* Jewely, M.K., Penelope, Kujo, Mic Checker, Boogee Mann, Suga Chi,
|
King Jacob, Iceberg, Foundation, Storm, West Stone, Goobee Thug & Fister
|
|
(Intro: Ali)
|
Check it out, my name is Ali
|
I roll with them Lunatics
|
You know us, know what I'm sayin'
|
But what you might not know
|
Is we got a lot of MC's in St. Louis
|
So we gon' do it like this
|
First up we got my man Jewely!!!
|
|
(Jewely)
|
Now what's a grand finale
|
If you ain't drinkin' grams in Cali? El Caminos on toners
|
Hotel Nico with Mona, weed from Pamona
|
And any ghetto catch this St. Louis nigga on the corner
|
My persona known to leave rappers in a coma
|
So faggotts stop the grinnin', them chrome rims reflect
|
The hate in your face as you see em spinnin'
|
MC's are screamin', "No mo' shoutouts" through nine innin's
|
I'm drama, like two baby mommas and one pendin'
|
This here rapper split up your vest, cause the shit I'm packin' Dawg'll
|
knock your heart out your chest
|
Rappers suffer from cardiac arrest
|
If I'm uncomfortable I dump a few
|
You niggas are actin' like, I won't send em to the afterlife
|
This is Judah Zor, a hard act to follow
|
Murderous clique nigga, known as desperado.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Up next, Hillsdale representative
|
My nigga M.K.!!!
|
|
(M.K.)
|
You knew what time it was soon as you stepped in the door
|
Bitches gigglin' and pointin', and whisperin', "There he go!"
|
Where he go? Me I be loungin' between the ice
|
Sippin' Don P with a dime piece right!
|
Whisperin' in my ear about menage a trois
|
Us and her partners, El Passe panties and bras
|
Freaky deaky baby I'm lovin' that
|
Dig the way that you think, them your partners?
|
Get them a drink, shit one bitch was strippin'
|
Cause she didn't get picked, but baby
|
We roll with time, it's only rippin' the six, trick
|
Minutes later nigga rollin' four deep
|
Them bitches tonguin' in the back
|
I'm gettin' some head up in the frontseat
|
She like, "I got this" you control the cockpit
|
While her partners in the back sixety-ninin' tradin' cock spit.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Up next, we got that hazel-eyed heartthrob
|
Miss Fo' Reel, Penelope!!!
|
|
(Penelope)
|
Hot like fire, makin' these niggas yearn
|
Don't be stressin' me dirty, you got shit to learn
|
How to keep these seven zeroes that's my only concern
|
Put a torch to these hoes, make these bitches burn
|
Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit
|
Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip
|
Don't make me put a lump on your lip
|
A dip in your hip, I'm snatchin' your shit
|
I want it all so give me it
|
Am I a Luna-chic? Uh huh, I'm a looney bitch
|
More deadly than the venom that some anacondas spit
|
The Marilyn Monroe, of the ghetto
|
I'm a sucker for cornrows, niggas in Timbos hey
|
(I got old Timbos mama, let me, let me, can I hit that?)
|
Oh Lord, look nigga (C'mon mama let me hit that)
|
Get the fuck on out of my face talkin' all that
|
Old silly ass bullshit.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Up next, Kujo!!!
|
|
(Kujo)
|
Niggas hate me cause I'm nice in the game
|
And got a style priceless like ice in the chain
|
Aiyyo so who am I? I'm the best to ever spit
|
I got that, "Hot Shit" like I'm Nelly and the Tics
|
I pop a hot block dodge the cops and the dics
|
Cause they want me gone, been in the game too long
|
Here's how you want it, you come with guns nigga
|
We cock two, got work? I comp too
|
Block one, we pop two
|
For the love for my family, and my seed
|
Makin' sure them records live on, from now until infinity
|
I'm from the 34, live in 3D
|
Southsiiiiiiide, hot boy like I'm Figi
|
Spit the truth til I die, give a fuck you niggas sick of me
|
No matter what the fuck you faggotts do
|
You can't get rid of me.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Peace, to my cousin Trife, up next
|
The one and only Mic Checker!!!
