Kool Keith - Lived In The Projects Lyrics

[Kool Keith]
Yeah motherf*cker.. that's right..
The motherf*cker in the house.. Kool Keith..
F*ck all the bullshit, let's get to the real shit..
Yeah..

Your rhyme touch is soft kid
like a stripper's ass with a touch of plastic
Writin with a local style
talkin about competitive shit you never mastered
Youse a wannabe thug nigga, you ain't bugged nigga
I cut your bitch-ass up, leave your legs under the rug nigga
Who want the whiplash?
Cigarette burns, broken face hair pinned up in a cast
Me standin on the top of your tour bus
Butt-naked with a f*ckin hockey mask
Slicin your cashmere with a sharp 7-Up glass
Don't you know I'm sick nigga? Lick my dick nigga!
Forty-four caliber killer gun-toter
Hide your kneecaps in a Lexus motor
Pack your stomach in a compartment
Old dingy f*cked up Bronx apartment
Don't piss me off with a tec-9 loaded in a bullshit street argument
I don't care how hard you get
You just another man that never lived in the projects poppin shit
You ain't stoppin shit, f*ck that Batman and Robin shit
and what block you with
Kneel down, make a nigga like you call me Big Ernest
Bake your intestines, throw your stomach in the furnace
Watch the thermostat, you ain't no f*ckin fat cat

[Chorus: Kool Keith]

[sung] You never lived in the projects!
You ain't no drug dealer

[Chorus x3]

[Kool Keith]
Rude bwoy with a temper like a Jamaican off a Haitian boat
Carribean ruckus - with an Elvis wig
slap the piss out of one of you untalented rap motherf*ckers
Bodyguards won't work
with a 30-shot car bomb under my Dominican shirt
Submachine in the duffle bag
Watchin Sesame Street with my daughter, peepin Ernie and Bert
With backstage passes, wearin a long trenchcoat
Get Morris in your projects
and Jackson in a Madison Square Garden concert
Ready for CBS and NBC, to do a big network
The average guy, havin a product manager
and a female publicist wearin a f*ckin bulletproof vest
I got time for motherf*ckers actin like Elliot Ness
Winchester sawed off blow your Rolex through your f*ckin chest
Splatted body pieces while blood drips off your girl's dress
I'm ready for more progress
Have your head sent home
and a piece of your leg sittin on the record company desk
Extort like a mad nigga Western Union
You don't have a clue men how I get through men

[Chorus x4]