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lirik lagu attitudes (remix) – ras kass

[intro: ras k-ss]
yeah, some n-ggas got bad reputations man
i know i got one
but this dedicated to my homeboy
my n-gga hex murda, royce 5’9″, r-ssy k-ssy
c-sick, sick jacken let’s get it

[verse 1: ras k-ss]
i’m still a conceited b-st-rd
threw away in h-ll and said f-ck it to asthma
cause i self lord and master
real n-gga, let my nuts hang like a flasher
my life’s the hangover, anchorman and wedding crashers
my n-ggas mix the weed and the hash up
i keep heavy water stashed up
feed inter venous like plasma
keep vix face down with -ss up
like my n-gga cipher sounds, hope i don’t get g-ssed up
but this ras and whips get crashed up
then a n-ggas ski masked up to up and go get it
my daddy used to say i was obstinate
but then my poppa split so why be the opposite?
the judge sentenced me said i don’t respect authority
yeah, probably true, ask priority
ask that b-tch n-gga garnett in march i spit on at the source awards
so of course it’s on
and my verses born with a curse upon
so i be f-cking clowns up like circus p-rn
peace to my n-gga hex, get well, we all praying
this dedicated to you for being 100 and staying…real
and saying exactly what the f-ck you feel
like these f-ggots wearing women’s skin like buffalo bill, haters
i’ll let the silencer bust in your grill
f-ck pigs too, i’ma m-ffle your squeals
and i still walk around like my sh-t don’t stink
bootleg your album then i’ll post your link (n-gga)
f-ck i’m so ill and i don’t know bill
so i’d rather k!ll you
hide you in the shower and your corpse mildew
view to a k!ll, n-ggas hate my guts
but gotta respect how i take your lunch, n-gga

[chorus: ras k-ss]
my att-tude is f-cked up and real sh-tty
my lat-tude is much up and real gritty
have your brain f-cked up, i’m too witty
watch how a n-gga nuts up, like two t-tties
my att-tude is f-cked up and real sh-tty
i done made enough bucks, a few cities
have your brain f-cked up, i’m too witty
dog i done had enough lunch, you too kitty

[verse 2: royce da 5’9″]
now if your att-tude determines your lat-tude
this house that we call hip-hop, i’m in the attic fool
a mic and some turntables, fit for the unstable
converted to a padded room
keep a street sweeper, in fact i call the mag a broom
you seeing me you seeing things
you must of had yourself a bag of shrooms
i make a call make a faker fall
my clique is too sick so say goodbye
in the streets where the stakes is high
like ruth chris, i’m from the city of true sh-t
where the mayor went to jail for being a playa right after proof split
levels ahead of compet-tors, royce that
i’m drinking everyday ’til hex murda get his regular voice back
ras i got you, this k’ll blast for you
from a block away, ask tricky i’m that n-ggy
i’m more hooded than black d-ckies
i rap like committing suicide in the booth taking the track with me
patron’s in my chromosomes in order to leave it alone
you have to ween me off
that lorena bobbit chopper’ll knock a weenie off
put your body between chalk
from squeezing the nine iron like you swinging golf
i’m the best rapper alive, put something on it
you sound plain as a cheese pizza with nothing on it

- ras kass

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