|
|
(Mic Checker)
|
St. Louis, what you know bout high-grade we wastin' it?
|
What you know bout 76 pounds to break down in the basement?
|
What you know bout chances enough Air Course
|
Suitcases and pretty pictures out in Lambert Air Port?
|
What you know bout losin' count cause there's so many stacks?
|
How many niggas can say shit like this
|
But there's truth in the tracks?
|
What you know bout clicked up nigga? Out the country whilin'
|
How many you niggas done had pussy from the Virgin Islands?
|
What you know bout your broad beggin' to be my mama?
|
Lunatics and Skunk dick player up in Trulany
|
What you know bout mo' bail? We brolic like Brutis
|
Come for them, everyday and my clique's all exclusive
|
What you know bout Spanish Town? Amongst the gun clappers
|
Buff they penis soup head still on my red snapper.
|
|
(Ali)
|
One love to PL-Spin
|
Naw you know, up next Boogee Mann!!!
|
|
(Boogee Mann)
|
Well Mr. B-double-O-G what? M-A-double-N
|
I smoke joke and grin, and fuck your best friend
|
Only if she a ten, then I slide right in
|
Boogee and DJ Spin, be thunder and lightenin'
|
Damn that's frightenin, so tuck your vest in
|
My lyrical Mack-10, spit flows that kill men
|
It's the Midwest y'all, we aimin' at all y'all
|
We the ball til we fall or it's nothin' at all
|
So just warm up the water, cause we Blink like Trotter
|
Half-baked half slaughter, comin' like Vince Carter
|
How you want it head or cut? We in the back of the truck
|
Tryin' to see if baby girl can make me bust this nut
|
Cause I'm 24 inches above the gun creek
|
Get these hoes deep, so you pack yo heat.
|
|
(Ali)
|
What up Spud? Up next representin' V.I.P.
|
King Jacob and Suga Chi!!!
|
|
(Suga Chi)
|
Microphones I burn bitches to whom it may concern with this
|
Gotta learn this is to all my foes
|
Them baby mommas swervin' Neons and Geos
|
Cause they nigros to peep my steelo
|
In a ??? ready for war, suited and booted
|
Undisputed dame, been the same, in the game
|
Since my Tenants had fat laces, smack faces
|
With Tipsy (Ouch) intoxicated feel it bitch
|
You gettin' thrown out of clubs ever time you see me.
|
|
(King Jacob)
|
Uugh, everybody want to be street
|
Guaranteed they bring the most heat
|
And swear to God ain't nothin' sweet
|
I agree, but I also feel I ain't got to prove shit
|
To do it to them punk ass niggas from your click
|
I fuck hoes that be so thick, when I roll you know this
|
And them twenty inch chrome rims sit so sick
|
Motorola shit for communication, this is to aid my flows
|
Take over the whole nation.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Iceberg!!!
|
|
(Iceberg)
|
It's the nigga the player that keeps it duplicated
|
Or faded in no type of way, hate it if you like
|
But you can't stop us gettin' paid
|
Unless you sabotage the stage, or drop us in a place we stand
|
And then you have to worry bout your whole state
|
We made it now the legacy's forever more
|
Style be forever raw, heaven or hell
|
I'll stay forever S-T-L
|
Catch me down down baby, in a black Humvee
|
Comin' to get my fuckin' corner back for Nelly, (E.I.!)
|
My fuckin' record sales were barely, (Uh Ohhhhhhhhh!)
|
Now there's nothin' they can tell me
|
What I do is always too late, for the Louie
|
See how you fools respond to these bomb frees
|
Bigger Big Lee released all these beats
|
And everytime we do what's fuckin' million ???
