombed rap songs comin constantly 
Bumpin G-15's, Westside scene 
Killin the competition, while making a fuckin green 
So ring, around the rosie, and mosey to the Rosie 
And I want you to know G 
Chorus: 
We bust and cuss and kick up dust 
Don't none of y'all niggaz want to fuck with us 
So what's the time? It's time to get real 
Why you bust your rhyme? Cause I got skills 
We bust and cuss and kick up dust 
Don't none of y'all niggaz want to fuck with us 
So what's the time? It's time to get real 
Why you bust your rhyme? Cause that's how I bail 
Verse Three: Leek Ratt (of 40 Thevz) 
Watch me, swallow this nickel and shit five pennies 
I'm the loc'est of them all though the rat is kinda skinny 
How many linny and squidgy think they can see me? 
I'm from Compton where even in the summer niggaz wear beanies 
Bustin lyrics sharper than razor blades catch it from head to toe 
if you're shocked, then amazed, when you see me at my stage show 
For my stage show beat em up 
40 Thevz gettin busy rockin coast to coast 
Dogs the most rap the hoes then rocks em up 
Givin it up for hip-hop vicitims how should I drop em and then pop em 
for poppin like to get what I got, and I ain't got a whole lot of 
nuthin 
cuz I been ruffin and scuffin so give it up when I'm bustin or get to 
duckin 
cuz I ain't given em nuthin 
Fools can't get none, so fuck em! 
Verse Four: PS 
Let me rock the motherfuckin mic 
Smoke a whole stick of dynamite, then fight all night 
I got jabs like a welterweight champion 
The pocket-pincher purse-snatcher pistol-packin 
quick to get it crackin 
Went from jackin to rappin to runnin with a pack of mad men 
Pull a trick out my sleeve like Aladdin 
Some fool tried to play me for a punk I had to have him like 
lunch or dinner, he's just a beginner 
Fuckin with a winner, number one contender top dog 
Head nigga in charge runnin with a group of hogs 
40 Thevz, MAAD Circle, Cat, and Crowbar 
Best to put your daughter 
Wack ass rappers get tossed up 
Trying to come in here with that garbage 
My crew see the dopest and the hardest 
So clear the path or get your punk ass Bogart-ed 
Chorus 1/2 
Verse Five: Ras Kass 
I peep game and get recognized, buyin all the hard liquor 
toothpick and beedy-dyin 
Bitch you got dealt, peeled your cap the other way 
like a reversible Louis-Vitton Gucci belt 
And ain't nothin crackin 
For them niggaz steppin up with the funk I'm packin Tinactin 
Cause I be earnin stripes in tight bunches 
All the homies carry nines I carry rhymes in sucker punches 
What? Tootsie, my knees don't bend 
Just like that actor Hoffman I be Dustin off men often 
Jaywalkin over your coffin with an eleven shot loss and 
John wrecked that Austin won't soften you're lost and 
see arson, to exterminate the flyest nigga like Orkin 
Stalkin lofts men to New York and in between 
so take caution, leave the flossin for dental hygeine 
Mental plus my gene equals nasty young bastard 
The raps be lung mastered takin vinyl's virginity 
Coincidentally I run shit like Walter Payton 
Niggaz player hatin cause I spoke like a Dayton 
I kick the bass like Ron Carter at the Carter when 
C and B came strollin 
Blowin niggaz up like when Mookie's stupid ass got caught smokin 
Figure, your stigma is lack of enigma 
So bitch-ass niggaz better step, like the Delta Sigma Thetas 
Verse Six: Coolio 
We don't give a fuck, fools better duck 
39 deep in the back of Wino's truck 
Like robbin in the paint, fool think I ain't? 
Your crew is on stank, that's why I'm pullin rank 
I rev like a motor float ON like a boat to 
kick a style like Tical from here to North Dakota 
The ambassador of funk with amps in the trunk 
And when it's time to rock a mic I won't be no punk 
I bring death to the evil and power to the people 
My name ain't Steve Miller but I Fly Like an Eagle 
Don't play me for a chump, I get around like Gump 
And I, got more con in my verse than Chuck 
And you don't want no motherfuckin problems here 
Cuz I can round up a posse like Paul Revere 
Your whole crew'll get took out, turned out, shook out 
Burned up like a cookout, so fools better look out 
Verse Seven: WC 
Fresh out the penalty box 
Sportin a stockin cap, cut off dickies, and some high-top striped 
socks 
The freestyle finatic pyschosomatic back at it causin static 
with lyrics still as tight as a straight jacket 
The last in line but one of the first to get wit cha 
bringin more terror to MC's than a Michigan militia 
Click click boom, nigga fuck your crew 
It's the chanky hip-hopper, takin over pissin in your stage monitor 
socket you think that you can fuck with mine in your wildest dreams 
You best to wake up and apoligize 
Niggaz penetentiary yearn me cuz I, burn like Parker 
but anyway, half of y'all couldn't see me with a pair of Blu Blockers 
The lyrical night stalker stalkin at night in a pair of creased Khakis 
Chuck Taylors, my pistol grip tight 
Dub-C, that nigga from Westside MAAD Circle 
Ay man! Ay ay. 
What's up Wino? 
Uh like loc, it's like late, let's get the fuck up out of here 
Are we out? 
Yeah yeah fuck it 
Fuck it, MAAD Circle bitch!