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we got it hemmed - cella dwellas lyrics

cella dwellas * “we got it hemmed”
[emcee(s): u.g. and phantasm]
[producer(s): nick wiz]
[scratches: dj slice]
[bassline: dj slice]

[intro: cella dwellas]
u.g.: yeah, cella dwellas in the house for 1994, boy! ha!
phantasm: it’s like that. that’s how we coming

[hook: cella dwellas] (x2)
ayyo
it’s like that. ayyo, it’s like that. we got
it hemmed—now you’ll never get the mic back

[verse 1: u.g.]
hey!
that’s the way, uh huh, uh huh, i
like it. you’ll flip like a sharp turn in
a sidekick when i kick the cursive
nerves pop, my mental stays hot like a wok
tongue chops your knot sharp like a cleaver
i got you dancing for money like gator from jungle fever
emcees be screaming on the mic—give me a break!
n*gga, save that drama for ricki lake
i figure about ten men have gotten fried
i got you screaming, “d*mn, d*mn, d*mn,” like jj’s moms
when his pops died, huh, in the truck crash
i’ll slash and have n*ggas tripping like hash
or lsd. let us be what we wanna
back in the days, i used to sweat that chick wilona
and thelma. my realm’s the illest words
still, it’s time to let my rhyme blow like willis
jackon’s afro, diff’rent strokes for different folks
“ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, that’s all, folks,” like
porky pig. peace to my nig’ l*o*
*r*d digg*e*r. i see far
so “yee*haw” like chains. see the flame from
my gun, make like dmc and run
[verse 2: phantasm]
phantasm, i’m about to set it
give me the rock, and i’ma net it (net it). dice? i’ma
bet it (bet it). automatic? i wet it. animals?
i pet it (pet it), and when i see some skins, i’ma get it (get it)
so why you wanna flex (flex)? then you’ll have a tec (tec)
stuck to your neck (cl!ck, cl!ck, boo*yah!). kid, chill, finish your becks
never did a bid in the state pen’ even
though i murdered many men with the glock*10. what’s
the deal? it’s mad real on this end
recognize and realize, kid, don’t fantasize
in all jest, my glocks penetrates a vest (vest)
and god bless anyone that i put to rest. like
pms, i leave a big mess when i’m illing
blood be spilling from .380 shots i’m drilling
from my raps and tracks, i get ‘nough banks
peace to ranks and the s*xistest spank

[hook: cella dwellas] (x2)
ayyo
it’s like that, ayyo, it’s like that. we got
it hemmed—now you’ll never get the mic back

[verse 3: u.g.]
now u.g. is
a special kind of word: it’s an emcee
name you never heard. word is bond, it’s the
cella dwella that sings, u.g.’s
a person, place, and thing. hey
u.g. is a person, place, and
thing. who (who?), what (what?), where, and why?
i won’t grow up like peter pan, i be
the man with the samurai cut, get my eyes stuck
on all the fly chicks and pretty faces, but i’ve been
looking for love in all
the wrong places
looking for love. like buckwheat, i pluck
beats like a guitar string. my cellular rings
phone home, e.t. sitting in my
tipi, smoking lyrics with indian spirits
like tonto pr*nto, got mad cash—call me johnny
a figure from the hills like tommy flows
b, listen closely. urortho*
*dox when i rock, i wreck up blocks like mothra
[bridge: cella dwellas]
it’s like that (it’s like that)

[verse 4: phantasm]
as
a youngster, i was still amongst the black hoods
hop along cassidy, holding my hammer backwards
wishing it was a four*fifth while blasting jams by sl!ck
rick, the story about kit was my sh…
i watched daytime soaps and leave it to beaver
carried a meat*cleaver, the tall man a flat*leaver
i bounce from friend to friend (friend), then i go
hit skins, then jumped in a black benz to make ends
now we make hits, but no more *rs*nio
you don’t see a hundred n*ggas up in the video
but the ones you do see? that’s who we run with, have
fun with, bag hons with, pull out guns with (blah!)
i got a gift, a .380 from saint nicholas
and even though my name is chris, i won’t miss (n*gga)
i k!ll a household, man, woman, and children
and get ‘nough props just like the super incan building

[hook: cella dwellas] (x2)
ayyo
it’s like that, ayyo, it’s like that. we got
it hemmed—now you’ll never get the mic back
[outro: cella dwellas with scratches by dj slice]
u.g.: yeah, like that. cella dwellas. yeah, for ’94, you know’m saying? sl!ck nick, teaneck in full effect—what?!? tommy knox, know’m saying? masta ace, rugged raw moore, q*tip and a tribe called quest, baby! yes, man! flatbush. large, ‘nough vibes, ‘nough respect. yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. f*ggots
phantasm: big*up schott free, matt life. yeah, lord digga. every time. ahhh! hahahaha!

- cella dwellas lyrics

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