Fuck A Hook Lyrics - M.i.c. (make It Count) - Royce Da 5'9

[Royce Da 5'9"] 

DJ's and MC's 

Comin up next is the incredible 

We takin it back to the beats and the RHYYYYYYYYYMES... 

5-9 is BACK, about to make a nigga spin on his BACK 

Not on a cardboard, on the ground with people surroundin 

lookin down at him lookin astounded 

Ready to draw around him; an outline of his body in chalk form 

This nigga here let the trigger talk for him 

His niggaz'll bark for him, for real, his heart's warm 

So you've been warned (GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO GO.) 

I don't even need to be drunk forever, the liquor is rootin me on 

I turn tables fast as Jam Master Jay do 

I'm N.W.A., I choke hoes like Dre 

Poke holes in the pavement, throw foes in the grave 

If you could choose between a broke nose or the A.K. 

I make movies like Cube 'cept I use hammers 

YEP! I shoot but I don't do it with cameras 

NOPE! So you can call me Malcolm 

You can all witness what I be doin to all of these rappers (yes!) 

Wit'chall sloppy tactics; don't try to copycat me 

if you ain't tryna box me back 

And watch your back, don't take another look into the eyes 

of a nigga that's willin to ride 'til he blind 

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(Fuck a hook. fuck a hook) 

Chk-chk-chk, Royce. 5. 9. (he's baaaaack) 

Yeah, and it's on 

(Fuck a hook. fuck a hook. fuck a hook) 

Chk-chka-chka-chka, I will rhyme all day 

YES! 

I'll show you the back of your brain 

Slap you with the back of the gun 

Clap you when the rappin is done 

I aim to hit, I pack macs, accurate ones 

Change the clip, I send rappers back where they from 

Changin fast, the game I ask is not a sport 

I'm tired of bein a fuckin day late and a dollar short 

And I'm back! All of you rap niggaz hide your mics 

I'm ridin, dyin, and I ain't flyin by on them bikes 

I'm walkin, talkin, you eye me you dyin tonight 

This iron is showin you the shine designed by Christ 

And I, am the head reaper about the sick shit 

You about to see dead people without the "Sixth Sense" 

And yeah, takin food off my mother's table'll 

get you killed regardless, like my brother's label 

My heart and arteries a part of me, that'll test the truest 

We can do it, put your vest into it, yeah 

Photos 

(Fuck a hook. fuck a hook. fuck a hook) 

Chka-chka-chk, you don't wanna play with him today 

Yea - NO! 

Yeah, hardcore! Rhymes galore! 

OHH! Givin you what you need 

Like I told you BEFOOOOOOOOOOORE. 

Yeah, the rap game is DEAD, I'm bout to breathe life in it 

Bring it back to when niggaz was cypherin 

Yeah, back in the DAY, when nobody needed radio play 

I was straight long as my radio played tapes 

And this went on before all of them pay dates 

We was backflippin and windmillin to save face 

These days, we'll give you the mac so stay in your place 

I hope before you lay on your back, you sayin your grace (pray!) 

These new cats that rap to me they groupies 

You never see 'em in Max Julius or them Guccis 

Or they woulda got robbed for them Diadores 

or the Gazelles, we the store, we take, we sell your 

items we took, have you goin to tell 

We crooks, we either goin pro or goin to jail 

I know I'ma spare - many lifes 

This rap shit is comin with ME, cause don't nobody know how to share 

(Fuck a hook. fuck a hook. fuck a hook) 

Chka-chka... 

("Get in your mind, get in your mind 

Get in your mind all day!")