St. Louis Alumni (bonus Track) Lyrics - Singles - Ali

* Jewely, M.K., Penelope, Kujo, Mic Checker, Boogee Mann, Suga Chi, 

King Jacob, Iceberg, Foundation, Storm, West Stone, Goobee Thug & Fister 

(Intro: Ali) 

Check it out, my name is Ali 

I roll with them Lunatics 

You know us, know what I'm sayin' 

But what you might not know 

Is we got a lot of MC's in St. Louis 

So we gon' do it like this 

First up we got my man Jewely!!! 

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(Jewely) 

Now what's a grand finale 

If you ain't drinkin' grams in Cali? El Caminos on toners 

Hotel Nico with Mona, weed from Pamona 

And any ghetto catch this St. Louis nigga on the corner 

My persona known to leave rappers in a coma 

So faggotts stop the grinnin', them chrome rims reflect 

The hate in your face as you see em spinnin' 

MC's are screamin', "No mo' shoutouts" through nine innin's 

I'm drama, like two baby mommas and one pendin' 

This here rapper split up your vest, cause the shit I'm packin' Dawg'll 

knock your heart out your chest 

Rappers suffer from cardiac arrest 

If I'm uncomfortable I dump a few 

You niggas are actin' like, I won't send em to the afterlife 

This is Judah Zor, a hard act to follow 

Murderous clique nigga, known as desperado. 

Photos 

(Ali) 

Up next, Hillsdale representative 

My nigga M.K.!!! 

(M.K.) 

You knew what time it was soon as you stepped in the door 

Bitches gigglin' and pointin', and whisperin', "There he go!" 

Where he go? Me I be loungin' between the ice 

Sippin' Don P with a dime piece right! 

Whisperin' in my ear about menage a trois 

Us and her partners, El Passe panties and bras 

Freaky deaky baby I'm lovin' that 

Dig the way that you think, them your partners? 

Get them a drink, shit one bitch was strippin' 

Cause she didn't get picked, but baby 

We roll with time, it's only rippin' the six, trick 

Minutes later nigga rollin' four deep 

Them bitches tonguin' in the back 

I'm gettin' some head up in the frontseat 

She like, "I got this" you control the cockpit 

While her partners in the back sixety-ninin' tradin' cock spit. 

(Ali) 

Up next, we got that hazel-eyed heartthrob 

Miss Fo' Reel, Penelope!!! 

(Penelope) 

Hot like fire, makin' these niggas yearn 

Don't be stressin' me dirty, you got shit to learn 

How to keep these seven zeroes that's my only concern 

Put a torch to these hoes, make these bitches burn 

Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit 

Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip 

Don't make me put a lump on your lip 

A dip in your hip, I'm snatchin' your shit 

I want it all so give me it 

Am I a Luna-chic? Uh huh, I'm a looney bitch 

More deadly than the venom that some anacondas spit 

The Marilyn Monroe, of the ghetto 

I'm a sucker for cornrows, niggas in Timbos hey 

(I got old Timbos mama, let me, let me, can I hit that?) 

Oh Lord, look nigga (C'mon mama let me hit that) 

Get the fuck on out of my face talkin' all that 

Old silly ass bullshit. 

(Ali) 

Up next, Kujo!!! 

(Kujo) 

Niggas hate me cause I'm nice in the game 

And got a style priceless like ice in the chain 

Aiyyo so who am I? I'm the best to ever spit 

I got that, "Hot Shit" like I'm Nelly and the Tics 

I pop a hot block dodge the cops and the dics 

Cause they want me gone, been in the game too long 

Here's how you want it, you come with guns nigga 

We cock two, got work? I comp too 

Block one, we pop two 

For the love for my family, and my seed 

Makin' sure them records live on, from now until infinity 

I'm from the 34, live in 3D 

Southsiiiiiiide, hot boy like I'm Figi 

Spit the truth til I die, give a fuck you niggas sick of me 

No matter what the fuck you faggotts do 

You can't get rid of me. 

(Ali) 

Peace, to my cousin Trife, up next 

The one and only Mic Checker!!! 

(Mic Checker) 

St. Louis, what you know bout high-grade we wastin' it? 

What you know bout 76 pounds to break down in the basement? 

What you know bout chances enough Air Course 

Suitcases and pretty pictures out in Lambert Air Port? 

What you know bout losin' count cause there's so many stacks? 

How many niggas can say shit like this 

But there's truth in the tracks? 

What you know bout clicked up nigga? Out the country whilin' 

How many you niggas done had pussy from the Virgin Islands? 

What you know bout your broad beggin' to be my mama? 

Lunatics and Skunk dick player up in Trulany 

What you know bout mo' bail? We brolic like Brutis 

Come for them, everyday and my clique's all exclusive 

What you know bout Spanish Town? Amongst the gun clappers 

Buff they penis soup head still on my red snapper. 

(Ali) 

One love to PL-Spin 

Naw you know, up next Boogee Mann!!! 

(Boogee Mann) 

Well Mr. B-double-O-G what? M-A-double-N 

I smoke joke and grin, and fuck your best friend 

Only if she a ten, then I slide right in 

Boogee and DJ Spin, be thunder and lightenin' 

Damn that's frightenin, so tuck your vest in 

My lyrical Mack-10, spit flows that kill men 

It's the Midwest y'all, we aimin' at all y'all 

We the ball til we fall or it's nothin' at all 

So just warm up the water, cause we Blink like Trotter 

Half-baked half slaughter, comin' like Vince Carter 

How you want it head or cut? We in the back of the truck 

Tryin' to see if baby girl can make me bust this nut 

Cause I'm 24 inches above the gun creek 

Get these hoes deep, so you pack yo heat. 

