Coup Lyrics     What if Iceberg Slim read Karl Marx? The answer is the Coup. Rapper Boots uses a refined, pimp-style flow to deliver calculated social commentary on a broad spectrum of subjects, from the realities of the ghetto to the corruption of the White House. The Coup drop political game and mack poetry for your mind, all with the goal of overthrowing capitalist society one street corner at a time. The music of this revolution is pure Oakland funk, but the band uses unorthodox instrumentation, including violin and harmonica, and the production is richly orchestrated and complex. In fact, if other rappers ever sampled Coup beats, they would probably find three or four tight hooks in each one. Completing the package is DJ Pam the Funktress, world-renowned for her turntable wizardry. The revolution may not be televised, but you can check it out online. Download Coup MP3s here Buy rare Coup vinyl records, CDs and rare music albums: Coup De Grace Kill My Landlord Lecons De Tenebres    Maximum Compas From Haiti Party Music    Sprite Steal This Double Album

Coup Song Lyric: Hip 2 Tha Skeme Chorus I get it done Make it one make it two make it three Right before it happens Make it four make it five make it 6 7 8 9 Ten Come on motherfucka we can do it again Repeat See I ain’t never had shit But my strife and my game and my life And all thems is just hand downs from my granddaddy lidvens For them whose black folks ever came to here To steal and hustling food stamps for that nine to 4 caddy How many days can I stretch this box of grits Shit never quits I’m a brother Pitching fits or pitching shit I use my mouth or a leg muscle anything to make the rent, Yo give up the hustle. I know the us economy and I could run it Im about to make these four dollars into 4 hundred Aint nothing happening but this serious game While they got billions in the bank We just got money on the deck And when we got fresh rims we on top, On top of what when the kitchen’s table’s on hock Gun uncocked but we seen it on the past Make a fast dash for the cash be gangsta leaning on your ass Twentys and tens it’s all about making ends No need to sin to uplift a california living But I’d rear cos err I remember as a tot mr ogs Skank you motherfuckars with the glocks And now the rocks is in my pockets And my spots hot like the haiwaiian tropics A taskforce topic cos this one’s a cya Even though the yay is brought in by the cia See I’m a motherfuckas thats done some dirt for my meal ticket But I learned quit you gots to deal with it Well I dealed for twentytwofucking years You damn straight my homies been laid when we all shed a tear And it’s clear to my ear I had to learn that knowledge Cos after 12th grade I had to say fuck college And the knowledge no longer will I waste my time The chrome was stuck in my ear But I’m stuck to the ground Im steady mobbing Back to the police station, They checking me but it’s inflation thats doing this taking No hesistating cant be waiting let me do my thing I was hooked like a fiend but now I’m hip to tha skeme Chorus I heard recognized game when it’s in your face Im spitting the game so close to you You could feel the wet trace If everybody in the hood had a phd Youd say that dr flip that burger hell it good for me 200thousand brothers watching one mind one place to go Aint no revolution they just walking to the liquor store Here take a swigger so it’s quicker round the niggerroe Just wanna get rich the rigamole I been here before A typical ho ain’t really no different Except that she would know that caint no prostitute Can become a pimp up in this system It’d be more drama than a soap opera daytime spot But ain’t no twist up in this cemetery plot Since nineteen fiftyfour I’s been hustling for that dough My girl been putting out cross that wick like she’s a specialized pro This shit is getting steep Im getting ill ready to kill The only thing I can inherit is an overdue bill Now it’s six in the morning I stride to the ride As I glide down the street I cant get to park ? Cos my gas is kissing heat Im not yet free But you don’t hear me though Unlesss you creeping soap as my drive through window Now if you wondering bout my fucked up fickle frown Is cos I’m thinking bout how the wealth don’t trickle down Listen to that beat nickle pound is my homies in the back Pass the nickle bag around and I’m looking at the street Through the fogged up windows knowing if I was walking Id be smelling stench or piss or stale pussy in your window I ask when those stores get closed down A system that eats itself got it looking like a ghost town No proof of purchase hear my essence purchase proof Analyze how they fucked us like if I was dr ruth Im on proof with the truth they started with nothing Robbed and ganked and killed Aint no po folks getting rich Less some caps is getting picked Except for a couple of motherfuckas who done live their Token seen lifestyles of the rich and famous Front page of the magazine but that’s a known Trick tell them suck their own dick Im hip to the skeme My fist will bring up the whole clique. Chorus Get This Ringtone 20,000 Gun Salute Breathing Apparatus Busterismology Cars & Shoes Dig It! Drug Warz Fat Cats, Bigga Fish Fixation Fo Da Money Foul Play Fuck a Perm Funk Gunsmoke Hard Concrete Hip 2 Tha Skeme I Ain’t The Nigga I Know You Interrogation Intro Kill My Landlord Last Blunt Me & Jesus The Pimp in a ’79 Granada Last Night Not Yet Free Pimps Piss on Your Grave Repo Man Santa Rita Weekend Sneakin’ In Streets of Oakland Takin These

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