Orange Pineapple Juice - Common

Hand me a little bit of umm, orange pineapple juice

Ima sip on it, check it out

I got a rhyme, you got a rhyme

But my rhyme is better than yours

U-a-c, they get they ps and

No i.d., be gettin his ps and

The late show, they get they ps and

Professanots, they get they ps and

Peep the maneuver, how bout the heim-lich

I rhyme sick and you can get the duck, coon

Im the shit, youre shit out of luck, tough

Im the act to follow, housing kids like ronald

Mac like donald goines, flows I change like coins

Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng, choyoyoyoyyyyyng

I draw a crowd like blood with the pint of technique

And everybody there be like, «yeah!»

Cause caint near a nig datll say whoomp, there it is Im like a mom on section 8, over-bearing kids

Shit they be like, «com-mon!"thats my muhfucka true

Youse a hamburger, ima fudrucker

Askin me to lettuce ketchup, knowin you cant cut the mustard

So wheres the beef, jerky?

Im as worthy as james, not that good with names

But I do remember your face from someplace this is one taste

Of chicago, we got mo many mo many mo many mo flavors

Dont just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-im-a-hood takin niggaz

Under

On the tundra, cause «theyre plain, theyre plain"(fantasy island)

Im on a plateau that is fat so Its just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see

How I land, Im grand like a finale

Im goin back to cali (why?) cause cali got bitches check it Aiyyo dart this is a sickness

Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da, ah-eh-da-da

Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da, dee-da-da

South side, rock on and

The west side, we gotta rock on and

Hey yo chicago, we gotta rock on and

The east coast, you gotta rock on and

The west coast, you gotta rock on and

Ah down south, you gotta rock on and

Check it… «now you can go!»

Mister pussy emcee, just get on gone

Get on gone, you pussy mc!

Steppin to me, with them dirty feet youll get defeated

Like kunta kinte, Im kin to, align crew

My great, great, grandpap done been through

So much its in my hemoglobin to be a ill nigga

So I figure like a father… that ima turn this mutha out

But common you aint hittin in new york

I dont know what you thought hops, but chief I got tall props

Some cats think Im six feet Im so deep

Some stunts be thinkin Im six-fo, my shit be hittin like switches

Bitches, ask, why my, britches, sag

I ask the bitches, «why your titties saggin?

«Put your nipple to the bottle I bust rhymes like breastses

I can get down, d-d-d-down like pessimist

Ring the alarm, I got charm like a neck-a-lace

Tell me true statues had to move they neck to this

Didnt you, didnt you… and it, and it, and it And it dont stop, bust it

«gotta crew ya better tell em"-→keith murray