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Текст песни Ice-T - Personal

Ice-T - Personal слова песни

Emcee`s no time out,it`s time to rhyme outYou`ve dug your own grave,now you must climb outDig out,crawl out,hide from the fallout`Cause when I get mad I go all outICE cooler than the coldest cube,dudeAnd when I`m micin`,boy,I`m know to get rudeCriminal background,it`s time to get downI use a silencer,don`t like the loud soundOff my mic blast,you better run fastThe last punk that popped junk passedSpit on his grave,laughed,jumped in my stretchSigned his bitch an autographSyndicate boy,I don`t fool outYou`re full grown,school`s outYou try to diss?..I think you better cool out`Cause your butt is smoke,if we ever duel outThis jam is directed,to all of those who expectedFor me to cold be rejected,but now I`m highly respected And now their ears are infectedWith dollar signs I`ve collectedJealous punks,I said it!PersonalTake a personalTake it personal,punk,I`m talkin` to youAnd if they agree with you,then your crew tooI never diss an emcee,I wish`em all good luckBut if you diss me to my face,duckMy style don`t ramble,you shouldn`t gambleWith your grill,I got a fist like an anvilI write a record,lock it on the topicEVIL and IZ dog the track,then we drop itRecord stores rock it,stock it,fans buy itPeople that never heard of ICE-T try itThen you try to diss? You got gallI got gold on my neck and gold on my wallGold in my fingers,gold in my earWhen this jam`s spinnin`,gold`s what you hearToy,this ain`t Christimas,no time to playI ain`t no child,punk,you`ll get sprayedIllin` on a mega-villanYou must want a pine box to go chill inBuried deep,creep,no one will weep`Cause the next night with your bitch I`ll sleepPersonalTake it personalI ain`t East Coast,West Coast,new style,or old styleYou wanna know about me? Check police filesGet out my face or you might have a bruised oneBrass knuckle prints? Yes,I used someI ain`t here to boast,I don`t do thatWhen I talk it`s straight dope,pure factsI rock hard but still called a new jackBut talk shit,you`re sure to get heard crackedI don`t drink or smoke or do dumb drugsBut my posse`s still labeled street thugsL.A.P.D`s got all my boy`s mugsCan`t use my phone for the damn bugsI live in privacy,don`t like suckers hawking meNews reporters,some think they can talk for meLies,misquotes,changin` all my words aroundBut if I catch`em on the street they`ll get beat downThey get money for hype-type publicityThey don`t think twice,about dissin` meBut that`s a mistake,with tha SYNDICATE you shoudn`t messI hope those punk reporters wear vests!PersonalTake that personalNow the words I speak to some may sound radicalBut I`ll explain,it`s simply mathematicalYou diss,I diss,this is creates an equalYou reply to my diss,this is called a sequelI reply to your diss,this is called a battleNot intelligent,not very adultSo I don`t battle,I just put heads outA straight line is always the direct routeI write lyrics clear,to leave no doubtDon`t even have to say who I`m speakin` aboutYou know who you are,you just jealous`Cause you hear my records are million sellersTry to say I`m wack,out on the streetsWhile your whole crew is jockin` my beatsSee me on T.V. and in the papersSee me at a jam,and catch vapors!Personal

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