Artist: Coolio f/ Malika, Shorty, Leek Ratt, PS, Ras Kass, WC Album: Gangsta's Paradise Song: Get Up Get Down Verse One: Malika Steppin up out the shadows I comes equipped to wreck Hold up just a sec Coolio I'm on deck (Malika) Yeap the diction is on point Causin, friction when I flex up the jaw to hit the joint That can actually give a blood mob like Gotti Like the body cool, keep the strap up by the naughties Niggie trippin why you beam us I don't step up with no bullshit See that there it's clip for this stickup on the hip Peep the correct way to get your pimp on Let me hit the bong oh and my mind's quite strong Wreck it nice and proper if it's on I'm finsta to stop her If I'm swingin for the knockout, best believe I'm fits to drop her Ninety-five's on poppin, representin I keep stompin Throw up my fists just like this when I'm mobbin Verse Two: Shorty I killed the last, killed the ass, with my ninety-five drive I'm deep like Denzel with my Crimson Tide, nigga Like Chaka Khan, I tell you something good I'm Hi-C like Spike Lee within Tales From the Hood You need it, I'll feed it, baby check the size Have you Goin' Down like Mary J. Blige When it's poppin like this, you can't be a coward Shorty freaks fuckin beats like Adina Howard My squad is hard, with players, and hustlers No toleration, for fakers and busters Fuckin with me with all honesty You get bombed rap songs comin constantly Bumpin G-15's, Westside scene Killin the competition, while making a fuckin green So ring, around the rosie, and mosey to the Rosie And I want you to know G Chorus: We bust and cuss and kick up dust Don't none of y'all niggaz want to fuck with us So what's the time? It's time to get real Why you bust your rhyme? Cause I got skills We bust and cuss and kick up dust Don't none of y'all niggaz want to fuck with us So what's the time? It's time to get real Why you bust your rhyme? Cause that's how I bail Verse Three: Leek Ratt (of 40 Thevz) Watch me, swallow this nickel and shit five pennies I'm the loc'est of them all though the rat is kinda skinny How many linny and squidgy think they can see me? I'm from Compton where even in the summer niggaz wear beanies Bustin lyrics sharper than razor blades catch it from head to toe if you're shocked, then amazed, when you see me at my stage show For my stage show beat em up 40 Thevz gettin busy rockin coast to coast Dogs the most rap the hoes then rocks em up Givin it up for hip-hop vicitims how should I drop em and then pop em for poppin like to get what I got, and I ain't got a whole lot of nuthin cuz I been ruffin and scuffin so give it up when I'm bustin or get to duckin cuz I ain't given em nuthin Fools can't get none, so fuck em! Verse Four: PS Let me rock the motherfuckin mic Smoke a whole stick of dynamite, then fight all night I got jabs like a welterweight champion The pocket-pincher purse-snatcher pistol-packin quick to get it crackin Went from jackin to rappin to runnin with a pack of mad men Pull a trick out my sleeve like Aladdin Some fool tried to play me for a punk I had to have him like lunch or dinner, he's just a beginner Fuckin with a winner, number one contender top dog Head nigga in charge runnin with a group of hogs 40 Thevz, MAAD Circle, Cat, and Crowbar Best to put your daughter Wack ass rappers get tossed up Trying to come in here with that garbage My crew see the dopest and the hardest So clear the path or get your punk ass Bogart-ed Chorus 1/2 Verse Five: Ras Kass I peep game and get recognized, buyin all the hard liquor toothpick and beedy-dyin Bitch you got dealt, peeled your cap the other way like a reversible Louis-Vitton Gucci belt And ain't nothin crackin For them niggaz steppin up with the funk I'm packin Tinactin Cause I be earnin stripes in tight bunches All the homies carry nines I carry rhymes in sucker punches What? Tootsie, my knees don't bend Just like that actor Hoffman I be Dustin off men often Jaywalkin over your coffin with an eleven shot loss and John wrecked that Austin won't soften you're lost and see arson, to exterminate the flyest nigga like Orkin Stalkin lofts men to New York and in between so take caution, leave the flossin for dental hygeine Mental plus my gene equals nasty young bastard The raps be lung mastered takin vinyl's virginity Coincidentally I run shit like Walter Payton Niggaz player hatin cause I spoke like a Dayton I kick the bass like Ron Carter at the Carter when C and B came strollin Blowin niggaz up like when Mookie's stupid ass got caught smokin Figure, your stigma is lack of enigma So bitch-ass niggaz better step, like the Delta Sigma Thetas Verse Six: Coolio We don't give a fuck, fools better duck 39 deep in the back of Wino's truck Like robbin in the paint, fool think I ain't? Your crew is on stank, that's why I'm pullin rank I rev like a motor float ON like a boat to kick a style like Tical from here to North Dakota The ambassador of funk with amps in the trunk And when it's time to rock a mic I won't be no punk I bring death to the evil and power to the people My name ain't Steve Miller but I Fly Like an Eagle Don't play me for a chump, I get around like Gump And I, got more con in my verse than Chuck And you don't want no motherfuckin problems here Cuz I can round up a posse like Paul Revere Your whole crew'll get took out, turned out, shook out Burned up like a cookout, so fools better look out Verse Seven: WC Fresh out the penalty box Sportin a stockin cap, cut off dickies, and some high-top striped socks The freestyle finatic pyschosomatic back at it causin static with lyrics still as tight as a straight jacket The last in line but one of the first to get wit cha bringin more terror to MC's than a Michigan militia Click click boom, nigga fuck your crew It's the chanky hip-hopper, takin over pissin in your stage monitor socket you think that you can fuck with mine in your wildest dreams You best to wake up and apoligize Niggaz penetentiary yearn me cuz I, burn like Parker but anyway, half of y'all couldn't see me with a pair of Blu Blockers The lyrical night stalker stalkin at night in a pair of creased Khakis Chuck Taylors, my pistol grip tight Dub-C, that nigga from Westside MAAD Circle Ay man! Ay ay. What's up Wino? Uh like loc, it's like late, let's get the fuck up out of here Are we out? Yeah yeah fuck it Fuck it, MAAD Circle bitch!