Blase Blah Off Tha Head by Kwest Tha Madd Lad Lyrics
[Intro]
Ursula, where you at?
Ayo, Dan, where you at?
Yo, nobody in here but me and Taj
July 23rd, watch me do it, now
[Verse 1]
I flips like a stack of flapjacks from IHOP when I rock
If a foe tries to flow, I cast a glow like I was Taimak
Ease through MCs like a breeze through the trees
He who disagrees, please, hit the knees, complain to these
Well, you know the rest, but might not know Kwest, pleased to meet you
If I defeat you, least you been beaten by the best
Yo, damn skip' I be riding my own dick
Those with that fly shit up in they head, get domes swollen quick
Competition best pray for repentance, can't mention my name
Without one of these words in a sentence
Fat, live, lovely, butter, bad, nice
Nasty, wicked, raw, yeah, there's a lot of others
Don't really know where my flow comes from, yo, I just think
Open my mouth and, hmm, there it goes
On the real, to get with this, you must be fast
If your rhyme does shine like mine, I'll get some bread for your dusty ass
You better exit before it gets hectic and I start to flex, kid
And wipe a big fat booger on your best shit
I mean, how can you be expected to step up and wreck shit
When the track was fat, but your raps is anorexic?
Word to my mama, bring drama and give trauma
I'm a heavy bomber when I get a little bit of hit of marijuana
Quick to let the gun smoke, no joke, so don't provoke
Ask Gimmy how the slimmy be, 'cause Gimmy got his neck broke
Takin' props non-stops is how I operate ops
My words stick with ya and fuck with ya like some transit cops
So I suggest you find God or somethin'
'Cause like Whitney Houston said, "You have nothing, nothing
Nothing for me", I kept it clean, but it coulda got gory
You bore me, there's the door, G, period, end of story
Ooh, I like that, now let's see what else we can get into
[Vere 2]
Now, um, A is for Apple, J is for Jacks
But I got more flavor than that shit, so go get your money back
The skinny nigga's on the lam, so hold your daughter ma'am, or wham
I slice that ass so fast, you'd think it was a Christmas ham
Shit gets flam when I start to rip shop, too large to drip-drop
So I pour the malt, hundred-proof, type, um, hip-hop
Cute like a baby monkey, lyrics got to be funky
Long and lanky, kinky never stinky, don't wanna get chunky
Pump me when I get out 'cause without a di-doubt
You think I'm a maniac mobster the way I put hit after hit out
My A&R man tries to sham, he'll get his heart bit out
The company must have been constipated
'Cause it took 'em a long time to get my shit out
But now that my product's on the market
It's time for a new flame to spark it and my target is your ear
I wanna bust lyrical nuts on your drum
And I'll be cummin' on your brain cells when I cum
Word up, sometimes I swear to God I think I'm a nut
The type to walk into a room full of diesel niggas and scream, "What?"
Smoke a L, drink a stout, then flip the fuck out
Runnin' up on homeless people askin', "Who's in the house?"
Slick like olive oil, so tell Popeye to go up on the pu-tay
Can't get pappy, I'm sleepy, but not wimpy like Bluto
I get scrappy with a script flipped here, a script flipped there
Here a script, there a script 'til you be like, "That kid's the shit"
I know where my hoes goes when the hoes clothes goes off
Go to a show and show my flow off for dough, but never flow a doze-off
Oh, wanna hear some shit that's funny? I'm so skinny
If I sent my picture to Somalia, they'd send me money
Hula-hoop with a Cheerio and I can probably dodge raindrops
If I had dreads I could be a mop, okay, enough, brain, stop
Wear my jeans droopy 'cause I'm not lacking in the Snoopy
Never had a hooptie, already got a group of groupies
Either catch me girl-hawkin, shoppin', party stalkin'
On the phone talkin', or checkin' the latest raps on my Walkman
Slide up in the clubs with butter shit on
See how many hookers I can hit on, if there's a mic I'm like, "Can I get on?"
Finessin' with no type of stressin', peeps be requestin' Kwest in every session
But I gotta ask a few questions before I get in
Or I jet, son, hey, yo, George
How's the spot? Is it hot? Is it well done? Is it raw?
What's the four-one-one on hotties? Do they got bodies?
Someone gettin' bizem with ism or smoke, is there Coke and Bacardi?
Is security loose like a ho or tighter than a virgin?
Can I risk bringin' a biscuit, or can my shorty get hers in?
Yo, that's how I runs, it's all about gettin' loot, gun, hons and fun
From down sun to up sun
Can't forget the lyrics, 'cause that's my bread and butter
I make bread when I'm butter and wicked like a motherfucker
The nucca's top choice, even though I got tight-drop voice
Rhymes tasty like Duncan Hines, I puts lots of funk in mines
No real reason for this rhyme, but then again, here's a rhyme without reason
Big up to Southside and Rikers Isle, guess I'll be breezin'
[Outro]
That's how it goes, July 23rd
I flip shit, and remember, all of that was off the top of the domepiece, kid
Big shout out to everybody from south side, 105, 106, Liberty, Sutphin
Baisley and all that
And I'm up out this piece
Representin', kid, representin'
Ursula, where you at?
