- Votes:
- Composers:
- Arby Quinn
- S. Franklin
- Isaac Booker
 
- Genres:
- 90s
- Classic
- Hip-Hop
 
- Tags:
- american
- rap
 
- See also:
Shyheim - You The Man lyrics
F/ Down Low Recka
 Chorus: Shyheim (Down Low Recka)
 (You the man Shy) I disagree baby paw
 You the man K (Who me? Uh-huh no way
 You the man Shy) Nah you the rah-rah star
 You the man K (Yeah but you can rip it the right way)
 [Shyheim] (Down Low Recka)
 Well okay if you say so I will be the man
 But all I wanna do is make my record just slam
 I wanna be the kid to make the real live single
 To make the party people in the crowd shake and mingle
 (Yeah well Shy you can do that with ease real simple)
 True cause I'm the shorty from the Wu-Tang temple
 But I can't sleep you get the girls and the cash
 (Yeah yeah but you're the one that got the shorties in the smash)
 Take one (take two) We comin through for your crew
 (Who are you?) Talkin about you man (you can't Wu)
 But you front, you all out punks on the hunt for some beats
 To make your next LP complete
 (Here we come) To make the crowd scream for the Clan
 One by one (Takin out your crew cause we can
 Get the gun) Better yet a knife what the heck
 The job gets done (When we chop the head from the neck)
 Since I'm short they have no other choice but to sleep underneath
 The blow that be knockin out teeth
 (I be the K, The Down Low Recka on the set I gets wreck
 I make the calm sweat wanna bet)
Chorus
 [Down Low Recka]
 So wassup better duck from my I'll megablast
 You move too fast and your ass is in the smash
 The Down Low Recka, shit I rock full clip
 In my glock gets hot so stay off my blockShyheim - You The Man - http://motolyrics.com/shyheim/you-the-man-lyrics.html
 I come down hard on cornballs who sleep talk
 Cause you won't survive in New York
 I flow a mad thick like the sap from a tree
 I'm of the live brothers represents G.P.
 I'm hot like the sun, find shade I got my rays on ya
 Come near to raid my sphere and I'ma lay for ya
 I see ya comin with attempts to Bougard
 Peek-a-boo you ain't hard I pulled your whole card
 I got flavor, you're damn right I gots style
 Nine yards, nah the K goes the whole mile
 Whoever said I wasn't I'll with the skill
 One minute I parlay, the next I'm all in your grill
 [Shyheim] (Down Low Recka)
 Back up, gimme some room so I can flip this
 You touch this, come on, and get your style busted
 You lay around and watch me break the mic stand
 You should know by now that I am the man
 Comin through, takin my place yeah you all know
 That I can't be touched by a crew or any solo
 Who dares to step to this kid and his Clan
 (Aww damn) Another crew done by the hand
 Of the Shy (What you do kid) I did him prop
 (Where's the payphone) Hell yeah, somebody call the cops
 When me and K grease somebody do somethin
 Stop bluffin and frontin cause you ain't sayin nuthin
 You're lyin, claimin that you rip shop up
 You ain't heard it from me cause I ain't one to gossip
Chorus
 Outro: Down Low Recka (Shyheim)
 (Yeah, the Down Low Recka, niggaz ain't really wanna battle)
 The Rugged Child is the man to all you crab ass niggaz
 (Mad flavor, no sweetness necessary, and we out)
 Peace










