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ICE-T
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1
Emcee's, no time out, it's time to rhyme out
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You've dug your own grave, now you must climb out
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Dig out, crawl out, hide from the fallout
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'Cause when I get mad, I go all out
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Ice cooler than the coldest cube, dude
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And when I'm micin', boy, I'm know to get rude
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Criminal background, it's time to get down
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I use a silencer, don't like the loud sound
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Off my mic blast, you better run fast
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The last punk that popped junk passed
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Spit on his grave, laughed, jumped in my stretch
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Signed his bitch an autograph
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Syndicate boy, I don't fool out
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You're full grown, school's out
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You try to diss? I think you better cool out
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'Cause your butt is smoke, if we ever duel out
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This jam is directed, to all of those who expected
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For me to cold be rejected but now I'm highly respected
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And now their ears are infected with dollar signs I've collected
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Jealous punks, I said it
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Personal
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Take a personal
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Take it personal, punk, I'm talkin' to you
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And if they agree with you, then your crew too
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I never diss an emcee, I wish 'em all good luck
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But if you diss me to my face, duck
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My style don't ramble, you shouldn't gamble
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With your grill, I got a fist like an anvil
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I write a record, lock it on the topic
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Evil and IZ dog the track, then we drop it
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Record stores rock it, stock it, fans buy it
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People that never heard of Ice-T try it
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Then you try to diss? You got gall
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I got gold on my neck and gold on my wall
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Gold in my fingers, gold in my ear
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When this jam's spinnin', gold's what you hear
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Toy, this ain't Christmas, no time to play
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I ain't no child, punk, you'll get sprayed
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Illin' on a mega-villan
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You must want a pine box to go chill in
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Buried deep, creep, no one will weep
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'Cause the next night with your bitch I'll sleep
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Personal
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Take it personal
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I ain't East coast, West coast, new style or old style
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You wanna know about me? Check police files
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Get out my face or you might have a bruised one
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Brass knuckle prints? Yes, I used some
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I ain't here to boast, I don't do that
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When I talk it's straight dope, pure facts
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I rock hard but still called a new jack
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But talk shit, you're sure to get heard cracked
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I don't drink or smoke or do dumb drugs
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But my posse's still labeled street thugs
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L.A.P.D's got all my boy's mugs
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Can't use my phone for the damn bugs
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I live in privacy, don't like suckers hawking me
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News reporters, some think they can talk for me
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Lies, misquotes, changin' all my words around
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But if I catch'em on the street they'll get beat down
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They get money for hype-type publicity
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They don't think twice, about dissin' me
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But that's a mistake, with tha syndicate you shoudn't mess
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I hope those punk reporters wear vests
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Personal
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Take that personal
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Now, the words I speak to some may sound radical
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But I'll explain, it's simply mathematical
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You diss, I diss, this is creates an equal
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You reply to my diss, this is called a sequel
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I reply to your diss, this is called a battle
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Not intelligent, not very adult
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So I don't battle, I just put heads out
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A straight line is always the direct route
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I write lyrics clear, to leave no doubt
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Don't even have to say who I'm speakin' about
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You know who you are, you just jealous
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'Cause you hear my records are million sellers
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Try to say I'm wack, out on the streets
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While your whole crew is jockin' my beats
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See me on T.V. and in the papers
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See me at a jam, and catch vapors
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Personal
08-ice-t-personal
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1 meanings
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