Vedic
I'm grippin' on a girl's hips as we Grind like Clipse
I'm leanin' and rockin' with her, keepin' a hand on my whip
The beat turns to Swiss and she licks her lips
Got that Puerto Rican a**, but French is her choice of kiss
The club is packed, full from the front doors to the stage
People pushed up against the bar and the gogo cages
The party's a rager, hands up like we don't care
Shot glasses of patron and vodka mixes up in the air
Spillin' all over while the bass kicks a vibration tone
Hard enough to get a girl off without a vibratin' phone
Everybody screamin', the DJ mixin' and scratchin' the cuts
Harder than a cold-turkey crack addict sittin' with matches in ruts
Lightin' 'em up, set this place on fire with friction
Body heat is up, and if you not, you might as well be sittin'
In the booth. But up in the V-I-P
Sexy strippers stay swayin' shakin' their sleek-sly-seats
This woman all up on me, and I can feel the vibe
Within the mash of bodies I've never been more alive
The DJ tells us to scream and we reply like a crowd in a fervor
She wraps her legs around me and begs to go even further
If she wants the meat, then I'ma serve her like the bartender to drunks
Body swervin' like she was already in the driver's seat of a truck
And I'm the stick-shift. She's already lippin' me/ so mesmerised
she's seein' stars but it's all the glow sticks and tongue rings
And then it's my time to get on, write my celly on her chest
Hand her my drink, take the mic and shed my vest
I'm in front of the DJ - the crowd goes wild
and busts into an orgy of praise as I start to freestyle
A battle breaks out, I make the challenger surrender the mic
Then point at the chick I'm takin' home at the end of the night
(bleh)
EDIT:
Background music
Get It by Styles of Beyond (featured on Fort Minor's
We Major mixtape).
I ain't even hit the stage, but the crowds putting out major decibels,
'cause they know you take more s**t than a D.C. receptacle*.
The minute I step out, they go even louder and wilder,
knowin that as Chingy'd say "You're gonna get your obit filed hurr"***
The Crowd looks at me, then slide their eyes to you,
they know you're dead, no matter what I do.
See, I start my verse - warm up with soft punches,
how you expect to handle me, if you can't take them in bunches.
The crowd heard your verse, was mildly excited,
but see, what they really want were the back-up dancers they sighted.
I come on the stage solo, I don't need anyone else like you do,
to draw attention from the fact even your daughter'd say "you rap doo-doo"
s**t, I'm Cass - you're freeway,
Make your escape like a p***y - cause you cant go out the G way.
I give the crowd an emotional roller caoster,
who wouldn''t get into seeing a MC get burned like TP in a toaster.
They see me, standin' and spittin' solitary,
look at you with your entourage, and your hoe thinkin' "Damn her legs are hairy"
"He must be washed up, If he can't afford a dime****"
While they look at me thinkin' "man, he's sublime."
I finish up my verse, the crowd explodes,
makin' a noise that almost crushes the mic nodes.
They go one for 10 minutes, exaulting me,
wishing me luck wherever my career's vaulting me.
And look, your standing alone with the taste of defeat in your mouth,
cryin' over the fact your career's bombed south.
I'll walk up to you and say "Better luck next time, your gonna really gonna need it"
And Next time go second - so you can take my verse and feed it.
*trash can in DC. Get filled with all sorts of s**t, I found a Dog in one once.
***this is in fact similar to a track on the Re-Up, but i didn't bite anything. Everyone needs inspiration
****you know dime = 10 cents, hot b***h - he can't afford either
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