Lyrics:
say, "Isn't he something?"
Rock from New York City all the way down South
Saying rhymes and making music, with my mouth
I'm a tell you party people
Veni, Vidi, Vici (I Came, I Saw, I Conquered)
The Gaylords
Written by Paul Webster and Jerry Livingston
Peak position # 30 in 1954
you with a chrome fo', that'll lock your legs
And you can't move, I roll big and I can't lose
They watch so hard ain't nothin' I do, that ain't news
to stay calm
Even though her son got
Gripped by the Shaitan
Boogy with the devil with my shades on
J Hus hustler baby
a suit on
Disrespect the clique, and oh, you know they ain't got far to go
That's when I grab em by the neck, hit 'em with that RKO
Outta nowhere, I'm
came in the mail
A scale and some Arm & Hammer
Soul-gold grill and a baby mama
Black Cadillac and a pack of Pampers
Stack of question with no answers
We just
Vybe
Having the time of my life
Hey
I want to throw a parade
I want to
I want to shine
Killa with the talib
That's 2 kings that you can never
say, "Isn't he something?"
Rock from New York City all the way down South
Saying rhymes and making music, with my mouth
I'm a tell you party people
noticed was - pure music
Untampered with by things showbiz does older
Thugs showed us stuff
Like how to hold a plug
Juice from the street light
It almost
G baba
G baba
Beat by kage
Na you be my Melody
When am down you dey pamper me
Can't explain what you do to me
I swear that music is my life
Na you be
Ain't nobody on my wave
And I ain't gon' let you rain on my parade
Singing na na na na na na, na na ya, na na ya
Uh, yo, yo
Everybody say the same
with the hippest trip wire force
I'm bad, my nickname's the circuit breaker
Eatin' up the world, acer by acer
There's no limits to the music we can make
I was driving to Lake Charles, for a Fat Tuesday
Coming in hot, riding down the roadway
To my aunt KK's house to meet up with my cousins
Who drove in
as promising as a Theranos Clinic
Led by Jeffrey Skilling, don't fall for ‘chair'man-'elect tricks' (electrics)
So adept w/the dictionary, I married a Webster
the footsteps of punks
And there's always hustlers mixed in with the chumps
And judging by the look of the low moral going 'round
Lots of herbs B.S.-ing in
friends
It's not the plan
Music flying in the air
Thanks to J. Webster
It's just a night in London yeah
Just for the night then we're gone yeah
It's just
Well fuck it, go on, turn the music up again
I heat the streets up like a oven, it ain't nothin'
I want mine just hit me up when it's "on time"
I
say, "Isn't he something?"
Rock from New York City all the way down South
Saying rhymes and making music, with my mouth
I'm a tell you party people
or two
Down by the borderland
I've got a necessary game to play
And changes to go through
It's time to go, time to go
So it's so long, farewell
And I'll
a German Nazi
Startled by the bases hittin' ground
There's no trippin' on mine, I'm just gettin' down
Sparkamatic, I'm hangin' tight like a fanatic
Constant is the parade of ashes
Keep the distraction, bat those lashes
Build up the monument to
Build up the monument to break it down
your liver to the solid mental grace,
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar,
Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against
Track down this murderer, he must be found!
Track down this murderer, he must be found!
Phantom:
Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere!
No
my eyes to the passing scene
Old and young and in between
Driven along by the pounding beat
All hurrying by
Down this street
Sorry old man
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