"Jackin For Beats" lyrics

"Jackin For Beats"

Wait a minute, hold on, get your ass up
What's up nigga?
Get over there... shit
Ya little punk-ass nigga
C'mere, c'mere, c'mere boy
God dammit you stop that shit now
Take him to jail and get him the hell from in front of this house
Now wait a minute, wait a minute, hey man
What's up?
Wait a minute?
There are police, go!

Give me that beat, fool, it's a full time jack move
Chilly Chill, yo homie make the track move
And I'll jack any Tom, Dick and Hank
That's the name of the suckers I done ganked
I get away from a copper
Drop a dime, I'll break you off somethin' proper
With the L-E-N-C-H-M-O-B
T-Bone and that's J-Dee
And here's how we'll greet ya
Stop fool, come off that beat ya
Feel dumb 'cause you're caught in the dark
(Ya little nuttin'-ass mark)
Raise up, 'cause you can't have it back
You said, "I ain't never got gaffled like that."
Off the end of the Gat you choke
Short Dog's in the house. "What up loc?"
Nothing but a come up
Gimme that bass, and don't try to run up
'Cause you'll get banked somethin' sweet
Ice Cube and Da Lench Mob, is jackin' for beats

Huh, and even if you're down with my crew
Yo Chuck man, I don't understand this man
You got to slow down
I jack them too
And then we'll freak it
Kick that bass, and look what we did
Fade the grade, played, and made a few mil'
And I keep stealin'
Ice Cube'll make it thump
But right about now - let's get over the hump
But I don't party and shake my butt
I leave that to the brothers with the funny haircuts
And it'll drive you nuts
Steal your beat, and give it that gangsta touch
Like jackin' and mackin'
Say hi to the three fifty-seven I'm packin'
And it sounds so sweet
Ice Cube and Da Lench Mob, is jackin' for beats

Ice Cube, I take a funky beat and reshape it
Locate a dope break, and then I break it
And give it that gangsta lean
Dead in your face as I turn up the bass
I make punk suckers run and duck because
I don't try to hide 'cause you know that I love to
Jack a fool for his beat and then I'm outtie
So when I come to your town don't crowd me
'Cause I know, you're gonna wanna kick it with me
But I know, none of y'all can get with me
So you think you're protected
Well you are 'til you put a funky beat on a record
Then I have to show and prove and use your groove
'Cause suckers can't fade the Cube
And if I jack ya and ya keep comin'
I have you marks a hundred miles and runnin'

Stop stop stop stop stop!
Sa-prize, niggas


Writer(s): Al Nichol, George Clinton Jr., Garry Marshall Shider, Howard Kaylan, Erick S. Sermon, O'Shea Jackson, Derrick A. Baker, Mark R. Volman, Roger Troutman, Jim Pons, Anthony D. Wheaton, Teren Delvon Jones, John Barbata, William Earl Collins, Gregory E. Jacobs, Parrish J. Smith, Walter Morrison, Allen Williams, Billy Nichols
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