OLD FREESTYLE Lyrics

Look here

I'm Old School

Old School

Old School

Old School

In the building

Check it

I don't mind, boy

Making you bleed

Yo! we can brawl

Turn this thang

Into a bunk house stampede

Throwing them bows

Like I'm Dusty Rhodes

I blow a hole

Through your soul

Like a terrorist attack

On the U.S.S. Cole

So proceed with caution

I smash on rappers often

I leave emcees with bad knees

Like stone-cold Steve Austin

You placed your order

But I'm backlogged on coffins

So take a number

Get a chair

Sit down in the corner

And wonder

What it's going to be like

Once I put you under

The surface

It's curtains

Your blood squirting

You worthless

Dude

With no purpose

Or intent

It's not what I said

It's what I think I meant

So pay attention

Cause I'm a start lynching

Anybody not minding their business

Any witnesses looking suspicious

I'm so vicious

It's best

You keep your distance

I'm so persistent

I'll bury you in an instance

I'm probably going to

Die in these trenches

B-LIEU

Boy

I'm so relentless

I spit bars

I spread like SARS

It's a permanent sickness

Got you hoping and wishing

That your kids

Boy

See their next Christmas

Your whole style is chump

Cause it's whatever homeboy

We can get it, crunk

50. Cal, Mk-19

Mounted in the trunk

This ain't what what what

What you want

Boy

It's 4th down and ninety-nine

I still ain't going to punt

Come confront

That boy

B-LIEU

Whew

I leave you see through

Like saran wrap or a window

Get your man clap

Plus your kin folk

Start intruding

Your family reunion

Dress in blue and yellow

Like a bruin

And start bruising

And ruin

The moment

Regardless of what you doing

So cancel your plans

I come through

I trample your man

It's the Bess

That spit rhymes

That melt flesh

With no respect

For the hardest dude

In your projects

So take heed to these words

Boy

Forget what you heard

Boy

Step up get served

Put your teeth on the curb

Leave your whole team

On injured reserve

There's some things

That got me disturbed

How these rappers hop

In the rap game

Then they straight curve

Boy

I'm never rear Det

Boy

I'm a Vet

Even with seven fouls

I never foul out

D.C.

Texas boys

Help me wild out

I ring your doorbell

Your child answers the door

I'll knock your child out