Hip-Hop Lyrics
My moniker is
"Notorious D.I.B." Published by LA Rapper Judge M on album
Ghetto Quality (2004). I'm a member of ASCAP and the Dramatists
Guild of America.
On the album, I penned, What Judge M Is About (which is used twice (one remix on same album)), Rapperz Waltz (which was written for 3/4 timed beats), What Wouldja Do Without A Gangsta, The Tightest Place, Homeland Security, African Queen, What A Wigga Izz, Dreamscape, and Crack This Nut.
I did not participate in any other function than as a lyricist.
If you care to hear this artist's performance of my materials, please
go to this link:
The tightest place
Kid, now I know that you're going to be
a big man in your time, so just listen to me
Women fuck with your head every chance that they get
You may think you can handle, but you can't I will bet
Unless you turn out to be gayer than a fucking kite,
Women will have you by your balls every single fucking night.
Yet they don't use their fists to take their hits out on you
They just fuck with your mind til your brain turns to glue
I mean like some gals will pretend that they're taking the pill
But then they don't, they get pregnant, and you're stuck with the bill
Or now a gal will call up and say she's arrived back in town
She says she just took a bus, when there's no busses around,
and then you find out she hitch-hiked right up to your own front door.
She sucked off and fucked the driver, but somehow you NEVER score.
Or there's a chance you'll come home to find out you've been robbed blind
She'll take your heart, your cash, your house, and then she'll fuck with
your mind.
Chorus One
Head games aren't made for playing, son, you shouldn't even try
If you find yourself with some bitch, all she'll do is make you cry
She'll tell her friends about you, saying you're an inch too small
So that no other gals will want to ever even play with you at all
She'll milk you for her wishes, but you'll never see a dime
Go to dinner, see a movie, get a kiss, then stand in line
For her fuck buddies get everything: Free fucks, free hands, free face
When all you crave is pussy, she's got you in the tightest place.
Now guy, when you discover this shit's really happening to you
Let me tell ya 'bout some things that other guys have chose to do
Just like one guy in England who took pleasure torturing his lass.
He'd emotionally tie her heart to his, then kick her in the ass.
Then he Kicked her out of his apartment, waited a second, chased her down
and then told her that he thought it was she who'd never want to see him
around,
He made her feel stupid, as if it was she that was all mean,
and then manipulate the moment like no one has ever seen.
You know, I heard this same bastard came up with whole a new ride
He spent a night telling his girl all he craved was suicide
When he was sure she bought it, that's when he began to give her licks
He so laughed hard in her fucking face and said he did it all for kicks.
He made her feel worthless, like she wasn't even worth a shit
And it worked to cut her self-worth to a tiny little bit.
He didn't stop. He said he wants to fuck her sister, too
For she's prettier, he told her, "So much prettier than you."
Chorus Two
See, the problem here is sporting, for guys think it's just a game,
but what guys don't understand is that the games are not the same.
Men think in baseball terms, rounding third then home to score
Gals play full contact hockey, they just slam us so much more
In baseball, there's no contact, you just play with sticks and balls.
In hockey, women slam your face and ass into the fucking walls
They get away with penalties, but return to your space.
When all you crave is pussy, she's got you in the tightest place.
Some gals plan their weddings starting at the age of three
and the last piece of the puzzle is the guy that they marry
So before you think it's all your fault, I think you ought to find
some way to come to terms all her germs and her sick state of mind
For some women, they have plans for you long before you arrive
and if you're really lucky, man, you might find that you survive, for
She knows you want her pussy, but you never will get paid.
Instead you find that you're her babysitter, while she's out getting laid
Without thinking 'bout the reasons she had told you to come on over
Making you think that tonight you'd finally be her sexy lover.
She'll let you kiss, she'll fondle you, then she'll move toward the door
And say she'll be right back, but doesn't tell you any more.
She returns six hours later, then she'll bitch something's not right
and kick your ass out to the street in the middle of the night,
or worse, she'll call the cops on you to drag you out of there
All the while, she just smiles while she glints an evil stare.
Chorus Three
Sometimes I think that gay guys are much luckier with it
They
get to fuck all day and night, no thoughts about this
shit
But God I love the softness and the sensuality
From my first taste, all I think about is fucking hot pussy
With genetic engineering, there'll be changes in this world
You'll buy a bionic pussy that's not attached to any girl
But until that special day which changes the human race,
When all you crave is pussy, she's got you in the tightest place.
The problem comes from programming, beginning as a child
They say all girls are sweet and pure, while boys are bad and wild
If sugar and spice and everything nice is what all girls are born
Then slime and snails and puppy dog tails say boys are built for scorn.
This bullshit is what mothers teach their children when they're young,
Women wish for daughters, but when they give birth to sons,
They loathe each boy's existence for they always strive to tell
that every girl's an angel and each boy was born in hell.
And mind games are of Satan's spawn, there's no communications.
How can peace on earth exist with such fucked heated relations?
