| BACK TO THE GRILL |
| MC Serch, R. Simpson, Red Hot Lover Tone, Nasty Nas, T. Ray Organs: Anton Pushansky Keyboard Programming: T. Ray Background Vocals: The I.S.S.H.H.C. Recorded and Mixed by Anton Pushansky at Chung King Studios, New York City, NY Assistant Engineer: Jack Herscha Performed by MC Serch, Red Hot Lover Tone, Nas & Chubb Rock Contains samples of the following: Honey Pot by The Mar-Keys Hey Jude by Clarence Wheeler & the Enforcers |
| Verse 1 |
| You need a posse the size of the Nazis to attack this And you're more optimistic than the Sounds of Blackness Flip rhymes that rip through the chest cavity And I keep going and going just like an Energizer battery Flattery will get you nowhere, unless it's the derriere And that'll get you everywhere Went to the flea market, was in my car, parked it Beef like blunts, if you got it then spark it And with the fisticuffs came the fists And you've joined Steven Segal on the Marked for Death hit list Went back to the 70's and brothers got on grins Cause they can step to sisters and say "Slap me some skins" Honeydip, and take the squaw to the teepee Hit it off, smoke a cig, watch a little TV And if there ain't no papes there's no show I'll just chill and return to kick em in the grill |
| Verse 2: Red Hot Lover Tone |
| Bust a style while I do it, if you know it oh you knew it If you knew it then you knew it, if I catch a punk chewin' I'm a drop the flavor fluid on his head, yep I flew it And like Aretha Franklin, your moms jumping to it So, so, so, where did you go, what do ya know SO many people want to be fly like Joe G.I., E.I., oh lots and lots And rapper can top the Red Hot (Not!) R&B rips hip-hop (Not!) MC Serch is gonna flip-flop (Not!) All my hoes look like sasquatch (Not!) And ah George Bush gets nuff props Well, anyway, I'm a slay slay lay Pull a ho around my way and make hooker soufflé Red Hot Lover Tone would like to thank MC Serch Yo, you're chill for making me a part of history Kicking em in the grill |
| Nasty Nas |
| Finesse, keep a Tech-9 in my dresser Lyrical professor, keep you under pressure Mind like a computer, the inserter Paragraphs of murder, the nightclub flirter This is Nas, kid, you know how it runs I'm waving automatic guns at nuns Sticking up the preachers in the church, I'm a stone crook Serial killer, who works by the phone book For you I got a lot to shoot my songs in here My rhymes are hotter than a prostitute with Gonorrhea On the mic I let vocabulary spill (It's like that y'all) That y'all, kick em in the grill |
| Verse 3: Chubb Rock |
| The Chubbsta breaks it naughty fake steady re ate The panty mix the verse, looks to Serch, kick him in the grill again Part 2, sequel of "The Dialect, The Derelict" The murderless Vanilla fixin to climb on the crucifix Coming around the mountain, when he comes to sell more record bums Digest the lyrics then you suck on some Tums Crumbs with the energy from the lump sums And lips to to the mixture to the friction and then you're Hummmmmmming, the door rings, yo I'm coming To a theater near you, get your popcorn and your brew And a Guinness Stout, check the clout what I'm about Cause YOU are a BLABBERMOUTH A blabber, it gets no badder Lyrics on a diet cause it gets no fatter Like a Gwen to the Guthrien, jumping up on the scene With the Serches with the verses Word up, the illustrious Rapper dapper sapper-ish, you want us to sell out your wish My lips have never touched the circumference of a spliff And if you see some Coke or some spill with some ill pill, yo kick me in the grill grill |
| Verse 4 |
| So here's a true or false, tell me if it's fact or bull You wanna kill the Klan, shoot the fans a tractor pull Got crazy game, so no one can stop me But ayo, I'm white, I guess my game is hockey Or basketball, football, taking papes in poker If honeydip got a moneyclip I'm gonna stroke her Wait a minute, chill chill, can't swing Cause my girl ain't my girl no more, now she got a ring Respect my wisdom like I respect myself To to G I'll put you in a tree just like the Keebler elves You couldn't be The Mack if you had the car, the hat, the hoe And your shit would still be out the back like a patio Cause I saw you eating pig knuckles, with Frankie Knuckles In a club called Chuckles wearing name plate belt buckles Goddamn your life is flimsy Gave you nuff respect, but took it back cause I was stingy So from the cons and pros to the pros and the cons Call me a motherfucker I'll say "Yeah I fucked your moms" Until she calls back I'm gonna chill Peace to Red Hot Lover Tone, Chubb Rock, kick em in the grill |