Personal Lyrics - Power - Ice T

Emcee's no time out, it's time to rhyme out 

You've dug your own grave, now you must climb out 

Dig out, crawl out, hide from the fallout 

'Cause when I get mad I go all out 

ICE cooler than the coldest cube, dude 

And when I'm micin' boy, I'm known to get rude 

Criminal background, it's time to get down 

I use a silencer, don't like the loud sound 

Of my mic blast, you better run fast 

The last punk that popped junk passed 

Spit on his grave, laughed, jumped in my stretch 

Signed his bitch and autograph 

Syndicate boy, I don't fool out 

You're full grown, school's out 

You try to diss? I think you better cool out 

'Cause your butt is smoke, if we ever duel out 

This jam is directed, to all of those who expected 

For me to cold be rejected but now I'm highly respected 

And now their ears are infected 

With dollar signs I've collected 

Jealous punks, I said it! 

Take it personal 

(Personal) 

Take it personal punk, I'm talkin' to you 

And if they agree with you, then your crew too 

I never diss an emcee, I wish'em all good luck 

But if you diss me to my face, duck 

My style don't ramble, you shouldn't gamble 

With your grill, I got a fist like an anvil 

I write a record, lock it on the topic 

EVIL and IZ dog the track, then we drop it 

Record stores rock it, stock it, fans buy it 

People that never heard of ICE-T try it 

Then you try to diss? You got gall 

I got gold on my neck and gold on my wall 

Gold on my fingers, gold in my ear 

When this jam's spinnin', gold's what you hear 

Toy, this ain't Christimas, no time to play 

I ain't no child, punk, you'll get sprayed 

Illin' on a mega-villan 

You must want a pine box to go chill in 

Buried deep, creep, no one will weep 

'Cause the next night with your bitch I'll sleep 

Take it personal 

(Personal) 

I ain't East Coast, West Coast, new style, or old style 

You wanna know about me? Check police files 

Get out my face or you might have a bruised one 

Brass knuckle prints? Yes, I used some 

I ain't here to boast, I don't do that 

When I talk it's straight dope, pure facts 

I rock hard but still called a new jack 

But talk shit, you're sure to get heard cracked 

I don't drink or smoke or do dumb drugs 

But my posse's still labeled street thugs 

L.A.P.D's got all my boy's mugs 

Can't use my phone for the damn bugs 

I live in privacy, don't like suckers hawking me 

News reporters, some think they can talk for me 

Lies, misquotes, changin' all my words around 

But if I catch 'em on the street they'll get beat down 

They get money for hype-type publicity 

They don't think twice, about dissin' me 

But that's a mistake, with the SYNDICATE you shouldn't mess 

I hope those punk reporters wear vests 

Take it personal 

(Personal) 

Take that personal 

(Personal) 

Now the words I kick to some might sound radical 

But I'll explain, it's simply mathematical 

You diss, I diss, this creates an equal 

You reply to my diss, this is called a sequel 

I reply to your diss, this is called a battle 

Not intelligent, not very adult 

So I don't battle, I just put heads out 

A straight line is always the direct route 

I write lyrics clear, to leave no doubt 

Don't even have to say who I'm speakin' about 

You know who you are, you just jealous 

'Cause you hear my records, are million sellers 

Try to say I'm wack, out on the streets 

While your whole crew is jockin' my beats 

See me on T.V. and in the papers 

See me at a jam, catch vapors 

(Personal) 

This shit is personal