Ste. For Reefer
Written by: Michael Turner & Christopher Portugal
[Double K:]
Yo, live from the West Coast of cornrows and locstas
Live from the bus stop, smell the weed aromas
The Double and Thes, so fresh, we right back
In the lab, in the street, make the cyph...
[Double K:] Ay-yo, man, fuck all that smooth shit! Mothafuckas know who we are, man. Let's get into some of this rough b-boy shit right here, man. Turn that beat up! [echoes]
[Thes One:] ...-thletics, head rush, bussin' Jerome Bettis
You rappers dressed up babies, you belong with Anne Geddes in a sunflower
My gunpowder is sun-powered to run cowards right out the saloon
And soon shower with them Acid Raindrops, man, you know the P, we do it
It's Happy Hour at the bar and drinkin' like a Druid
'Cause I came here with stupid and we came to get stupid
Double, grabbed a dumb record out the crate and straight looped it
Same as it ever was, like the Talking Heads
Been rockin' hip-hop shows since the crowd had all dreads
But now we Walking Dead, talkin' 'bout "get the lead out!"
Man, who gives a damn what I said? Let me hear you shout
Man, y'all rappers ain't gettin' paid, least not enough to sell out
The duo hit the stage, and the front row yell out:
("DOUBLE KAAAAYY!") Hmmmm... that's who I came with
The People Under The Stairs still bringin' that real shit
Man, y'all rappers ain't gettin' paid, least not enough to sell out
The duo hit the stage, and the front row yell out:
("DOUBLE KAAAAYY!") That's who I came with
The People Under The Stairs still bringin' that real shit, man, y'all...
[Double K:]
Knick knack paddy whack, give a rapper a bone
Naw, don't give him nothing but a funeral home
'Cause when I'm finished with the microphone, suckas will be dethroned
I jump inside of the booth with the wreck of Al Capone
Gunboat diplomacy describes the way I transcribe anger to paper
Got brothas catchin' the vapors like: ([Rap sample:] Nigga, please, you work for UPS!)
You outta here like doobiest, I'm sure your mother told you "do your best"
But you didn't listen, now you stuck with them wack rhymes
A father's ass-whippin' and them dishes in the kitchen
Y'all choir boys, and I'm the reverend on coke
Even if you voted for him, I'm sorry, yo, there's no hope
Just yellow tape, smartphones on the floor
With that last line you wrote that was dumb as a whore
Your homies all scattered, family members are sobbin'
Next time you see the Mike and the Chris, we steady mobbin'
[Scat sample:] Shoo doo, doop a doo doo
Shoo doo, doop a doo doo
Shoo doo, doop a doo doo
Boop a doo doo, doop a doop a doo (x2)
Shoo doo, doop-...
[Thes One:]
The P MPC music make emtpy street anthems
My tape keep blastin', holdin' your system ransom
Hot box, handsome on a hill, watchin' night lights stretch
A Los Angeles journalist like Fletch
Somewhat shy of midnight in the city of dreams
I design rhymes similar to Eames
Banana leaf parables written on loose leafs
Extraordinary thought inside of ordinary wreaths
Made of vinyl hangin' on spindles, 33s spinnin'
Like Mr. Wendel on Nintendo in your room winnin'
"(Fuck!) Who let the bums in here!" the industry screams
"They fuckin' smell like beer!" accomplishing dreams
Lead by example, lead by a sample
LEED certified, I recycle out the landfill
Lost U.S. culture, just Baby Boomer thoughts
Stetsa said if we didn't, ([Rap sample:] people could've forgot!)
I'm talkin' all that jazz, psych rock, even prog
Analog underdogs, reppin' city of smog
If I made a million dollars, wouldn't pop a Cristal
Six pack of Sessions, share that shit with my pals
Ay-yo, I'm out...
[Man #1:] The hell are you doing to my car?
[Man #2:] Hey, beat it, spook. This don't concern you.
[Man #3:] Who you callin' "spook", peckerwood?
[Man #4:] Hey, hey, listen guys... Look, I don't wanna mess with no reefer addicts, okay?
[Man #3:] Get home to your mama, boy!
[Man #2:] Biff! Hey, Biff!
[Man #5:] Get me outta here! Yo!
[Man #3:] Reginald, where are your keys?
[Man #5:] The keys are in the trunk...
[Double K:]
My microphone is a three-time felon with nothing to lose
Givin' suckas the blues, same color as my shoes
They only see the bottom of 'em, we standin' above 'em
With the deranged look and a wicked left hook
Rhyme like tsunami, I'm filet mignon, y'all salami
One verse from the Kidd, you cryin' for mommy
You like Tommy, man, ain't got no job
Better check a temp agent or learn how to rob
The most polished like your pop's wingtips, I mean this
The meanest Dapper Dan, loc, I'm the cleanest
Words are like velvet, definition of smooth
Clear my throat, drink a 40, make sure the crowds move
They used to call me insane, now I'm on another plane
Keepin' the piece locked, yes, yes, we don't stop
The return of Cowboy and Melle Mel, givin' 'em hell
And we don't give a fuck if the record don't sell
In control like Marley. Your crew? Hardly...
I'm like a white dude wacked on meth, riding a Harley
Hip hop's Chris Farley, except nothing can harm me
Not even the most wicked concoction of dope
Watch Jesse Jackson give up hope by these bars that I wrote
Los Angeles necktie, I hope you can cope
The beat I grope like a MILF on piff
Too swift, break in your hangout, you can call me "Biff".
([Double K:] Is anybody home, McFly? Is anybody home, McFly? Is anybody home, McFly?
[Spoken sample:] Hello? Hello? Is anybody home? Huh?
[Thes One:] Yo, yo...)
[Thes One:]
This one for ZayZay, young brothers like Bungie
Like Ramadan, dawn to dusk, I'm still hungry
I rep the end of the 110 and Peck Park
Like beer in the brown bag and blunts in the dark
We them latchkey kids, unlocked the fountain of youth
And music saved my life, Mike's too, that's the truth, man
I wouldn't lie, wouldn't die, lyrics live forever
For whomever, a monument like Shuttle Endeavour
In science center my position right off Exposition and Coliseum
The P collect per diem when you see 'em
Being nothing but themselves, bro, nothing to hide
Took this L.A. shit worldwide, jump in the ride and slide with me
Honestly, I'mma be homily, a rappin' anomaly
Probably should've retired by now, wow
Career like a turtle's life span, and I stay slammin' the mic stand
From here to BumFuck, Japan... oh sayonara
Been turned up since ([Rap sample:] okay, Si Gitarra)
Man, motherfuck Drake, I had a Georgetown starter
That I fuckin' got jumped for, I got it for Christmas
But growin' up in L.A., weakest link'll get dismissed
Wore my lower-middle class like a Red Badge Of Honor
You're a goner... Your Honor, I'm guilty, too damn filthy
We the P, motherfuck, don't expect me to go
Yell, 'cause without the P, your shit is just hi_ ho_
[Spoken sample:] Uh... okay, Biff. Well, I'll, uh... I'll finish that on up tonight, and then I'll, uh... bring it over first thing tomorrow morning.
Trivia:
- None yet.
This track appears on the following releases:
- 12 Step Program (2014) (LP, Cassette & CD) - PUTS Records (PL7015)
