No Static At All Lyrics - Singles - 3rd Bass

No static at all 

Beef not needed to waste one 

'Cause trouble don't feed the bass drum 

Some so feeble, so play the hoodlum 

A humdrum liver in Bedlam 

Bet your last buck, you don't laugh to this 

Your horse came last behind the cactus 

Back so strong, you thought wrong a fallacy 

The groove will whip and flip cause it has to be 

In there, like Belvedere in his underwear 

On the new year, my dear, so make it clear 

I'm gonna ask do you wanna live small? 

Static? Nah troop, none at all 

Why meddle in the middle of a ruckus? 

[Incomprehensible] sip slowly on Snapple in hand 

Not these hands of mine holdin' clippers 

Slip and clip your flat top to ceasar 

Ease your ego, I go toe to toe 

Throw my voice like I throw my yo-yo 

And ho ho ho, on the mic is life support 

And toward a crumb static ain't my sport 

Swing to this, Serch swings to that 

Much as you noticed, they always wear hats 

Boots and loops produced by Prince Paul 

Slaps ya skull, no static at all 

Static mixed in but it don't cling 

To a fat rope dope Gucci link or an earring 

Hand now gropin' for 

But the hand is used to get skins 

Skim the cream but it seems you still rise 

For some who lives more, now life life size 

All are lepers in my swingdom 

Groups and troops get friends and they bring them 

In goes props so pop 'til the mornin' 

Home to the young, pop still snorin' 

Wake up you blackhead and heed the call 

Aiyyo, no static at all 

I flip on kicks, my DJ tricks 

The a.k.a code name Richie Rich 

(Daddy Rich, you never watch him on TV?) 

Straight no takes, the iron had East bridge 

full on 1210's flippin' the beats 

Some bust nuts, Daddy Rich bust cuts 

Such transform over rhythms on dust 

I rush this rhythm, hold like Mingus 

I swing this joint, no static to sting this 

A bitch's brew, who [Incomprehensible] gyro 

Scabs can't craft what only the fly knows 

Got skins all in on scheamin' 

Scandalous hooks grab on to what's gleamin' 

I'm seemin' vexed in my rhymin' texts 

Opened up shop to chop off the head, next 

I put off punks like junk so sporadic 

Stashed away like old drawers in my attic 

Or drawers on my legs, figures what I says 

Snack on Jolly Rancher or Orange Pez 

Yep, this ain't no collect call 

So peace, yo Pete 

No static at all 

True