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hold u down - cella dwellas lyrics

cella dwellas * “hold u down”
[emcee(s): u.g. and phantasm]
[producer(s): nick wiz]
[bassline/keyboards: dj slice]
[sample (multiple elements): stanley cowell * “el sp*ce*o” (0:49)]

[intro: u.g.]
check it out. check it

[verse 1: u.g.]
u.g.’s mag*
*nificent like morocco, used to rock flow
got to blow so i can drive a land cruiser, choose a
heavy rings and things that make society
eye me and attract thugs that wanna try me
and stick me. my clique be thick, see, like gerry cooney
more gees than spoonie, hands nice like al toon’s be
from the jets. bets on dog races
s*x in four places. becks? drink four cases—what?!?
peep the scientist. me and phan’ roll like
power man and iron fist, got shorties laying on
my couch like a psychiatrist, automatics pop
like grease when you frying fish. this ain’t no game, kid
i see more fame than ten n*ggas i knew
that blew. now it’s time for us to get cash too
[verse 2: phantasm]
ted
dibiase, the million dollar emcee
check the realms ‘n reality lp. we murder n*ggas
mentally. bet you, out of six rhymes, i’m four and better
the big pictures was a jetta and some lo sweaters
but that was years ago. now a n*gga know
emcees be living off this sh*t, and that’s for real though
had dreams of being down with the hit squad
the dwellas is forever, and now we’re the sh*t, god
if shorties hassle me, know a butch named cassidy
call me the sundance kid, soon to blow and live
full*court, breakaway rims, three g’s
and soundmen, single climbing, keep a n*gga shining—true
indeed. my seed is the love of my life, my only
son, no wife. get nice, shoot dice. me and
my man (man) silky slim and geechie dan (dan)
on the road to the riches, keep the fame and the b*tches

[hook: u.g. and (phantasm)]
son, it’s like
whatever. (i got your back forever—don’t sweat it)
and if you’re gonna set it, n*gga, set it (‘cause i’ma hold)
(you down, nah’mean? no fronting). whether we
be rapping or back*smacking something
[verse 3: u.g.]
i throw
flows like joe theismann, wise like three wise men
pose like the heisman in pictures, my scriptures be
lethal weapons, i bust like mel gibson
on screen, on*point like infrared beams
dreams of hot tubs, owning yachts and clubs
with strippers, with “tommy hil’” printed on my slippers. baby
bro, pesos folded in clips
model ships up in bottles that be priceless, the mic gets
smashed on my behalf, flash steel
on purpose. don’t front for me, kid. it ain’t worth it to get
blasted. dirty like the b*st*rd, heard a lot
of trash sh*t on wax—some labels need to drop their acts (word up)
‘cause when it’s our turn to shine, you gon’ see
a gold lp, so what you telling me, phantasm?

[verse 4: phantasm]
the dwellas already got fame in the game
one album to claim, putting crews to shame. just
because you get a pound, don’t think you’re down
i know a lot of rap clowns all up in this town that
smile in my face. behind my back, they talk trash
made a little cash, but how long will you last? lon*
*gevity’s the key to the real money
rule 4080: industry’s shady
my true friends in the biz is u.g. and
nick wiz and some crazy*ass crooklyn kids. bottom line:
it’s time to get mines for tracks and rhymes
and generate papers like the new york times
[hook: phantasm and (u.g.)]
son, it’s like
whatever. (i got your back forever—don’t sweat it)
and if you’re gonna set it, n*gga, set it (‘cause i’ma hold)
(you down, nah’mean? no fronting). whether it
be rapping or back*smacking something

- cella dwellas lyrics

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