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I Get Down

This song is by Shad and appears on the album When This Is Over (2005).

Yo
Big ups to 91.5 live from cold K-dub
Just reminding all my guys in the world to stay up
Never had to spray slugs so I don't play thug
Or try to fit with the killers like O.J.'s glove
Still cats love to see me like they own pay stubs
Out to create buzz
Know that S.K. can shake clubs
Like car thieves or golfers
Crazy compulsive
Cold killer so ill
I'm giving competition ulcers
These fierce frenetic poetics pierce the pathetic, plagues
My powerful prophetic phonetics penetrate
This renegade relic raps rugged and demonstrates
How to scoop honeys with nothing but that angelic face
Aesthetic-based waste get shredded, I set it straight
For the hapless half-wit homies that hesitate
The hellagreat, elevated skills you celebrate
Practice? Kid I've been this ill since seventh-grade
I dedicate this to my sis and the crew
And thanks for coming out but the competition is through
I gets down

You suckas and frauds with soft stamina don't trouble me
Duck or I'll damage ya on camera publicly
When I utter these subtleties
Brother please
I'm the biggest thing out of Canada since Pamela's double-D's
Colleagues and critics all apply the accolades
To aptly describe how my flyness fascinates
I activate the part of me
That advocates the artistry
The slick, sharp tongue
That could lacerate an artery
Like an axe to the heart
Hackin' apart cats lackin' the smarts
'Cause I've mastered the art
I synchronize my syndicate
For rhyme syncopation
Even skits that I improvise
Sit in syndication
Let my sinful syntax and simple grin flash
'Cause dimes fall victim when my dimples impact
Cats listen close for quotes or vibe to it
I school dudes and make guys students of my music
The dumb sound dopest with their mic lines muted
While my I.Q. is so high you couldn't fly to it
I get down

My language is used
To bruise and stick damages to
Other bands and their crews
Till all their slick managers do
Is just bandage their wounds
This man is just too sick for Canada's amateurs
I make 'em dudes do flips like coin tosses
When I rip mics like loin clothes
Stripped off a groin
Join the clique or get going
Kid you're showing softness
I cross kids like Hot Sauce does
While impostors talk and jock like Bob Costas
This colossus is so pompous it's preposterous
I'm always jamming like Peter Tosh's rastas
Getting the thoughtless tossed quicker
Than The Moffats in a mosh pit, homes
I gets down like acrostic poems
My resources hold more forces
Than the torque on 400-horse Porsches
I contort, twist and torch kids
With my oral orifice
Till these dorks is nothing more than some scorched corpses
I get down

Yo, I get down

It's like I'm squeezing a glock
When I creep in the spot
People get shot back
Freeze and then flop, breathe and then stop
The way I leave 'em in shock
Forget radio they play my flow on "Believe It or Not!"
But I still don't own the keys to the drop
Leasin' to cop the beach with the yacht and don't foresee reaching the top
But that's cool 'cause I'm frequently jocked from speaking this talk
And plus on the streets I get props
Well before I leave, peace to the blocks
Where my people still beef with the cops
And get beaten a lot, it needs to get taught
And ask Kanye, Jesus can walk
Always reach for the Roc, not the heat to get cocked
Releasing the shot, ending a life
No need for the pop
Ya heard? Like sheep with the flock
I get down

I get down
I get down

And yo, Peace to Digs that's how I get down and yo,
Peace to Vee that's how I get down and yo,
And to the fam that's how I get down and yo

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