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Get Loose
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Chris Webby
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1
Yeah, haha. It's Chris Webby. Yeah*
2
Static on the beat.
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Baby I get loose,
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I get loose.
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You know what I mean?
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I'm feelin' good,
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Real good.
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Uh huh, yeah. Yeah.
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It's that human dictionary,
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Webby's always rapping A to Z.
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Never smart to play with me
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The flow is never A to G [?].
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My style is indescribable
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So nobody can label me.
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Get loose with a bottle of goose,
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Rollin' an eighth of weed.
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Step to me,
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Then I'm prepared for war.
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'Cause I'm a ninja
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So you know I'm down to carry a sword.
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In the lead,
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So my competitors stare at the score.
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While I'll be gettin' high like Chewbacca
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And Harrison Ford.
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Immature,
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Yeah, sure
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But I spit that heat.
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Molten lava off the top,
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Baby, Dante's peak.
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I just tighten up my sneaks,
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And I stomp that beat.
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Build a butcher
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Don't even know if you want that beef.
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I get loose like the crotch of my jeans.
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So complex when I rap.
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Can't even tell what a lot of it means.
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But I be gettin' to the top
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By any possible means.
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With that audio crack rock
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I got for the fiend.
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I get loose,
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In the booth
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And I'm at it again.
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So get ready for the show
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Baby gather your friends.
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It's that foul mouth white boy
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Back to offend
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Everybody that I can.
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Where's my pad and a pen?
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I get loose
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With the flow
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Never air to my words.
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CT on my back,
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And I'm reppin' for sure.
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Anybody and everybody can tell
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It's my turn.
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So I'm a show these people why Webby's
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The best in the burbs.
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I roll the dice like Jumanji,
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No Robin Williams,
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But I'll have a pack of animals
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Stampeding through your lobby.
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I'm the son of Zeus,
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Webby spit it godly.
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I'm a good fella,
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Play the roll of Tommy.
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With a couple of zannies
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In my system
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And a Callanie [?]
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I'll be wallin' out of control.
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I fuckin' dare you to stop me.
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I'm edgier
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Than complicated origami.
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Throwin' fists,
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I'm the opposite of Gandhi.
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Never be wack,
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I'm head of the pack,
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I'm leveling tracks.
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Etc, you step in the ring,
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I'm sending you back.
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You'll be lucky if you leave
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And then your head is attached.
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When I attack the nervous system
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With these venemous tracks.
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Stay loose with the laces on my boots,
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Living proof,
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That hip-hop ain't dead,
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It evolved to something new.
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So call the army
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And bring out the damn tanks.
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'Cause that's all she wrote
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Diary of Anne Frank.
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I get loose,
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In the booth
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And I'm at it again.
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So get ready for the show
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Baby gather your friends.
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It's that foul mouth white boy
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Back to offend
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Everybody that I can.
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Where's my pad and a pen?
102
I get loose
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With the flow
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Never air to my words.
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CT on my back,
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And I'm reppin' for sure.
107
Anybody and everybody can tell
108
It's my turn.
109
So I'm a show these people why Webby's
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The best in the burbs.
111
Yeah.
Chris Webby - La La La
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