I used to be in love with this bitch named E&J,
Don’t fuck with her no more, now I fuck with Tanqueray.
Tanqueray introduced me to her first cousin Gold,
Last name was English and the first name Olde.
Sippin’ on that brown stuff
Got you feeling like you found love,
Or maybe it was just luck.
But honestly…it’s probably none of the above.
– Slug, “Arthur’s Song” from Atmosphere’s Southsiders, 2014.
Smoke good, fuck, eat, drink.
Drive nice car, wear all green mink.
Dutch in my ear, Olde E in my palm,
I Freddy Krueger your face, Michael Myers your moms.
You botherin mine? That’s when I’m sparkin the nine.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Save your wack rhymes, hold your female.
Pass the Old Gold, trash the ale.
Cash your food stamps, get the WIC out the mail.
Love to eat shrimps, but I never eat snail,
Eat a whole fish except for the tail.
Keep food in the fridge so it don’t get stale,
And when there’s nothing to eat…I bite my nails.
Funny how things change when you got a liquor in ya:
You’re quicker with the tongue, givin’ me rhythm now.
Block the music and the people out to admire the love,
The nerve of us…impervious to the entire club.
And like marijuana shotguns, let’s blow this joint,
It’s pointless to stay here, so let me anoint.
Now on the first day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A sack of the krazy glue and told me to smoke it up slowly.
Now on the second day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me
A fifth of Hendog and told me to take my mind off that weed.
Now by the third day of Christmas, my big homeboy gave to me
A whole lot of everything, and it wasn’t nuthin’ but game to me.
I only drink Cristal, or Imperial Moet,
No more weak ass Rose, that’s why the game too sweet.
We don’t wear tight ass clothes, we don’t do down South beats,
That ain’t New York–I restore our identification,
‘Cause dick-riding never been a form of transportation.
I’m hooked on gin and tonics like your mama’s Hooked on Phonics.
I been drunk most my life, don’t ask me why.
Through ninth grade, I ain’t go to high school,
…I went to school high.
Bitch is in the back looking righteous
In a tight dress…I think I might just
Hit her with a little Biggie 101:
How to tote a gun,
And have fun with Jamaican rum.
I drink twenty forties, smoke forty blunts,
Say a hundred rhymes, and not sound like you once.
Woke up quick, at about noon.
Just thought that I had to be in Compton soon.
I gotta get drunk before the day begins,
Before my mother starts bitchin bout my friends.
I’m complexicated like a Rubik’s Cube puzzle,
Who said I drink? I don’t drink, I guzzle.
A forty and a blunt, that’s all she really wants.
Uh oh, it’s beer o’clock, I think I’m sober.
How about we think this over, over a can of King Cobra?
Every time the ball drop on New Year’s Eve,
We toast to more money, we smoke to more cheese…
1988 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1998 1999 2011 2012 2013 2014 atlanta brooklyn death dj premier east coast girls Guns hip-hop humor life los angeles love lyrics midwest money nas new york philosophy queens queensbridge Rap Quote RZA South south bronx staten island truth weed west coast wisdom wordplay wu-tang clan
We don’t just say “No”, we too busy sayin’ “Yeah!”
To drinkin’ straight out the eight bottle…
Do I look like a muthafuckin’ role model?!