Vic Spencer - Sony Walkman
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{Intro}
Uh
What is this kind of shit
Think like
I want you t play this type of shit all day
You feel me?
{Verse 1}
Overconversing, (?...) the least
I’m from the streets, skinny nigga but my rhymes obese
About to be the best nigga alive no doubt
Day in and day out I think about my music route
I like driving in my lane
Some niggas need speed bumps because they be riding with lames
Passengers flexing like they is the driver
Hood niggas with cash don’t have an investment advisor
The bars go over your head
But I know the time and location like a disco head
I’m already over the edge
Just hand fired flounder on Jewish rye bread
Getting high with the living dead Victor never scared
I was in the same room with my enemy and nothing was said
Fucking internet thugs
If you look white you can’t say nigga to us
Catholics got to church on fumes
And afterwards sniff the exhaust fumes
The flow darker than prune juice
With dirty rice as a side dish
Bake Canada goose was the main course
Your broad was the main course
The melody in the lyrics had to attract the force
Fourteenth president was Franklin Pierce
Fourteen day notices (?...)
Peace to my aunt, what mother fuckers eating for lunch?
Domestic love feasting on cunt
Jefferey Dahmer on your style
I ain’t been on the scene in a while
But my presence still felt elsewhere it’s fun to see me now
Keep me away from mainstream
If you heard my shit you could say the same thing
I’m not for the average listener
In hip-hop I’m a political prisoner
This shit deeper than rap
I still go to the hood, chop it up with who’s receiving the pack
(What up my nigga?)
I’m good like nasty shit when you’re high
Come through with that flashy shit you gon’ die
It’s like that
If you can’t box still fight back
If he a airhead nigga lay his kite flat
Gone on nicotine just to hide the smell
I stash the tres-five inside the twelves
Niggas on the move like darts
Blaze up then raze up, drink all the brew at the park
Younguns hooping on cracked concrete
Old niggas spit rocks on cement cause the hypes be geeked
’96 I was in the back of (?...)
Trying to get me some top (What?)
Them other niggas just sit on the block (Yeah)
I don’t miss that kind of shit
But I miss the records rappers made cause it sounded like this
{Chorus}
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Hell naw niggas don’t
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Damn please bring it back
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Where that shit go
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Left Vic Spencer to be hardcore
Motherfucker
{Outro}
I’ll take that shit then you feel me
Try to bring it back
I might dub this on tape
(?...)
They don’t make this kind of shit no more you dig?
{Intro}
Uh
What is this kind of shit
Think like
I want you t play this type of shit all day
You feel me?
{Verse 1}
Overconversing, (?...) the least
I’m from the streets, skinny nigga but my rhymes obese
About to be the best nigga alive no doubt
Day in and day out I think about my music route
I like driving in my lane
Some niggas need speed bumps because they be riding with lames
Passengers flexing like they is the driver
Hood niggas with cash don’t have an investment advisor
The bars go over your head
But I know the time and location like a disco head
I’m already over the edge
Just hand fired flounder on Jewish rye bread
Getting high with the living dead Victor never scared
I was in the same room with my enemy and nothing was said
Fucking internet thugs
If you look white you can’t say nigga to us
Catholics got to church on fumes
And afterwards sniff the exhaust fumes
The flow darker than prune juice
With dirty rice as a side dish
Bake Canada goose was the main course
Your broad was the main course
The melody in the lyrics had to attract the force
Fourteenth president was Franklin Pierce
Fourteen day notices (?...)
Peace to my aunt, what mother fuckers eating for lunch?
Domestic love feasting on cunt
Jefferey Dahmer on your style
I ain’t been on the scene in a while
But my presence still felt elsewhere it’s fun to see me now
Keep me away from mainstream
If you heard my shit you could say the same thing
I’m not for the average listener
In hip-hop I’m a political prisoner
This shit deeper than rap
I still go to the hood, chop it up with who’s receiving the pack
(What up my nigga?)
I’m good like nasty shit when you’re high
Come through with that flashy shit you gon’ die
It’s like that
If you can’t box still fight back
If he a airhead nigga lay his kite flat
Gone on nicotine just to hide the smell
I stash the tres-five inside the twelves
Niggas on the move like darts
Blaze up then raze up, drink all the brew at the park
Younguns hooping on cracked concrete
Old niggas spit rocks on cement cause the hypes be geeked
’96 I was in the back of (?...)
Trying to get me some top (What?)
Them other niggas just sit on the block (Yeah)
I don’t miss that kind of shit
But I miss the records rappers made cause it sounded like this
{Chorus}
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Hell naw niggas don’t
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Damn please bring it back
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Where that shit go
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
They don’t make this kind of shit no more
Left Vic Spencer to be hardcore
Motherfucker
{Outro}
I’ll take that shit then you feel me
Try to bring it back
I might dub this on tape
(?...)
They don’t make this kind of shit no more you dig?