Ayo, Dan, where you at?
Yo, nobody in here but me and Taj
July 23rd, watch me do it, now
[Verse 1]
I flips like a stack of flapjacks from IHOP when I rock
If a foe tries to flow, I cast a glow like I was Taimak
Ease through MCs like a breeze through the trees
He who disagrees, please, hit the knees, complain to these
Well, you know the rest, but might not know Kwest, pleased to meet you
If I defeat you, least you been beaten by the best
Yo, damn skip' I be riding my own dick
Those with that fly shit up in they head, get domes swollen quick
Competition best pray for repentance, can't mention my name
Without one of these words in a sentence
Fat, live, lovely, butter, bad, nice
Nasty, wicked, raw, yeah, there's a lot of others
Don't really know where my flow comes from, yo, I just think
Open my mouth and, hmm, there it goes
On the real, to get with this, you must be fast
If your rhyme does shine like mine, I'll get some bread for your dusty ass
You better exit before it gets hectic and I start to flex, kid
And wipe a big fat booger on your best shit
I mean, how can you be expected to step up and wreck shit
When the track was fat, but your raps is anorexic?
Word to my mama, bring drama and give trauma
I'm a heavy bomber when I get a little bit of hit of marijuana
Quick to let the gun smoke, no joke, so don't provoke
Ask Gimmy how the slimmy be, 'cause Gimmy got his neck broke
Takin' props non-stops is how I operate ops
My words stick with ya and fuck with ya like some transit cops
So I suggest you find God or somethin'
'Cause like Whitney Houston said, "You have nothing, nothing
Nothing for me", I kept it clean, but it coulda got gory
You bore me, there's the door, G, period, end of story
Ooh, I like that, now let's see what else we can get into
[Vere 2]
Now, um, A is for Apple, J is for Jacks
But I got more flavor than that shit, so go get your money back
The skinny nigga's on the lam, so hold your daughter ma'am, or wham
I slice that ass so fast, you'd think it was a Christmas ham
Shit gets flam when I start to rip shop, too large to drip-drop
So I pour the malt, hundred-proof, type, um, hip-hop
Cute like a baby monkey, lyrics got to be funky
Long and lanky, kinky never stinky, don't wanna get chunky
Pump me when I get out 'cause without a di-doubt
You think I'm a maniac mobster the way I put hit after hit out
My A&R man tries to sham, he'll get his heart bit out
The company must have been constipated
'Cause it took 'em a long time to get my shit out
But now that my product's on the market
It's time for a new flame to spark it and my target is your ear
I wanna bust lyrical nuts on your drum
And I'll be cummin' on your brain cells when I cum
Word up, sometimes I swear to God I think I'm a nut
The type to walk into a room full of diesel niggas and scream, "What?"
Smoke a L, drink a stout, then flip the fuck out
Runnin' up on homeless people askin', "Who's in the house?"
Slick like olive oil, so tell Popeye to go up on the pu-tay
Can't get pappy, I'm sleepy, but not wimpy like Bluto
I get scrappy with a script flipped here, a script flipped there
Here a script, there a script 'til you be like, "That kid's the shit"
I know where my hoes goes when the hoes clothes goes off
Go to a show and show my flow off for dough, but never flow a doze-off
Oh, wanna hear some shit that's funny? I'm so skinny
If I sent my picture to Somalia, they'd send me money
Hula-hoop with a Cheerio and I can probably dodge raindrops
If I had dreads I could be a mop, okay, enough, brain, stop
Wear my jeans droopy 'cause I'm not lacking in the Snoopy
Never had a hooptie, already got a group of groupies
Either catch me girl-hawkin, shoppin', party stalkin'
On the phone talkin', or checkin' the latest raps on my Walkman
Slide up in the clubs with butter shit on
See how many hookers I can hit on, if there's a mic I'm like, "Can I get on?"
Finessin' with no type of stressin', peeps be requestin' Kwest in every session
But I gotta ask a few questions before I get in
Or I jet, son, hey, yo, George
How's the spot? Is it hot? Is it well done? Is it raw?
What's the four-one-one on hotties? Do they got bodies?
Someone gettin' bizem with ism or smoke, is there Coke and Bacardi?
Is security loose like a ho or tighter than a virgin?
Can I risk bringin' a biscuit, or can my shorty get hers in?
Yo, that's how I runs, it's all about gettin' loot, gun, hons and fun
From down sun to up sun
Can't forget the lyrics, 'cause that's my bread and butter
I make bread when I'm butter and wicked like a motherfucker
The nucca's top choice, even though I got tight-drop voice
Rhymes tasty like Duncan Hines, I puts lots of funk in mines
No real reason for this rhyme, but then again, here's a rhyme without reason
Big up to Southside and Rikers Isle, guess I'll be breezin'
[Outro]
That's how it goes, July 23rd
I flip shit, and remember, all of that was off the top of the domepiece, kid
Big shout out to everybody from south side, 105, 106, Liberty, Sutphin
Baisley and all that
And I'm up out this piece
Representin', kid, representin'