Swung It, Blunted, Brung It – Daddy-o – letras

1- « my style is fat, so i swung it, bluntedThe riggedy ruffneck brooklyn nigga brung it » -> das efxRepeat 1 (4x)[daddy-o]Yo rick, bring yo’ ass home..The sounds of my voice make the honies wanna flipAnd the flow of my phrase make you have no choice to get witThere used to be a stetsa, comin out to get yaSo beware; takin it to your punk-ass like (uhh uhh)Take two to the gutI come to kick a scrumpdelicious bone out your buttYou’re funkin with the o-dad; and yo, guess whatI got a rhyme and i’m puttin it where the monkey put his nutsRaggin on you wannabe-a-screamer mc’sAnd all you diggity das triple-toungin wannabe’sWho just don’t have the fat flavor for the funkAnd just in what i heard – you lack the spunkAnd you lack the style, and you lack the poiseAnd all you mc’s sound like little boysActin like hardrocks, starin in my faceBack up off me ‘fore i put you in your place!I’m the same brother that likes +sally walk+ and i’ma »bad motherfucker from east new york »You see me callin them shots like i’m jimmy the greekAnd when you see me on the street i make a heart skip a beat!!2- « my style is fat, so i swung it, blunted » -> das efxRepeat 2 (2x) + repeat 1 (1x)Repeat 2 (2x) + repeat 1 (1x)[daddy-o]Ride along with the wave cause my tides never endDippin through curves as i come around the bendFeedin you the floor, without johnny gillAnd get you all messy like your drink when it spillI got that nat-urally legitimate dopeBeing slung by the (??) coast to coastAnd it’s so cold, i’m callin it winteryIf you don’t understand you must be thinkin elementary..Badder than this it don’t comeAnd you get strung from my ability to blast like a gunSo what’s for dinner hon?Beats breaks and funk-fritters; punches and hard-hittersBut you don’t wanna go that waySo my advice to you, is that you pu-puh-parlayAnd bring it on back to the streetTurntables microphone and dope.. beatsCause it ain’t no secret to it blackAnd the only rule is don’t be wackAnd you best stay out of my pathOr i’ma haveta put this size nine in yo’ assSo i’m keepin it – on and on and onAnd you know why you’re movin up cause it’s a rap songMy years in the game equal about elevenAnd when i die, i’m goin straight to hip-hop heavenWith mc trouble and cowboy rockin the micAnd (??) playin the drums so the beats are tightCuts courtesy of subroc and scott larockPeace to trouble t-roy, ya don’t stop!Repeat 2 (2x) + repeat 1 (1x)Repeat 2 (2x) + repeat 1 (1x)Repeat 1 (4x)[daddy-o]So now you think you know me; and maybe you rememberI was in a group and we had six membersWe freaked (fake??), and saw +sally walkin+Spoke with +susie+ and had the +jazz talkin+But now it’s kinda different, rap is gettin trickyGettin all commercial like watchin mork and mindyNiggaz writin rhymes – thinkin of the videoBut even a good video don’t make a good song do it? (no!)So back to the food on my plateI’m comin at you non-stop and there’s no escapeSo whether i’m schoolin neighborhoods on how to speak and actOr coolin with my homeboys, smokin chunky blackI give a little heart-beat heart-beat pumpAnd watch the whole dance floor shake that rumpTo the sounds of the o-dad ridin the funkAnd it sho’ sound good comin out yo’ trunkWatch me as i pump like a fist in a fightAnd get you all strung like a fiend on a crackpipeWith the sureshot, not that bull-shitCause the daddy-o sound is legit – beeeeotch!!!!Repeat 2 (2x) + repeat 1 (1x)Repeat 2 (2x) + repeat 1 (1x)[daddy-o]Yo i’d like to give a big up to run-d.m.c.The unknown ruffnecks.. and dj kiilu