Jeru The Damaja: Come Clean | Song-Factsheet


Song «Come Clean» von Jeru The Damaja.


Veröffentlichungsdaten: 1993 10 22 (Maxi), 1994 05 24 (Album)
Label: Payday 697-120-002, Payday 697 124 011
Songwriter Kendrick Jeru Davis & Kirk Jones & Chris Martin & Chylow Parker & Fred Scruggs & Tyrone Taylor
Produktion: DJ Premier
Genre: Hip-Hop - Gangstarap - Eastcoast-Renaissance


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Personen und Querverweise

Jeru The Damaja
Kendrick Jeru Davis
Kirk Jones
Chris Martin
Chylow Parker
Fred Scruggs
Tyrone Taylor
DJ Premier


[Verse 1] You wanna front—what? Jump up and get bucked If you're feeling lucky duck then press your luck I snatch fake-gangster emcees and make 'em faggot flambé Your nine spray, my mind spray Malignant mist that'll leave comp' defunct The result's your remains stuffed in a car trunk You couldn't come to the jungles of the East popping that yang You won't survive, get live, catching wreck is our thing I don't gang bang or shoot out bang bang The relentless lyrics the only dope I slang I'm a true master you can check my credentials 'Cause I choose to use my infinite potential Got a freaky, freaky, freaky, freaky flow Control the mic like Fidel Castro locked Cuba So deep that you can't scuba dive My jive's origin is unknown like the Jubas I've accumulated honeys all across the map 'Cause I'd rather bust a nut than bust a cap In your back in fact my rap snaps your sacroiliac I'm the mack so I don't need to tote a MAC My attack is purely mental and its nature's not hate It's meant to wake ya up out of your brainwashed state Stagnate nonsense, for if you persist You'll get your snotbox bust you press up on this I flip, hoes dip, none of the real niggas skip You don't know enough math to count the mics that I've ripped Peep the Dirty Rotten scamp as his verbal weapons spit [Sampled Hook] Uh-oh! Heads up 'cause we're dropping some shit! (Scratched x5) [Verse 2] Real, rough and rugged, shine like a gold nugget Every time I pick up the microphone I drug it Unplug it on chumps with the gangster babble Leave your nines at home and bring your skills to the battle You're rattling on and on and ain't saying nothing That's why you got snuffed when you bumped heads with Dirty Rotten Have you forgotten I'll tap your jaw? I also kick like kung fu flicks by Run Run Shaw Made frauds bleed every time I G'd 'Cause I've perfected my drunken style like Sam Seed Pseudo psychos, I play like Michael Jackson When I'm busting ass and breaking backs Inhale the putrified aroma Breathe too deep and you'll wind up coma‒ Toast the king I'm hard like a fifth of vodka And bring your clique 'cause I'm a hard rock knocker I gotcha out on a limb, about to push you off the plank Let you draw your chronz but your burner shot blanks When the East is in the house you should come equipped [Sampled Hook] Uh-oh! Heads up 'cause we're dropping some shit! (Scratched x9) [Verse 3] Fly like a jet, sting like a hornet Knuckleheads get live and set it off if you want it Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is crushing crews, no joke With styles more fatal than second hand smoke Don't provoke the wrath of this rhyme inventor 'Cause I blow up spots like the World Trade Center Come with the super trooper on his assault mission The TEC's technique 'cause he's a technician Wishing he'll go away won't help the weapons stop The skills are shot 'cause any idiot can let off a Glock Hard rocks melt in the clutch of the sun toucher You claim you got beef on the streets, so what ya Gonna do when real niggas roll up on you And you don't got your crew Pull your Glock, hmm...? But you don't got the heart You was webbed straight from the start Bought a tool and didn't learn how to use it Got lost in Brooklyn so you had to lose it Just for fronting you got that ass whipped [Sampled Hook] Uh-oh! Heads up 'cause we're dropping some shit! (Scratched x9)