It's overtime
So the lyric
They fear it
When they hear it
The flow
A hundred miles and runnin'
Get near it
And go
Check it out
Go
To the race
Give the drumer a taste
The bass is comin' comin'
Suckas runnin' from it
Damn, why you call him
The man
Here I am scram
Never ran
Never fight the black
From Iraq
Or Iran
Who bombed Japan
Blood on his hands
Part of a plan
He don't really believe
In uh! God damn
If it comes down to shuttin'
Them down
I'm in the hood surrounded
Tell em I'm grounded
I'm on that psycho analytical
Tip if politics is stickin to
The mix
Like tricks
I'm one more time givin' time
Where the rhyme go
Elite to the street
To the brothas doin' death row
So where ya at
If the beat ain't fat
Say what
C'mon
And get some
Rattle rattle
Kiss and I hum
Come can you
Get it on the one
C'mon pick it up
Pick it at
Pack it at
Pack it up
To the black
Who be talkin'
Where they at
Where they at
Wicked wild
Feelin' irie
Not sorry
Get it see it written down in a diary
Same say f*ck all dat
Political shit
But want to get paid when
Their brains in the second grade
Nowhere to run, here they come come
Nowhere to run, here they come come
I'm a fan first
I reverse another trick verse
To the point
Where I can rock dis funky joint
In the brain game, I'm keepin' my head clear
In 33 years so what
I never had a beer
I don't know what I'm missin'
I'm not dissin'
But I know I ain't ass kissin'
Time to draw the line
This time the rhyme
Got da good guy goin' gettin' da nine
Cause I know the hoody
Got it good with the hitman
Can I get a hitman
Know I'm duckin' nat quicksand
The funky automatic
Handlin' static
Sellin' out I ain't good at it
And when I got bumbed
I'm gonna open up
Hitt em up stone to da bone
But it ain't gotta be like that
And that's that
Can you tell me y'all what
All in with the law
They fall in
The great white hole where they
Be sellin' their soul
Never get enough
They be talkin' dat roughneck shit
Be comin' they quit
F*ck dat blood is ticker
Than water shit
That shit is counterfeit
Devil go where da shoe fit
Black mans law is raw like Africa
You violate
Were comin' after ya
They're here
What Side You On? Video (MV)
Performed By: Public Enemy
From Album: Muse Sick-n-Hour Mess Age
Length: 4:07
Written by: CARLTON RIDENHOUR, KERWIN E. YOUNG
Year: 1994
Public Enemy - What Side You On? Lyrics
Official
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
It's overtime
So the lyric
They fear it
When they hear it
The flow
A hundred miles and runnin'
Get near it
And go
Check it out
Go
To the race
Give the drumer a taste
The bass is comin' comin'
Suckas runnin' from it
Damn, why you call him
The man
Here I am scram
Never ran
Never fight the black
From Iraq
Or Iran
Who bombed Japan
Blood on his hands
Part of a plan
He don't really believe
In uh! God damn
If it comes down to shuttin'
Them down
I'm in the hood surrounded
Tell em I'm grounded
I'm on that psycho analytical
Tip if politics is stickin to
The mix
Like tricks
I'm one more time givin' time
Where the rhyme go
Elite to the street
To the brothas doin' death row
So where ya at
If the beat ain't fat
Say what
C'mon
And get some
Rattle rattle
Kiss and I hum
Come can you
Get it on the one
C'mon pick it up
Pick it at
Pack it at
Pack it up
To the black
Who be talkin'
Where they at
Where they at
Wicked wild
Feelin' irie
Not sorry
Get it see it written down in a diary
Same say f*ck all dat
Political shit
But want to get paid when
Their brains in the second grade
Nowhere to run, here they come come
Nowhere to run, here they come come
I'm a fan first
I reverse another trick verse
To the point
Where I can rock dis funky joint
In the brain game, I'm keepin' my head clear
In 33 years so what
I never had a beer
I don't know what I'm missin'
I'm not dissin'
But I know I ain't ass kissin'
Time to draw the line
This time the rhyme
Got da good guy goin' gettin' da nine
Cause I know the hoody
Got it good with the hitman
Can I get a hitman
Know I'm duckin' nat quicksand
The funky automatic
Handlin' static
Sellin' out I ain't good at it
And when I got bumbed
I'm gonna open up
Hitt em up stone to da bone
But it ain't gotta be like that
And that's that
Can you tell me y'all what
All in with the law
They fall in
The great white hole where they
Be sellin' their soul
Never get enough
They be talkin' dat roughneck shit
Be comin' they quit
F*ck dat blood is ticker
Than water shit
That shit is counterfeit
Devil go where da shoe fit
Black mans law is raw like Africa
You violate
Were comin' after ya
They're here
So the lyric
They fear it
When they hear it
The flow
A hundred miles and runnin'
Get near it
And go
Check it out
Go
To the race
Give the drumer a taste
The bass is comin' comin'
Suckas runnin' from it
Damn, why you call him
The man
Here I am scram
Never ran
Never fight the black
From Iraq
Or Iran
Who bombed Japan
Blood on his hands
Part of a plan
He don't really believe
In uh! God damn
If it comes down to shuttin'
Them down
I'm in the hood surrounded
Tell em I'm grounded
I'm on that psycho analytical
Tip if politics is stickin to
The mix
Like tricks
I'm one more time givin' time
Where the rhyme go
Elite to the street
To the brothas doin' death row
So where ya at
If the beat ain't fat
Say what
C'mon
And get some
Rattle rattle
Kiss and I hum
Come can you
Get it on the one
C'mon pick it up
Pick it at
Pack it at
Pack it up
To the black
Who be talkin'
Where they at
Where they at
Wicked wild
Feelin' irie
Not sorry
Get it see it written down in a diary
Same say f*ck all dat
Political shit
But want to get paid when
Their brains in the second grade
Nowhere to run, here they come come
Nowhere to run, here they come come
I'm a fan first
I reverse another trick verse
To the point
Where I can rock dis funky joint
In the brain game, I'm keepin' my head clear
In 33 years so what
I never had a beer
I don't know what I'm missin'
I'm not dissin'
But I know I ain't ass kissin'
Time to draw the line
This time the rhyme
Got da good guy goin' gettin' da nine
Cause I know the hoody
Got it good with the hitman
Can I get a hitman
Know I'm duckin' nat quicksand
The funky automatic
Handlin' static
Sellin' out I ain't good at it
And when I got bumbed
I'm gonna open up
Hitt em up stone to da bone
But it ain't gotta be like that
And that's that
Can you tell me y'all what
All in with the law
They fall in
The great white hole where they
Be sellin' their soul
Never get enough
They be talkin' dat roughneck shit
Be comin' they quit
F*ck dat blood is ticker
Than water shit
That shit is counterfeit
Devil go where da shoe fit
Black mans law is raw like Africa
You violate
Were comin' after ya
They're here
Writer: CARLTON RIDENHOUR, KERWIN E. YOUNG
Copyright: Lyrics © Exploration Group LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Exploration Group LLC
