St. Louis Alumni (Bonus Track) - Ali

* Jewely, M.K., Penelope, Kujo, Mic Checker, Boogee Mann, Suga Chi,

King Jacob, Iceberg, Foundation, Storm, West Stone, Goobee Thug & Fister



(Intro: Ali)

Check it out, my name is Ali

I roll with them Lunatics

You know us, know what I'm sayin'

But what you might not know

Is we got a lot of MC's in St. Louis

So we gon' do it like this

First up we got my man Jewely!!!



(Jewely)

Now what's a grand finale

If you ain't drinkin' grams in Cali? El Caminos on toners

Hotel Nico with Mona, weed from Pamona

And any ghetto catch this St. Louis nigga on the corner

My persona known to leave rappers in a coma

So faggotts stop the grinnin', them chrome rims reflect

The hate in your face as you see em spinnin'

MC's are screamin', "No mo' shoutouts" through nine innin's

I'm drama, like two baby mommas and one pendin'

This here rapper split up your vest, cause the shit I'm packin' Dawg'll

knock your heart out your chest

Rappers suffer from cardiac arrest

If I'm uncomfortable I dump a few

You niggas are actin' like, I won't send em to the afterlife

This is Judah Zor, a hard act to follow

Murderous clique nigga, known as desperado.



(Ali)

Up next, Hillsdale representative

My nigga M.K.!!!



(M.K.)

You knew what time it was soon as you stepped in the door

Bitches gigglin' and pointin', and whisperin', "There he go!"

Where he go? Me I be loungin' between the ice

Sippin' Don P with a dime piece right!

Whisperin' in my ear about menage a trois

Us and her partners, El Passe panties and bras

Freaky deaky baby I'm lovin' that

Dig the way that you think, them your partners?

Get them a drink, shit one bitch was strippin'

Cause she didn't get picked, but baby

We roll with time, it's only rippin' the six, trick

Minutes later nigga rollin' four deep

Them bitches tonguin' in the back

I'm gettin' some head up in the frontseat

She like, "I got this" you control the cockpit

While her partners in the back sixety-ninin' tradin' cock spit.



(Ali)

Up next, we got that hazel-eyed heartthrob

Miss Fo' Reel, Penelope!!!



(Penelope)

Hot like fire, makin' these niggas yearn

Don't be stressin' me dirty, you got shit to learn

How to keep these seven zeroes that's my only concern

Put a torch to these hoes, make these bitches burn

Stern, as I handle my grit, talk mo' shit

Spit, and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip

Don't make me put a lump on your lip

A dip in your hip, I'm snatchin' your shit

I want it all so give me it

Am I a Luna-chic? Uh huh, I'm a looney bitch

More deadly than the venom that some anacondas spit

The Marilyn Monroe, of the ghetto

I'm a sucker for cornrows, niggas in Timbos hey

(I got old Timbos mama, let me, let me, can I hit that?)

Oh Lord, look nigga (C'mon mama let me hit that)

Get the fuck on out of my face talkin' all that

Old silly ass bullshit.



(Ali)

Up next, Kujo!!!



(Kujo)

Niggas hate me cause I'm nice in the game

And got a style priceless like ice in the chain

Aiyyo so who am I? I'm the best to ever spit

I got that, "Hot Shit" like I'm Nelly and the Tics

I pop a hot block dodge the cops and the dics

Cause they want me gone, been in the game too long

Here's how you want it, you come with guns nigga

We cock two, got work? I comp too

Block one, we pop two

For the love for my family, and my seed

Makin' sure them records live on, from now until infinity

I'm from the 34, live in 3D

Southsiiiiiiide, hot boy like I'm Figi

Spit the truth til I die, give a fuck you niggas sick of me

No matter what the fuck you faggotts do

You can't get rid of me.



(Ali)

Peace, to my cousin Trife, up next

The one and only Mic Checker!!!



(Mic Checker)

St. Louis, what you know bout high-grade we wastin' it?

What you know bout 76 pounds to break down in the basement?

What you know bout chances enough Air Course

Suitcases and pretty pictures out in Lambert Air Port?

What you know bout losin' count cause there's so many stacks?

How many niggas can say shit like this

But there's truth in the tracks?

What you know bout clicked up nigga? Out the country whilin'

How many you niggas done had pussy from the Virgin Islands?

What you know bout your broad beggin' to be my mama?

Lunatics and Skunk dick player up in Trulany

What you know bout mo' bail? We brolic like Brutis

Come for them, everyday and my clique's all exclusive

What you know bout Spanish Town? Amongst the gun clappers

Buff they penis soup head still on my red snapper.



(Ali)

One love to PL-Spin

Naw you know, up next Boogee Mann!!!



(Boogee Mann)

Well Mr. B-double-O-G what? M-A-double-N

I smoke joke and grin, and fuck your best friend

Only if she a ten, then I slide right in

Boogee and DJ Spin, be thunder and lightenin'

Damn that's frightenin, so tuck your vest in

My lyrical Mack-10, spit flows that kill men

It's the Midwest y'all, we aimin' at all y'all

We the ball til we fall or it's nothin' at all

So just warm up the water, cause we Blink like Trotter

Half-baked half slaughter, comin' like Vince Carter

How you want it head or cut? We in the back of the truck

Tryin' to see if baby girl can make me bust this nut

Cause I'm 24 inches above the gun creek

Get these hoes deep, so you pack yo heat.



