Time ta Get Dirty by JR Ewing Lyrics
(Chorus)
People! Time to get dirty! (3x)
Work what you bore now (3x)
(Repeat Once)
I used to be a petty pebble bipper
Now I got a mic with the turntable mixer
Six foot star, you could call me big dipper
Big mu-fricker, we should pull it from my zipper --
YES SIR!
You couldn't see cheese with the picture
Better off posin' as a hamburger fixer
FLIPPER!
Hush! I'll call you like I see ya, you'ze a Tupac clone
Daddy Tupac gone! Fella, answer yo phone!
Hound dogs' callin, Call her ecka-lecka baller and a stunna
You'ze a staller, I'm a hot water, cornbread, chicken eating
Classic, with rhymin pickles snicker, you gon' know now ---- (NIGGA)
(Repeat Chorus)
Now, heads only knew what I felt about this rap game
I tell 'em, ain't going out (going out)
And all you bustas, with these little boy gimmicks in this rap game, you can't be from the South (From the South!)
I'm giving left jabs, left hooks, overhead rights, followed by
Uppercut, turning out your lights, its' the king of the ring
Coming next to Slanger, skill and technique, '04 mania
I'm deep in the trenches, training for months, I'm like the prize fighter dawg, ain't no Hollywood Stunts, I'm a Griswold, fella
R-E-N-I, Starsky and Hutch, 3-50 clutch nigga!
(Repeat Chorus)
Riff
Work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work what you bore now, work what you bore now
Repeat Riff
People! Time to get dirty! (3x)
Work what you bore now (3x)
(Repeat Once)
I used to be a petty pebble bipper
Now I got a mic with the turntable mixer
Six foot star, you could call me big dipper
Big mu-fricker, we should pull it from my zipper --
YES SIR!
You couldn't see cheese with the picture
Better off posin' as a hamburger fixer
FLIPPER!
Hush! I'll call you like I see ya, you'ze a Tupac clone
Daddy Tupac gone! Fella, answer yo phone!
Hound dogs' callin, Call her ecka-lecka baller and a stunna
You'ze a staller, I'm a hot water, cornbread, chicken eating
Classic, with rhymin pickles snicker, you gon' know now ---- (NIGGA)
(Repeat Chorus)
Now, heads only knew what I felt about this rap game
I tell 'em, ain't going out (going out)
And all you bustas, with these little boy gimmicks in this rap game, you can't be from the South (From the South!)
I'm giving left jabs, left hooks, overhead rights, followed by
Uppercut, turning out your lights, its' the king of the ring
Coming next to Slanger, skill and technique, '04 mania
I'm deep in the trenches, training for months, I'm like the prize fighter dawg, ain't no Hollywood Stunts, I'm a Griswold, fella
R-E-N-I, Starsky and Hutch, 3-50 clutch nigga!
(Repeat Chorus)
Riff
Work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work what you bore now, work what you bore now
Repeat Riff