sh*t Expands lyrics

Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens Manhattan, Staten Island
Keith! In the house

[Kool Keith]
It ain't about the b*tch with a wig like she comin from China
Y'all fronted in rented Benzes with Avis on 'em
No breakfast, I'm goin home, f*ck Chelsea or diner
Let the guys with the chrome buckets expose the cuffs, be a co-signer
I'm in your ass man, close like your Starter jacket liner
Dr. J sharper, plug your as*h*le up with a tub stopper
Your wife's a New York City Breaker
Your baby's mom is a pop-locker, know the metropolitan area
Custodian n*gga, you sanitation worker sh*t cleaner
Floor mopper, look down on the city with binoculars
p*ss out at choppers
Defecate 80 thousand feet in the air
I flip your small game, take your small urban territory
Put the street in the air
My sh*t rise, increase like subway fare
Scuffle your denim wear
Your sneaker line ain't makin it, I p*ss on four pair
You know the big-head boy from the projects, retarded motherf*cker
You know you be in child care, you better stay there
Your crew get picked up with sh*tty diapers from daycare
Your phobia his crib death
The top rappers receive hot dogs up they ass, they get F
Mark flush the toilet, you sh*t next
Expand your stomach range with tummy pains
sh*t in the back of your Bentley when it rains
Leave your wooden panels with sh*t stains
Throw the turds out the windows
Watch them bounce in the carpool lanes
Hot 97
[Chorus: repeat 4X]
The sh*t expand, over your Jacob the diamond watch
The p*nis is loose, we p*ss in your hand

[Mark Live]
Yo... yo where's the block at? Uhh
They say 106th & Park is on, I'm mad, f*ck it it's on
I haven't heard a hard record in years, uhh
Everybody dancin, Harlem Shakin, strip Free naked
And put a pole up, and watch the ratings go up
And if AJ steps, take his Jacob and slap off the makeup
I'm in the crowd like Lee Malvo, with a sniper rifle
A hockey mask, a butcher knife
Yo who knows what I'll do
They sellin dreams with a rap battle - uh-huh
Look - yeah - you rappers are kids, and rappin with a rap rattle
... nobody ever comes out - that's right
No twelve inches, no fires, no jets
Early retired, no links
No chains, no videos, no baguettes - uhh
"Don't Speak," uh-huh - I'm gettin Gwen Stefani
She's tossed up, sellin pus*y like every week
So don't fight me - uhh, you can hype me - that's right
I'm liable to go out with a terrorist style
I'm liable to flow out with a terrible style
Viacom bought you (suckers)
I'm outta here n*gga I'm changin the dial
[Kool Keith]
Hot 97

[Chorus]

[Kool Keith]
No more cars and sh*t, we suicide bombers
n*gga, walk up in your radio station
We get gas from the gas station n*gga
You better ask public relations, blow out your DJ booth
With hats off, like motherf*ckin Dr. Seuss
No buckets, strictly bombs under the North Face goose
Caught you with acid baby
We put it in your motherf*ckin orange juice
f*ck a turned up cap
How bout a burnt up motherf*ckin baseball cap
With a whack-ass rap
We detonate with three sticks of dynamite through your turntables
Blow out your ass crack
You ain't the motherf*ckin pimp, you ain't the motherf*ckin mack
We do this right, you gon' drink a daquiri
Are you gon' come back at me
Are you gon' get smacked from me
f*ck around look how you act to me... b*tch... Hot 97

[Chorus]