Scott Cooley – Cooley’s Rap Lyrics

“Cooley’s Rap”
Copyright © ℗ 2008 by Scott Cooley. All rights reserved. Words & music, sound recording by Scott Cooley. Performed, produced, rapped, recorded, engineered, mixed & mastered by Scott Cooley in Flint, Michigan

Verse 1:
I like hard rock, and old-school rap, eminem’s a clown and kid rock’s a hack
I like the Beastie Boys and Run DMC, Sugar Hill Gang’s ahh-ighte wit me
The name is Cooley, this here’s my rap, I can ad lib cuz I’m all that uh huh
Imperromptu jammin’, off the top of my head, I’m the best rapper that isn’t dead
I remember way back in the day, when I was just a little man
I had a red rubber hippity hop, went hoppin’ round the basement land
Just bouncin’ around back and forth up and down and side to side
Holdin’ on to the handle in my own little world, felt like I could fly
I was fly alright, and definitely fresh, not to mention def and dope word
When my sister wanted to use it, I stone cold said nope
I went hip to the hop, hop to the hip, I was hip to the hoppity most
And I don’t stop, but I’ll drop you like your hot, I’m conceded, like to brag and boast
Fully strapped, packin’ the heat, slayin’ sucka squirrels that I never did eat say what?
Yo-yo, Duncan Imperial, purple, walkin’ the dog, around the world in circles

Scratchin’ breakdown 1 (turntablistic guitar pick scraped along acoustic guitar strings)

Verse 2:
Representin’ GB, southside of Flint, grew up in da hills and I’ll give you a hint
Bling bling, had it goin’ on, done my time, now I’m an ex-con oh no
Wore Timberlands, Fila, and K-Swiss too, before anybody from the hood even knew
I’m from the street, plantation drive, didn’t have no slaves, didn’t talk no jive
Scratchin’ records on my turntable, I didn’t sweat the technique
Slam dunkin’ off the neighbors backboard, never had to leave my feet sweet

Cold hoopin’ it, out in the driveway, just a b-boy tryin’ to score
Goin’ to the junior high dances at night, break dancin’ out on the floor
Then the dj would cool it down, I slow danced with all the fine cuties
When the teachers weren’t lookin, I was gettin’ some tongue, an grabbin’ me some bootys
Gittin’ jiggy, don’t know why, all I can say is I musta been high whoa
When I wasn’t chillin’, I was bustin’ a rhyme, either that or perpetratin’ a crime
I only smoke chronic, drink Tanqueray and tonic, keepin’ it on the down low
Cooley’s in da hizzouse, kickin’ freestyle, Dort highway cruise, holla at a ho

Scratchin’ breakdown 2 (turntablistic guitar pick scraped along acoustic guitar strings)

Verse 3:
Homeboys in the Nova, posse in effect, drove that car till it was totally wrecked my bad
Pimp my ride, I think not, didn’t need to be down wit no cops
They stole my stash, my bowl that’s cashed, and cut down my crops
Givin’ a shout out to my peeps, you best gimme my props
And if you don’t show me no respect, I’ll bust you up side your chops believe it
Yeah boyeee, can I get a square, why’s that afro pick stuck in your hair
I’m down wit dat, I’m keepin’ it real, when the man keeps you down, you gots ta steal
Just a thug, I’m gonna git you sucka, never knew nobody said word to yo mutha
You be illin’, you be trippin’ too, me and my adidas gonna crush your groove
You’re wack, word to that, but I’m a playa and I’m PH phat
What up doe?, I’m tellin’ you dog, snoop ain’t got nothin’ on me
It’s on you, the onus that is, hi my name is Scotty C
Went downtown to get the nickel bags, I loved to smoke that cheeba
Kicked back with my remote control, watched MTV on my Toshiba

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