(Ali) 

What up Spud? Up next representin' V.I.P. 

King Jacob and Suga Chi!!! 

(Suga Chi) 

Microphones I burn bitches to whom it may concern with this 

Gotta learn this is to all my foes 

Them baby mommas swervin' Neons and Geos 

Cause they nigros to peep my steelo 

In a ??? ready for war, suited and booted 

Undisputed dame, been the same, in the game 

Since my Tenants had fat laces, smack faces 

With Tipsy (Ouch) intoxicated feel it bitch 

You gettin' thrown out of clubs ever time you see me. 

(King Jacob) 

Uugh, everybody want to be street 

Guaranteed they bring the most heat 

And swear to God ain't nothin' sweet 

I agree, but I also feel I ain't got to prove shit 

To do it to them punk ass niggas from your click 

I fuck hoes that be so thick, when I roll you know this 

And them twenty inch chrome rims sit so sick 

Motorola shit for communication, this is to aid my flows 

Take over the whole nation. 

(Ali) 

Iceberg!!! 

(Iceberg) 

It's the nigga the player that keeps it duplicated 

Or faded in no type of way, hate it if you like 

But you can't stop us gettin' paid 

Unless you sabotage the stage, or drop us in a place we stand 

And then you have to worry bout your whole state 

We made it now the legacy's forever more 

Style be forever raw, heaven or hell 

I'll stay forever S-T-L 

Catch me down down baby, in a black Humvee 

Comin' to get my fuckin' corner back for Nelly, (E.I.!) 

My fuckin' record sales were barely, (Uh Ohhhhhhhhh!) 

Now there's nothin' they can tell me 

What I do is always too late, for the Louie 

See how you fools respond to these bomb frees 

Bigger Big Lee released all these beats 

And everytime we do what's fuckin' million ??? 

And come to answer their question of how come I-C-E-B-G 

Gon become part of this Alumni nigga 

(Ali) 

All the way from the Cle-Town we got my man E 

Hella (Louie Town) Foundation!!! 

(Foundation) 

You never met a four, better with metaphors 

Metal for whores, like Tiger's metal four 

Shit, that's what I met her for, strictly city 

Thick cliques mixed with Big Lee 

Can't disturb, stand clap hands dance and swerve 

For the spot where nobody else should fix a hand or word 

E-Perior bless, since we all wreck mic checks 

You guess me on, Midwest be songs, and testin' Jones 

F with the best be gone, no quest-ion 

School yard parties, fourty-four-four 

Seventy West and East, don't get it F in streets 

Style shows like sandals, pumps get handled 

Dismantled, St. Louis is Tony Soprano 

No two, heffers with blow poor, ghetto mo' gurr 

Blow bolo get fooled around the clock. 

(Ali) 

Up next, we got two live MC's 

My man Storm and his home' West Stone. 

(Storm) 

You can't fuck with Storm, six niggas in the truck with Storm 

You want to jack him, but you won't got no luck with Storm 

My dirty run with dirty niggas and he from St. Lou 

Plus he know Kung-Fu, and he got guns too 

That big dick dude, that flip kick fools like Tom Cruise 

You don't wanna battle me dude you gon' lose 

Hit you with one-two's, your lungs bruised 

My foot in the butter so many crews call me doo-doo shoes. 

(West Stone) 

You know Stone is known to break them bones 

Meet your chick and take her home 

Get one chick and make her moan 

And you wonder why these niggas hate the Stone 

Broke their backs, when I wrote the raps 

Nigga don't drink I'll smoke to that 

Niggas hopin' that, I'll take a bow 

Want to take my life? Better take it now 

I'm still alive let me break it down 

Turn this shit to the O.K. Corral 

Get to blastin', whippin' asses 

Forget that talk shit, I'm with the action 

Want to make it hot? I'ma bring the heat 

Ain't no nigga that can hang with me. 

(Ali) 

Up next we got Goobee Thug 

The rhyme spitter!!! 

(Goobee Thug) 

We gon' get two seats recline and lean harder 

X, smoke green, and buy the spring water 

Y'all niggas polish your jewels to bling harder 

I cock the fifth, y'all drop your shit 

Type of nigga rob you to cop the whip 

Catch me, on 23's with a boxter-twist 

See the rocks twinkle twinkle right in front of your eyes 

I shine brighter than the sun in the skies 

Got a gun on my waist, got one in your eye 

And I stays blowin' haze and that Chocolate Thai 

Y'all smoke swag weed that's brown with seeds in it 

I hustle from first to first through seasons 

And you gotta accept this, I ball like the Celtics 

A. Walker, shake you up 

And I have Ted Foster to make you up. 

(Ali) 

Up next from the Rawkus Crew 

My homeboy Fister!!! 

(Fister) 

I'm the man before time, move hands before time 

Like Don Bluth I made The Land Before Time 

Some MC's think they're nice, but not hardly 

That's what they "Say Say Say" like Paul McArtney 

And Michael Jackson, I cypher the action 

To anyone who assists like John Packson 

Who these kids think they is tryin' to act all wild 

They temporary like members of Destiny's Child 

I'm spottin' the top Feds, poppin' the hot lead 

All in his pothead, makin' him drop dead 

Call me Shanksoon, lyrically snatchin' your soul 

Your squad's useless, like the right arm on Bob Dole 

Behold, the manifold of a black Aristotle 

Roadkillin' MC's, with my hand on the throttle 

Smashin' em all, mashin' em all, bashin' em all 

Picked up my Friday check cashin' em all