The people who are borne of this are all set up to fry
With so much horror from these whores our world will surely die
As wars are just extensions of the pains we feel in life
The back-stabbing starts in broken hearts when a man brings home a wife.
Chorus Four
And if you think I'm full of crap, that women can't be bad
Perhaps you'll reconsider why your mom's not with your dad
She told you he's a deadbeat, that he's not worth a piece of shit
But perhaps there's something else you'll never find out about it.
Consider all the things I've said, perhaps you'll find the truth
Living to relate this fate when your sons reach their youth.
You need to build men's sanity, reversing their disgrace, for
When all you crave is pussy, they've got you in the tightest place.
© 2003 David I. Brager
Written from a collaboration of personal experiences from writer friends
of mine, as well as various sources found in the Google Newsgroup Archives.
Homeland Security
You think you're really hot shit since you got yourself a piece,
What the fuck! A-gun-in-your-hand don't scare me in the least
For I never use a weapon you can trace back to a store
I build my own explosives and then send them to your door.
Don't think that I am oversexed just cause I bought saltpeter
My health don't need no sulfur. I'm not taking charcoal neither,
and
It wasn't candy-making when adding sugar to the mix.
The hot water was for crystals to add power to the fix.
When I moved off to cocktails, it wasn't alcohol, it was
petrol packed in bottles that went boom against a wall
And when that didn't deliver all the bangin' for the buck
I injected ammonia crystals in the gas cap of a truck.
But the power wasn't big enough to sate my thirst for noise
so I bought a can of blackpowder and lit it with my boyz
The flash was most tremendous and the boom instilled a need
that no mere firecracker would ever fully feed.
Chorus
In a time of war you need to score and know all that you can
This ain't a war for guns and knives, just intellect in hand
There's no honor left in war, there's nowhere safe to be, and
no protection from Al Qaida by homeland security.
Class C explosives brought me fun that shipped from far away,
With mortars, bombs, and roman candles: So many ways to play
Then I moved on to rocketry to learn about ignition
I wired up the sequences that fired with precision.
I spent a summer working for a hot pyrotechnician
I learned to shoot the mortars, learned of angle and position, Taking
factors in like wind direction, resistance, drag and force
Controlling where the bombs came down, predicting speed and course.
I then moved on to radio controlled four-wheeled driving toys
Then modified their speed and ride to deliver bombs to boyz
Coupling those with firing wires and jets from rocketry,
I gave them speed, to Bam and Scram, with great accuracy
About this time, I came upon some fun stuff on the web
which took a new direction for the thoughts inside my head
A cookbook of all sorts of things you wouldn't find at school
Where you can not make a small mistake. You never break that rule.
So, you thought I was a snow boarder with high blood pressure woes
and assumed I needed bleach to clean the best part of my clothes,
The wax and petrol jelly weren't for bindings on my board
They're properties for C 4 that will take you from this world.
I then bought a bunch of smoke detectors. Man, was that a chore!
I was
Scraping radioactive particles from each smoke detector's core.
Now
Mixed with ground aluminum from a store that sells car care.
I built myself a dirtybomb that waits for your somewhere.
So if you think your gun is gonna frighten me at all,
Remember this, you fucking prick, the timer's on the wall.
Installed it just a month ago, you're family's facing harm.
I set it with a silent clock with a three-year alarm.
The firing system's perfect: It's a rocketry igniter.
So even if I'm dead, I win, because it's my team's fighter.
It waits for you. It hates for me. It's programmed to defend.
So take your piece and get outta town, or you'll soon meet your end.
© 2002 David I. Brager
A work of fiction, and learned from the internet.
Rapper's Waltz (¾ time)
I want to dance with you, join hand in
hand with you,
spin you and kiss you, plac- ing both my
hands on you.
Giving you pleasure with friction
and fantasy
bumping and grinding in public for
all to see
writhing in ultimate ecstacy
in front of
others who dance along the Rappers'
Waltz. <two beat rest>
Virtual lunatics talk about
politics
as they de fend their po- sition's in-
tegrity
Talk's wasting time. Talkers'
noise under mines all the
music we want to see churning be
neath the beat
for we don't care about communi-
cation, Our
bodies are silent with the Rappers'
Waltz. <two beat rest>
Chorus:
I've raised my standards to
reach ghetto quality
Dancing with flair and fin- esse that ex-
alts <two beat pause>
Anyone out there can bind in the
ecstacy
Join in the motions of the Rappers'
Waltz <two beat pause>
Working each day for the minimum wages,
it's
Nice to get dancing to forget re- ality,
putting our best feet first forward then
backward, while
still going nowhere, at least we'll
have fun, for the
moment, we still have some semblance
of dignity
Commanding respect through the Rapper's
Waltz. <two beat pause>
Living the good life as homeless and
heartbroken,
'merican dreams never come to fru- ition,
we
See things on TV but not in our
lifetime, so
Dancing is one way to get out
frus- tration and
keep our re- ality from the in- sanity
that we might lose without the Rapper's
Waltz. <two beat pause>
Bridge:
Don't looks for someone who's always
a bore <two beat rest>
Just find a partner. Get to the dance
floor <two beat rest>
If it's not much of a partner for
dancing, just
go find an- other. No time for
ro- mancing. Your
time is up- on you. The dance takes its
toll on you
Sleeping is needed as the day's com-
pleted. You're
hugging your partner, then kiss
for one last time, then
move off the dance floor go- ing your
own way once more.
