Paroles de 'Clout' par Erick Sermon

[Intro]
S! Sermon! Blastmaster! (YO!)

I look like an emcee, talk like an emcee
Walk like an emcee New York type of emcee
Pockets never empty rockets, plenty
You already forget them but you ain't forget me
Clubs I rock many, in fact, any
That shit talk they talkin could never affend me
I worked for mine, even got jerked for mine
Back in '89 I used to work the nine
But it led to crime and too many cats doin time
If you into that fine but I'm not I rhyme
You know, you cats runnin from the law too much
That means you either got greedy or you saw too much
You know the streets like the back of your hand
Back of your palm the problem is the cash in your palm
I do what I have to do, you laugh at me I laugh at you
You after me I'm after you
You not passin me I'm passin you
You not askin me I'm askin you
You not blastin me man I'm blastin you
Blastin through, got the whole senior class graspin you
Ask your crew, who commands more street soldiers than the Blastmaster do
I'm the last to the true, now who you?!
Some sensitive new jack awww come here boo boo!
This type of emceein you might not be use to I'll bruise you (YEAH!)
Get under your skin like tattoos do
This God, you don't choose me I choose you
My vocabulary will confuse you (Tell 'em)
Like the news do, my Benz is new too
I be on padded cells like I'm coo coo (UH!)
Callin up my nation which is Zulu
NOW WHO YOU?!!

I'm Sermon yes your determined (UH HUH!)
I'm the best and no need contestin Sermon confirmin you
Mark Furman lyin, stop sighin
Before you end up in Zion, stop cryin
You dyin nigga, you a hoe
Hit the flo' when I blast the trigga
E Dub not Nas but I'm a nasty nigga
The type that leave ya floatin in the Hudson River, I'll deliver
Like take out food direct to your door step
You ain't seen no types of hardcore yet (No!)
You ain't, shot the five or the four yet (No!)
You ain't sliced from the ear to the jaw yet
What you doin right there that's fag (That's fag!)
And you claimin to havin all this swag
Swag don't rhyme (Uh huh)
Swag don't get you in the hall of fame or fap, at least not mine
Swag don't shine them diamonds
Blindin the fact that you wack, and shouldn't be rhymin
It's bad timin for you newcomer
You ain't me motherfucker! You hot for the summer!
You like Joe Plumber gettin stopped by Barack
Tryin to dominate the spot, and end up shot
Then it's, slow singin and flower bringin
Cell phone ringin 9-1-1 for closure it's over

C to the L to the O-U-T
He's Blastmaster KRS-One I'm E (YO!)
Dub got clout (Blastmnaster) that's clout
E Dub got clout (Blastmaster) that's clout