Lyrics
Time's Up (featuring The New Urban Kid)
Beat created by: The new urban kid
Intro (performed by Rey)
Verse 1(Killa K)
Rhymin' all day and I wonder why,
Smoking that dro till the sun goes high,
sittin in my whip and I turn on the radio,
Listen to some south boy goin' "ey yo"
then my boys in the car always wanna crank it,
don't know shit about hip hop but they wanna slang it,
give me a minute let me introspect,
know the real rappers, show them respect,
talking bout nas and chris Wallace,
talking bout how they rhyme so flawless
and you know kanye dropped outta college,
but he sellin multiplaq
always keep his money stacked,
keep it hot to the streets when you spit your verse,
know that god gave us the gift and the curse,
but I ride by when i fly by shootin' verses like I'm doing a drive by
but I wanna drive by on these cats,
that talk about the ice on they wrists, and the gold in they chains and the
diamonds in they ear lobes, and I never show boat...
Chorus (performed by Rey)
I guess the time is up,
For every record I roll,
Every spliff I smoke,
I guess nobody knows till its over,
That the time is up,
If you in it for the fame,
Or you switchin' lanes,
Those who know, why it came know its gone,
Cause the time is up
(Repeat)
Verse 2(Rey)
Check it out, "my whips are riding on 24's,
Back of the trunk my semi's stored, Casanova,
The levels I'm breaking, hoes in the back,
Man I'm rich and famous"
Got me thinkin' about who the greatest,
Biggie, pac, or who the latest? ,
Crank that, dirty south, this is why I'm hot,
So called artists, but their ain't no picture,
Y'all imposters have your genre mixed up,
Hip hop ain't about bragging and dissin',
School detention, closest you've ever been to prison,
A mirror, in the kitchen, is the only recognition
You got, renting cars for your video shoot,
Spittin' the truth, never,
And you want me to take you serious,
Stop flowing like you in your periods,
Makin' us feel delirious, what
Happened to the traits that the greats had passed,
-Put your heart in your rhymes, and your bros in the back,
Never sell your soul for the cash, stay true till you die,
This the music of the fugitive lives-,
Battles and peace treaties, graffiti, and break dancing
And stacking, a bit of dro, and a mac,
For a spark, and the celebration, of the birth of an art,
(The New Urban Kid)
We need more emcees, like common and kanye,
We need to resurrect this game and watch it incarnate,
My soulja murders the boy whose tryin' abortion,
I'll bust ya whack ass if ya crank that off proportion,
I smack them franchise and o I think they like that,
O I ain't gonna bite that,
Man u just a white cat,
You ain't a emcee if your wife's a star,
We heard of one hit wonders,
You ain't goin too far,
Chorus
Verse 3 (Mr. E)
Let me take you back to a time when Hip Hop was alive and breathing,
Emcees excelling just for that soul surviving reason
So in this rap game,
cats do what they have to do to prosper greatly,
biggie, tupac, wu-tang, cali's where the Dr. Dre beats,
didn't see much of the doctor lately,
sicker than a homeless foster baby,
my pad is on a tall building,
where my helicopter take me,
hit the ICU, like kanye for his broken jaw,
back when the feens and the crack heads, were smokin' raw,
what is that time, I draw the mic, so its either win or lose,
smokin' on that dro, sippin' on a little bit of gin and juice,
picture me rollin, at a time when nas and jay-z had beef,
cruisin' down the alley where the illest of the cats be,
Chorus:
Outro (Performed by Mr. E)
