Orange Pineapple Juice Lyrics - Singles - Common Sense

Hand me a little bit of umm, orange pineapple juice 

I'mma sip on it, check it out 

I got a rhyme, you got a rhyme 

But my rhyme is better than yours 

I got a rhyme, you got a rhyme 

But my rhyme is better than yours 

U-A-C, they get they P's and 

No I.D., be gettin his P's and 

The Late Show, they get they P's and 

ProfessaNots, they get they P's and 

Peep the maneuver, how bout the Heim-lich 

I rhyme sick and you can get the duck, coon 

I'm the shit, you're shit out of luck, tough 

I'm the act to follow, housing kids like Ronald 

Mac like Donald Goines, flows I change like coins 

Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng, choyoyoyoyyyyyng 

I draw a crowd like blood with the 'pint of' technique 

And everybody there be like, "YEAH!" 

Cause cain't near a nig dat'll say 'Whoomp, There It Is' 

I'm like a mom on section 8, over-bearing kids 

Shit they be like, "Com-mon!" That's my muhfucka (true) 

Youse a hamburger, I'mma Fuddrucker 

Askin me to let us catch up, knowin you can't cut the mustard 

So where's the beef, jerky? 

I'm as Worthy as James, not that good with names 

But I do remember your face from someplace this is one taste 

Of Chicago, we got mo' many mo' many mo' many mo' flavors 

Don't just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin niggas under 

On the tundra, cause "they're plain, they're plain" 

I'm on a plateau that is fat so 

It's just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see 

How I land, I'm grand like a finale 

I'm goin back to Cali (why?) cause Cali got bitches check it 

Aiyyo Dart this is a sickness 

Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da, ah-eh-da-da 

Dee-da-da-da-DOO-doo, dee-da-da, dee-da-da 

South Side, rock on and 

The West Side, we gotta rock on and 

Hey yo Chicago, we gotta rock on and 

The East coast, you gotta rock on and 

The West coast, you gotta rock on and 

Ah down South, you gotta rock on and 

Check it "Now you can go!" 

Mister Pussy Emcee, just get on gone 

Get on gone, you pussy MC! 

Steppin to me, with them dirty feets you'll get defeated 

Like Kunta Kinte, I'm kin to the Lynn crew 

My great, great, grandpap done been through 

So much it's in my hemoglobin to be a ill nigga 

So I figure like a father... that I'mma Turn This Mutha Out 

But Common you ain't hittin in New York 

I don't know what you thought hops, but chief I got tall props 

Some cats think I'm six feet I'm so deep 

Some stunts be thinkin I'm six-fo', my shit be hittin like switches 

Bitches, ask, why my, britches, sag 

I ask the bitches, "Why your titties saggin?" 

Put your nipple to the bottle I bust rhymes like breastses 

I can get down, d-d-d-down like pessimist 

"Ring the Alarm", I got Charm like a neck-a-lace 

Tell the truth, tell the truth, y'all had to move your neck to this 

Didn't you, didn't you and it, and it, and it 

And it don't stop, bust it