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lirik lagu back to the grill – remix – o.c.

[hook: all]
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again

[verse 1: mc serch]
you need a posse the size of the n*z*s to attack this
and you’re more optimistic than the sounds of blackness
flip rhymes that rip through the chest cavity
and i keep goin’ and goin’ just like an energizer battery
flattery will get you nowhere, unless it’s the derriere
and then it gets you everywhere
went to the flea market, was in my car, i parked it
beef like blunts, if you got it, then spark it
and with the fisticuffs came the fists
and you’ve joined steven segal on the marked for death hit*list
went back to the ’70s and brothers got on grins
’cause they can step to sisters and say “slap me some skins
honeydip”, and take the squaw to the teepee
hit it off, smoke a cig, watch a little tv
and if there ain’t no papes, there’s no show
i’ll just chill and return to kick ’em in the… grill

[hook: all + red hot lover tone]
back to the grill again, the grill again
(word up…)
back to the grill again, the grill again
(mc serch)
back to the grill again, the grill again
(that was fly yo)
back to the grill again, the grill again
(we gonna try like this, though, umm…)
[verse 2: red hot lover tone]
bust a style while i do it, if you know it, oh, you knew it
if you knew it then you knew it, if i catch a punk chewin’
i’mma drop the flavor fluid on his head, yep, i flew it
and like aretha franklin, your moms is jumpin’ to it
so, so, so, where did you go, what do you know?
so many people want to be fly like joe
g.i., e.i., oh, lots and lots
and any rapper can top the red hot (not!)
r&b rips hip*hop (not!)
mc serch is gonna flip*flop (not!)
all my hoes look like sasquatch (not!)
and uh, george bush gets enough props (hahaha…)
well, uh, anyway, i’mma slay, slay, lay
pull a hoe around my way and make hooker soufflé
red hot lover tone would like to thank mc serch
yo, you’re chill for makin’ me part of history
kickin’ ’em in the grill!*

[verse 3: nas]
*finesser, keep a tec*9 in my dresser
lyrical professor, keep ya under pressure
mind like a computer, the inserter
paragraphs of murder, the nightclub flirter
this is nas, kid, you know how it runs
i’m wavin’ automatic guns at nuns
stickin’ up the preachers in the church, i’m a stoned crook
serial k!ller, who works by the phone book
for you, i got a lot to shoot and songs to hear
my rhymes are hotter than a prostitute with gonorrhea
on the mic, i let vocabulary spill
(it’s like that, y’all!) that, y’all, kick ’em in the grill!
[verse 4: o.c.]
you’re dealing with a force that’s straight up real
how can you figure you’re fat when i mushed the grill
draggin’ can have you flip a lyric without a problem
ever heard of the grim reaper? well i’m him
gambling with ya stacks when you shouldn’t be rippin’
stop all that hatin’, then cash your chips in
i trigger the flow thinking of an old sack
i’ll glint ’em wit’ the whiff of a gold lint known as a figaro
i got the will, the sk!ll, give me the bill, an intentional slap
jump back or i’mma kick you in the grill

[hook: all + chubb rock]
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
(check it out…)
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again

[verse 5: chubb rock]
the chubbsta breaks, head nods, he fakes, steady rate h
the panty mix the verse, looks to serch, kick him in the grill again
part 2, sequel of “the dialect, the derelict”
the murder list, vanilla kicks it to climb on the crucifix
comin’ around the mountain
when he comes to sell the record bumps
digest the lyrics then you suck on some tums
crumbs with the energy from the lump sums
and lips to to the mixture to the friction and then you’re hummin’
the door rings, yo, i’m comin’
to a theater near you, get your popcorn and your brew
and a guinness stout, check the clout when i’m about
’cause you! are a blabbermouth!
a blabber, it gets no badder
lyrics on a diet ’cause it gets no fatter
like a gwen to the guthrien, jumpin’ up on the scene
with the serches with the verses, word up, the ill*strious
rapper, dapper, snapper fish, you want us to sell out your wish
my lips have never touched the circumference of a spliff
and if you see some coke or some spill
with some ill pill, yo, kick me in the grill, grill
[scratches]

[verse 6: mc serch]
so here’s a true or false, tell me if it’s fact or bull:
you wanna k!ll the klan, shoot the fans at a tractor pull
got crazy game, so no one can stop me
but ayo, i’m white, i guess my game is hockey
or basketball, football, takin’ papes in poker
if honeydip got a moneyclip, i’m gonna stroke her
wait a minute, chill, chill, can’t swing
’cause my girl ain’t my girl no more, now she got a ring
respect my wisdom like i respect myself
try the g, i’ll put you in a tree just like the keebler elves
you couldn’t be the mack if you had the car, the hat, the ho
and your sh*t would still be out the back like a patio
’cause i saw you eatin’ pig knuckles, with frankie knuckles
in a club called chuckles, wearin’ name plate belt buckles
godd*mn, your life is flimsy
gave you ’nuff respect, but took it back ’cause i was stingy
so from the cons and pros to the pros and the cons
cause’ i’m coming off like dressers at the palms
serch like mob gonna k!ll nasty nas, red hot lover tone, o.c., and chubb rock kickin’ ’em in the grill

[hook: all]
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again
back to the grill again, the grill again

- o c

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