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Get down, get down, get down, get down, get down, get down (4x) I see everybody rockin' the same old style And everyone sportin' the same profile And all y'all wearin' the same name brands I hate everybody jackin' these played out jams I won't reach for no gun, punk, I'll use my hands I rock mikes and roll bikes across foreign lands I made my bones out in zones where the twilight be And every time I touch the mike it's Fright Night Part Three For every MC that won't test and try In your custom made wears thinkin' you too fly Makin' up in gold chains what you lack for brains It's time to call your ma, Dupe, and scoop up your remains And finally lay to rest all the shit you stressed And boastin' and braggin' 'bout the toes you taggin' I'm knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door While every rapper that's simp gets pimped like a whore See it's August 18th, three quarters past four When the doctor slaps my ass hear the lion roar The record sales soared then the world got toured You say what happened to my band, I say "I just got bored" Now they call me Whitey Ford, and I say, "Praise the Lord" If I ain't breakin' up your coos, cats, we're singin' the blues Strummin' and pickin' like I'm B. B. King It's Abdul Baqi now watch me do my thing Songtexte CHORUS: Down, down, you go Down, down, so low Down, down, till you hit the floor Keep fallin' down until you can't get down no more Go point blank range with the scope he's knockin' The psycho might change but there ain't no stoppin' The moon's on the rise when the sun start droppin' And y'all need to quit the bullshit you poppin' 'Cause I been hip hoppin' since BDP. Drop the P and spree it's Abdul Baqi And when referrin' to me you'd best respect the name Make a quick double take and double check your game 'Cause you about to get dissed I'm checkin' my list When I check it over twice it's like rollin' the dice I hit four-five-six I'm all up in your mix I rock good from Hollywood's 'hood the city of bricks And all these fake cats scream they're keepin' it real While you're makin' your deal we'll be breakin' the seal You'll be breakin' your vows like people worshipping cows And then I'll hit you with the whos, whats, wheres, and hows Like Vinnie Barbarino. I'm at a good chino Sippin' homemade vino with the Brooklyn Lordz Crashin' the boards with my soul in a hole I'll take you back to the future from the days of old I'm too cold to hold, too hot not to burn ya Don't stick your nose in business that don't concern ya I might have to trip and flip like Ike Turner You too old for schoolin', boy, when the money learn ya CHORUS Aus Songtexte Mania