Mystikal 13 Years Lyrics - Mystikal

[Chorus:] 

Thirteen motherfucking years! 

I know what to do to knock your stupid ass 

So bad you ain't no challenge. 

Thirteen motherfucking years! 

This ain't no fluke this pure deep talent. 

Thirteen motherfucking years! 

I know what to do to knock your stupid ass 

So bad you ain't no challenge. 

Thirteen motherfucking years! 

Bow when I hold the microphone and hold it 

Keeping me rapping until I hoarse and swollen 

Thirteen years and rolling 

I rate colder than coldest 

Getting part of this, niggas don't want no more of this 

Never leave you alone in your life, nigga I'm selecting and selling rhymes 

Slap a nigga that style sound some like mine 

Mad enough you screaming "It AIN'T!" 

(This line whispered, can't hear) 

You be pissing me off some the time, take you down one at a time 

I'm be known for fucking over your whole album 

Who want my rhyme? 

Keep declining, I'm keep climbing 

Keep ducking, I'm keep bucking 

Keeping heat seeking rhymes coming to get you bitches off me 

Disrespectors cow sled, (..?..) 

Hard to break, if it comes that way 

It took me thirteen motherfucking years just to make a tape 

But that don't mean that my rhymes one of the strongest 

All I know I been trying to make it for the fucking longest 

Fuck the side of all this, long as you done it 

When I done it, getting blunted bout to run this bitch 

Taking them riders down with me, clown with me 

Leave thirteen in your motherfucking chest and you can count em 

Nigga go pass the vibe, dividing mad this year 

Creative catastrophe, leave emcees in closed caskets 

Hit ya like full metal jackets, cut like hatchets 

Tight as ratchets, and burn like matches 

Thick than amino acids, flip like gymnastics, nasty as a pissy mattress 

Dropping like the temperature in December 

Clipping em, tipping em, been writing raps far back as I can remember 

Full of them rocks, everybody move key 

It was ghetto Djs and sucker emcees 

Handle your business in this industry of competition 

Or be at F.W. Bulls washing dishes 

Bitch I was born to write million dollar rhymes 

Battle in the hallways of Cohen back in 85 

86, 87, 88, hooked up with Big Boy records and made my first demo tape 

We dropped some real shit in the basement 

I had big ol' nigga tracks, raps like pavement 

To come from New Orleans made it hard to surface 

That's when I got discouraged and joined the service 

Pissed of and I (?) before long 

I went to war and served federal time before I made it back home 

No more rips in my jeans and getting my cream 

Ain't shit unlucky about my number thirteen