Reeling in memories of tonight's ecstatic
Pleasures of flowing to the Rapper's Waltz.
Turning a- round, your part- ner's vanished
back into
the crowd, leav- ing you weak
and lonely, but knowing
you'll return tomorrow to seek out
another
great mover and master, a slave for
disaster,
and hope that this one will
stay with you forever so
you'll have a partner for each Rapper's
Waltz. <two beat pause>
Chorus:
Chorus:
© 2002 David I. Brager
What would you do without a Gangsta
lookin after you?
How I love to run your rails, /dragging
hold of your entrails,
/ pulling your intestines as I /tug at your heart strings
Woman, what you really savor/ is my blood -- it has a flavor/
that reviles babes who never/ understand a thing
I'm a gangsta through and through. /I'm in control when fucking you./
You love my power, don't you bitch?/ You have to have this
mass. <point to your dick>
In life you think you dominate,/ but here in bed, you compensate./
There's more here than just innuendo /sliding up your ass.
You tell the world that men are lame, /but here in bed, it's not the same,/
we gangstas are the top fucks and /you like it really rough.
So if you wonder why thugs stay /the same way every single day/
it's cause we know, when lights go low,/ you never get enough.
I feel that way when we tango. /My fingers want your neck to strangle,/
but I only hold your head/ so you catch your breath.
So why don't you finally just admit it. / Your life is shit when I'm not
in it./
You need me here to make your life/ mean so much more than death.
It's bitch slappin' tit grabbin' butt whackin' time
It's lip nipping hair ripping tit whipping time
Its glass breaking, ass shaking muscles aching through
What would you do without a Gangsta lookin after you?
Beating you is not a chore,/ you're my bitch now, not just a whore,/
so you deserve the very best/ that punishment can thrive
The thumb cuffs are a little tight. / You screamed when they came on tonight,
/
but in the end, you got that pain /that made you feel alive.
I love the sadomasochism,/ 'specially when I shoot my jism/
all over your pretty face /and gets it in your eyes.
The tears you cry are never fake,/ for that would be a big mistake,/
for which I'd have to punish you/ for living other lies.
I make sure not to hurt your face./ I keep the bruises out of places/
where some other people might see/ them in light of day.
By whipping you under your breasts,/ your armpits now quite a mess/
with all the lashings I have done/ to make agony pay.
I told you how much I love you./ But love is so much pain, it's
true,/
that it makes so much more sense to/ learn to make it feel right.
Your feet and soles are black and blue./ Oh god, how I love hitting
you./
And how I know you love it, too./ You return every night.
I like to play dress up and cry, /watch all your makeup run and dry/
with streaky lines across your face. / Oh, how I love to tease!
Stillettos make you wince with pain/ as you whimper once again/
with every step squeezing your feet/ up eighty-nine degrees.
My gangsta boyz, they like their fun,/ you give blow jobs to every one,/
for I can't get the best of men/ without it worth their while
It's only life, somehow that's true./ It's only life, but hey, it's
you,/
and you're so cute when dripping spunk/ is gleaming from your smile.
Money's not a trouble here,/ I buy you pretty things to wear,/
somehow I never played with dolls/ until you came to me,
I get to check out all your clothes, / make sure you wear tight panty
hose,/
and powder up your face and nose,/ as you are my Bar-bee.
You ran away from home, you said,/ because you got sent off to bed /
whenever you came home, your Daddy/ hated all your men.
Now I'm your gangsta daddy man./ I send you off to bed, and then/
you fuck someone to get their bucks/ and do it all again.
Damn it baby, ain't that fun. / Your pussy fits my cold black gun,/
it's a forty four magnum /with one chambered shell.
Let me give it one last spin, then cock and pull the firing pin.
Say your prayers, You die, who cares? I'll meet you soon in hell.
No, that's not really all that great. My thirst for more I cannot
sate.
I think the time has come for us to change our roles one more.
I'm just kidding, What ya say?/ I have another game to play./
It's payback time! Now, I want mine!/ Make me your loving whore.
Tonight I feel like I need some fight/ of what I've given you tonight/
so now you take the keys, and let/ me be your loving slave
Please be gentle, I won't fight,/ as you take the whip tonight,/
with all those hell dogs you invite/ to beat me at the rave
You know I love you. Ain't that right?/ OUCH, DAMN those thumb cuffs
hurt tonight. /
OH, OH, OH, YOW, OW, OW, OW, HEY,/ I thought you loved me true.
A branding iron? Ah....AAAAHHH!!!!!, THAT STINGS! I thought
you loved my gangsta thing.
What would you do without a Gangsta lookin after you?
© 2003 David
I. Brager
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