Shit Expands

Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens Manhattan, Staten Island Keith! In the house [Kool Keith] It ain't about the bitch with a wig like she comin from China Y'all fronted in rented Benzes with Avis on 'em No breakfast, I'm goin home, fuck Chelsea or diner Let the guys with the chrome buckets expose the cuffs, be a co-signer I'm in your ass man, close like your Starter jacket liner Dr. J sharper, plug your asshole up with a tub stopper Your wife's a New York City Breaker Your baby's mom is a pop-locker, know the metropolitan area Custodian nigga, you sanitation worker shit cleaner Floor mopper, look down on the city with binoculars Piss out at choppers Defecate 80 thousand feet in the air I flip your small game, take your small urban territory Put the street in the air My shit rise, increase like subway fare Scuffle your dinner wear Your sneaker line ain't makin it, I piss on four pair You know the big-head boy from the projects, retarded motherfucker You know you be in child care, you better stay there Your crew get picked up with shitty diapers from daycare Your foe be his crib death The top rappers receive hot dogs up they ass, they get F Mark flush the toilet, you shit next Expand your stomach range with tummy pains Shit in the back of your Bentley when it rains Leave your wooden panels with shit stains Throw the turds out the windows Watch them bounce in the carpool lanes Hot 97 [Chorus: repeat 4X] The shit expand, over your Jacob the diamond watch The penis is loose, we piss in your hand [Mark Live] Yo... yo where's the block at? Uhh They say 106th & Park is on, I'm mad, fuck it it's on I haven't heard a hard record in years, uhh Everybody dancin, Harlem Shakin, strip Free naked And put a pole up, and watch the ratings go up And if AJ steps, take his Jacob and slap off the makeup I'm in the crowd like Lee Malvo, with a sniper rifle A hockey mask, a butcher knife Yo who knows what I'll do They sellin dreams with a rap battle - uh-huh Look - yeah - you rappers are kids, and rappin with a rap rattle ... nobody ever comes out - that's right No twelve inches, no fires, no jets Early retired, no links No chains, no videos, no baguettes - uhh "Don't Speak," uh-huh - I'm gettin Gwen Stefani She's tossed up, sellin pussy like every week So don't fight me - uhh, you can hype me - that's right I'm liable to go out with a terrorist style I'm liable to flow out with a terrible style Viacom bought you (suckers) I'm outta here nigga I'm changin the dial [Kool Keith] Hot 97 [Chorus] [Kool Keith] No more cars and shit, we suicide bombers Nigga, walk up in your radio station We get gas from the gas station nigga You better ask public relations, blow out your DJ booth With hats off, like motherfuckin Dr. Seuss No buckets, strictly bombs under the North Face goose Caught you with acid baby We put it in your motherfuckin orange juice Fuck a turned up cap How bout a burnt up motherfuckin baseball cap With a whack-ass rap We detonate with three sticks of dynamite through your turntables Blow out your ass crack You ain't the motherfuckin pimp, you ain't the motherfuckin mack Review this right, you gon' drink a daquiri Are you gon' come back to me Are you gon' get smacked from me Fuck around look how you act to me... bitch... Hot 97 [Chorus]