Brand Nubian Back Up Off The Wall lyrics

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Copy to Clipboard: [Featuring Loon]

No, Flagro

Uh, what!!

Yeah, Brand Nu' comin' through

Long Island, Harlem World, all out, all out

Let's talk abou tit

What, yeah, now put ya hands up

Uh, what, now put ya hands up

Put ya hands up

Now get ya back up off the wall

[Sadat X]

I'm better feeling than running raw

Chain gang link I need a shrink

What y'all niggaz think I'ma do when I get real money

Iano keys played in series

Peace to Lil' Cease

Microphone track board, loose chord, oh Lord

Promo number one Sadat X had a grenade

And the have next day I smashed the shit Allie played

Now we delayed by ninety days

You better find me anyways

You better return to the Terrordome, ain't nobody home

Non-haters play the corner in the elevator

Crash crews smack the open palm so you don't bruise

You push a button and what happens nothing

I push one and there's a man with a gun in the doorway

I'm in 4A, I been in there all day

I had some smokes, some bitches and chicken on a slab

There's enough for everybody so y'all niggaz don't grab

Chorus: Loon

Come on, come on, come on, yo

So get your back up off the wall

What, I said dance, come on, come on

So put your hands up

Stop frontin and pop somethin

Cornball niggaz stay frontin ain't got nothin

Mad cause the life I lead, twice ya speed

Brown-skinned mami, that's the wife I need

Light that weed, front nigga might just bleed

Tryin to ball with y'all but I might just flee

[Lord Jamar]

The second coming of Christ

I'll make you run for your life

It's like a gun up against a knife

You can never win, when we fight to the end

I'm tight with the pen

Don't be going off the head, cause they be blown off the head

And showin off the skills of the mentally dead

I do the knowledge before any words get said

Herbs get me red, hold on, Simply Red

Pimps be dead in rap, everybody's fed with that

y'all could go ahead with that

I'm trying to show you where my head is at

Dread be the positive black

Drop the be , you get lack

See you when you get back

Lyrical three-pack, spiritual miracle

Uhh, Lord Jamar the imperial

Microphone serial killer, urban guerilla

You acting mysterious, we out to take this rap shit seriosu

Slap the taste out of your mouth, then break out

Chorus

[Grand Puba]

Now I'ma put a rush up on molasses

Breeze on through like easy passes

Wiggle more asses than aerobic classes

El kabong, my people blaze them trees up like Cheech and Chong

Get that ass open like a pair of butt cheeks in thong

For sure dog, I don't mean to come off pushy

Blaze your party hot, and have it smelling like D'bussy

Spit my phlegm and drop my gem

Collect my wins and copy the Benz with the icy rims

I be dramatical, mathematical, radical thriller

The mic killa wreckin more shit than Godzilla

Matter of fact I'm more iller, knock your shit off the pillar

The four-wheeler touched every flava but vanilla

You know my name, my game, so shorty shake that thang

I get you open like them ball-head niggaz on Rogaine

Spit my flow all the way from New Ro'

to Acapulco, white poos brown like cocoa

Flip flows def like so so

Chorus

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