"Paper Cup"
Written by Grip Grand/G. Winogrond for Broakland Music, BMI and by Percee P for Inspected and Approved, ASCAP
Produced by Grip Grand
Verse 1 (Grip Grand):
White hot like pipe rock, I own the spot,
Don't touch the microphone-it's c***ed.
(Stop!)
You can't draw with an empty holster.
Let me show your
Time as an MC's over.
My rhyme's a heavy load for
Rappers. Dude, go back to your penny loafers.
Unload my soul on tape. Known to take 'em out.
Tight like a key in your rollerskates.
You gotta style but I know it's fake.
Lotta turf, tough work when I'm on the plate.
Thrown away, or saved for a snowy day,
Got a rhyme on deck like a stowaway.
All night, and I'll stay
On ice like I'm frozen OJ,
'Cuz, yo, it don't pay to run.
Tryin' to hold that heat, but it ain't a gun, and wait-
Who's gonna take it? It weighs a ton!
Got goals, and I stated 'em-Rec League sold out the Palladium.
Hate me know, but later you'll thank me, son,
When the cops and Department of Safety come.
Disarmin' traps with my alarmin' rap.
Real smooth on the tongue like I'm armagnac.
I'm on some back and forth like ping-pong.
My brainstorm remains strong like Pac on "Same Song".
So rock your rings, shine, and gems. I'm like "So what?!"
I write a rhyme with no pen in my own blood!
Don't budge, about to blow up. Go for bucks,
Bustin' your coconuts.
Such-and-such, he said that I'm much too much.
Just a touch of love, but enough's enough.
What the f***? Duck when I blaze the cut.
Y'all skill can't fill up a paper cup!
(Adlibs)
Verse 2 (Percee P)
(Adlibs)
Written by Grip Grand/G. Winogrond for Broakland Music, BMI and by Percee P for Inspected and Approved, ASCAP
Produced by Grip Grand
Verse 1 (Grip Grand):
White hot like pipe rock, I own the spot,
Don't touch the microphone-it's c***ed.
(Stop!)
You can't draw with an empty holster.
Let me show your
Time as an MC's over.
My rhyme's a heavy load for
Rappers. Dude, go back to your penny loafers.
Unload my soul on tape. Known to take 'em out.
Tight like a key in your rollerskates.
You gotta style but I know it's fake.
Lotta turf, tough work when I'm on the plate.
Thrown away, or saved for a snowy day,
Got a rhyme on deck like a stowaway.
All night, and I'll stay
On ice like I'm frozen OJ,
'Cuz, yo, it don't pay to run.
Tryin' to hold that heat, but it ain't a gun, and wait-
Who's gonna take it? It weighs a ton!
Got goals, and I stated 'em-Rec League sold out the Palladium.
Hate me know, but later you'll thank me, son,
When the cops and Department of Safety come.
Disarmin' traps with my alarmin' rap.
Real smooth on the tongue like I'm armagnac.
I'm on some back and forth like ping-pong.
My brainstorm remains strong like Pac on "Same Song".
So rock your rings, shine, and gems. I'm like "So what?!"
I write a rhyme with no pen in my own blood!
Don't budge, about to blow up. Go for bucks,
Bustin' your coconuts.
Such-and-such, he said that I'm much too much.
Just a touch of love, but enough's enough.
What the f***? Duck when I blaze the cut.
Y'all skill can't fill up a paper cup!
(Adlibs)
Verse 2 (Percee P)
(Adlibs)