(Ali)

What up Spud? Up next representin' V.I.P.

King Jacob and Suga Chi!!!



(Suga Chi)

Microphones I burn bitches to whom it may concern with this

Gotta learn this is to all my foes

Them baby mommas swervin' Neons and Geos

Cause they nigros to peep my steelo

In a ??? ready for war, suited and booted

Undisputed dame, been the same, in the game

Since my Tenants had fat laces, smack faces

With Tipsy (Ouch) intoxicated feel it bitch

You gettin' thrown out of clubs ever time you see me.



(King Jacob)

Uugh, everybody want to be street

Guaranteed they bring the most heat

And swear to God ain't nothin' sweet

I agree, but I also feel I ain't got to prove shit

To do it to them punk ass niggas from your click

I fuck hoes that be so thick, when I roll you know this

And them twenty inch chrome rims sit so sick

Motorola shit for communication, this is to aid my flows

Take over the whole nation.



(Ali)

Iceberg!!!



(Iceberg)

It's the nigga the player that keeps it duplicated

Or faded in no type of way, hate it if you like

But you can't stop us gettin' paid

Unless you sabotage the stage, or drop us in a place we stand

And then you have to worry bout your whole state

We made it now the legacy's forever more

Style be forever raw, heaven or hell

I'll stay forever S-T-L

Catch me down down baby, in a black Humvee

Comin' to get my fuckin' corner back for Nelly, (E.I.!)

My fuckin' record sales were barely, (Uh Ohhhhhhhhh!)

Now there's nothin' they can tell me

What I do is always too late, for the Louie

See how you fools respond to these bomb frees

Bigger Big Lee released all these beats

And everytime we do what's fuckin' million ???

And come to answer their question of how come I-C-E-B-G

Gon become part of this Alumni nigga



(Ali)

All the way from the Cle-Town we got my man E

Hella (Louie Town) Foundation!!!



(Foundation)

You never met a four, better with metaphors

Metal for whores, like Tiger's metal four

Shit, that's what I met her for, strictly city

Thick cliques mixed with Big Lee

Can't disturb, stand clap hands dance and swerve

For the spot where nobody else should fix a hand or word

E-Perior bless, since we all wreck mic checks

You guess me on, Midwest be songs, and testin' Jones

F with the best be gone, no quest-ion

School yard parties, fourty-four-four

Seventy West and East, don't get it F in streets

Style shows like sandals, pumps get handled

Dismantled, St. Louis is Tony Soprano

No two, heffers with blow poor, ghetto mo' gurr

Blow bolo get fooled around the clock.



(Ali)

Up next, we got two live MC's

My man Storm and his home' West Stone.



(Storm)

You can't fuck with Storm, six niggas in the truck with Storm

You want to jack him, but you won't got no luck with Storm

My dirty run with dirty niggas and he from St. Lou

Plus he know Kung-Fu, and he got guns too

That big dick dude, that flip kick fools like Tom Cruise

You don't wanna battle me dude you gon' lose

Hit you with one-two's, your lungs bruised

My foot in the butter so many crews call me doo-doo shoes.



(West Stone)

You know Stone is known to break them bones

Meet your chick and take her home

Get one chick and make her moan

And you wonder why these niggas hate the Stone

Broke their backs, when I wrote the raps

Nigga don't drink I'll smoke to that

Niggas hopin' that, I'll take a bow

Want to take my life? Better take it now

I'm still alive let me break it down

Turn this shit to the O.K. Corral

Get to blastin', whippin' asses

Forget that talk shit, I'm with the action

Want to make it hot? I'ma bring the heat

Ain't no nigga that can hang with me.



(Ali)

Up next we got Goobee Thug

The rhyme spitter!!!



(Goobee Thug)

We gon' get two seats recline and lean harder

X, smoke green, and buy the spring water

Y'all niggas polish your jewels to bling harder

I cock the fifth, y'all drop your shit

Type of nigga rob you to cop the whip

Catch me, on 23's with a boxter-twist

See the rocks twinkle twinkle right in front of your eyes

I shine brighter than the sun in the skies

Got a gun on my waist, got one in your eye

And I stays blowin' haze and that Chocolate Thai

Y'all smoke swag weed that's brown with seeds in it

I hustle from first to first through seasons

And you gotta accept this, I ball like the Celtics

A. Walker, shake you up

And I have Ted Foster to make you up.



(Ali)

Up next from the Rawkus Crew

My homeboy Fister!!!



(Fister)

I'm the man before time, move hands before time

Like Don Bluth I made The Land Before Time

Some MC's think they're nice, but not hardly

That's what they "Say Say Say" like Paul McArtney

And Michael Jackson, I cypher the action

To anyone who assists like John Packson

Who these kids think they is tryin' to act all wild

They temporary like members of Destiny's Child

I'm spottin' the top Feds, poppin' the hot lead

All in his pothead, makin' him drop dead

Call me Shanksoon, lyrically snatchin' your soul

Your squad's useless, like the right arm on Bob Dole

Behold, the manifold of a black Aristotle

Roadkillin' MC's, with my hand on the throttle

Smashin' em all, mashin' em all, bashin' em all

Picked up my Friday check cashin' em all