|
And come to answer their question of how come I-C-E-B-G
|
Gon become part of this Alumni nigga
|
|
(Ali)
|
All the way from the Cle-Town we got my man E
|
Hella (Louie Town) Foundation!!!
|
|
(Foundation)
|
You never met a four, better with metaphors
|
Metal for whores, like Tiger's metal four
|
Shit, that's what I met her for, strictly city
|
Thick cliques mixed with Big Lee
|
Can't disturb, stand clap hands dance and swerve
|
For the spot where nobody else should fix a hand or word
|
E-Perior bless, since we all wreck mic checks
|
You guess me on, Midwest be songs, and testin' Jones
|
F with the best be gone, no quest-ion
|
School yard parties, fourty-four-four
|
Seventy West and East, don't get it F in streets
|
Style shows like sandals, pumps get handled
|
Dismantled, St. Louis is Tony Soprano
|
No two, heffers with blow poor, ghetto mo' gurr
|
Blow bolo get fooled around the clock.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Up next, we got two live MC's
|
My man Storm and his home' West Stone.
|
|
(Storm)
|
You can't fuck with Storm, six niggas in the truck with Storm
|
You want to jack him, but you won't got no luck with Storm
|
My dirty run with dirty niggas and he from St. Lou
|
Plus he know Kung-Fu, and he got guns too
|
That big dick dude, that flip kick fools like Tom Cruise
|
You don't wanna battle me dude you gon' lose
|
Hit you with one-two's, your lungs bruised
|
My foot in the butter so many crews call me doo-doo shoes.
|
|
(West Stone)
|
You know Stone is known to break them bones
|
Meet your chick and take her home
|
Get one chick and make her moan
|
And you wonder why these niggas hate the Stone
|
Broke their backs, when I wrote the raps
|
Nigga don't drink I'll smoke to that
|
Niggas hopin' that, I'll take a bow
|
Want to take my life? Better take it now
|
I'm still alive let me break it down
|
Turn this shit to the O.K. Corral
|
Get to blastin', whippin' asses
|
Forget that talk shit, I'm with the action
|
Want to make it hot? I'ma bring the heat
|
Ain't no nigga that can hang with me.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Up next we got Goobee Thug
|
The rhyme spitter!!!
|
|
(Goobee Thug)
|
We gon' get two seats recline and lean harder
|
X, smoke green, and buy the spring water
|
Y'all niggas polish your jewels to bling harder
|
I cock the fifth, y'all drop your shit
|
Type of nigga rob you to cop the whip
|
Catch me, on 23's with a boxter-twist
|
See the rocks twinkle twinkle right in front of your eyes
|
I shine brighter than the sun in the skies
|
Got a gun on my waist, got one in your eye
|
And I stays blowin' haze and that Chocolate Thai
|
Y'all smoke swag weed that's brown with seeds in it
|
I hustle from first to first through seasons
|
And you gotta accept this, I ball like the Celtics
|
A. Walker, shake you up
|
And I have Ted Foster to make you up.
|
|
(Ali)
|
Up next from the Rawkus Crew
|
My homeboy Fister!!!
|
|
(Fister)
|
I'm the man before time, move hands before time
|
Like Don Bluth I made The Land Before Time
|
Some MC's think they're nice, but not hardly
|
That's what they "Say Say Say" like Paul McArtney
|
And Michael Jackson, I cypher the action
|
To anyone who assists like John Packson
|
Who these kids think they is tryin' to act all wild
|
They temporary like members of Destiny's Child
|
I'm spottin' the top Feds, poppin' the hot lead
|
All in his pothead, makin' him drop dead
|
Call me Shanksoon, lyrically snatchin' your soul
|
Your squad's useless, like the right arm on Bob Dole
|
Behold, the manifold of a black Aristotle
|
Roadkillin' MC's, with my hand on the throttle
|
Smashin' em all, mashin' em all, bashin' em all
|
Picked up my Friday check cashin' em all
|
|
-----------------
|
St. Louis Alumni (Bonus Track)
|
| Ali |
