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Presidential MC Lyrics

from 4:21...the Day After

"Presidential MC" is track #19 on the album 4:21...the Day After. It was written by Diggs, Robert F. / Smith, Clifford / Woods, Corey.
"Presidential MC" is track #19 on the album 4:21...the Day After. It was written by Diggs, Robert F. / Smith, Clifford / Woods, Corey.

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Yeah, uh, heh, heh
That's Shadowboxing
Yo

It's that Blackout, spazzed out, G-String divas
Leave you a**** out, passed out, it's cold
Pack your h*** u*, blow your back out
You bad mouth, make 'em all believers

Throwing rocks from a glass house, y'all ain't perfect either
See that c***** and that h*** out garbage day tomorrow
And I have yet to take that trash out or emptied this cigar
RZA, Rah, we amped, eh, Meth is on his job

It ain't nothing like the French say, "Che sera sera"
So let's move on until the day we laying in the casket
With them suits on and I'm so cool that hell is only luke warm
Been too strong for too long, I'll probably die

With my boots on and on my way to cash a c****** coupon
You know I'm, proper, don't let them boys confuse you
The fact is Meth, I'm harder than bottles made by Yoo-Hoo
Wu-Tang, welcome to the House of Flying Daggers

Where the truth aim, flying out the mouth
Of flying rappers there it is

Now ask yourself is this for real? it can't be
My n****, if it ain't for real, it ain't me
I elect myself as presidential M.C.
I elect myself as presidential M.C.

Now ask yourself why is he so low key?
Why, is n****z pimpin' when the game chose me
I elect myself as presidential M.C.
I elect myself as presidential M.C.

Yo, b*** 'em and hit 'em, and he went into a spin cycle
Outblew his liver, a river flooded, what's happening?
It's drugs we wanted, gloves buttered, thug coverage
This is Fila, white sneaker, Louis Vitton luggage

I came, representative huddle, they all love you
That W, the legacy of little n****z muggin' you
The f***, what's up with you, yo, you suck, n****
Benches used to pluck n****z, we be on the roof, like "f*** you"

Them r** b**** is coming, losers, got to walk the plank
Users with U**'s on 'em, you move, you getting spanked
Shank broilers banked, alcoholics ranked ballers
They should call us, I rock mad ice like a walrus

The lam esters decided to lure us, we was up in Freedom town
Getting w*****, one Bentley tour bus, you might like the mack
And explore d***, y** c*** f*** with all of us
One of us dropped, there's twenty more of us

Now ask yourself is this for real? it can't be
My n****, if it ain't for real, it ain't me
I elect myself as presidential M.C.
I elect myself as presidential M.C.

Now ask yourself why is he so low key?
Why is n****z pimpin' when the game chose me
I elect myself as presidential M.C.
I elect myself as presidential M.C.

P*** c*** like tangerines, you shook like tambourines
Then jet from the set in the all black Lamborghin'
Nobody seen me, b**** in a tini red bikini
N****z saw her because they thought they saw a genie

Heidi Klum, p*** juicy, fat as a plum
Picture on the wall in jail, n****z jerk til they c***
God gargantuan, large, colossus, bombardment of darts
Make your squad, throw tantrums

Practice Kamasutra on broads, pop b**s
Leave birds with permanent scars and s*** like birthmarks
Digi bark back at dogs, snatch flies from frogs
Blow California c****** to despise the smog

This s*** I been with biz in the clearing, pigs sharing
Got fresh, Wu-Wearing, motherf***ers not caring
Then move through your community with diplomat immunity
Move to rep a two or G., shine like fine jewelry

Now ask yourself is this for real? it can't be
My n****, if it ain't for real, it ain't me
I elect myself as presidential M.C.
I elect myself as presidential M.C.

Now ask yourself why is he so low key?
Why is n****z pimpin' when the game chose me
I elect myself as presidential M.C.
I elect myself as presidential M.C.

The Shadow Sword
Shadow Sword

Songwriters
DIGGS, ROBERT F. / SMITH, CLIFFORD / WOODS, COREY

Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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