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Review: Ice T – The Iceberg

Ice T – The Iceberg is uses a balance of political rap, gangsta rap, comedy rap, nerdcore, and sex rap. The Ice T album is a legendary old school rap album that any fan of Ice T or gangsta rap should have in their collection. Each song is worth listening to and is definitely not worth skipping. There are no songs worth skipping as each song is on point lyrically and production wise. One thing his album has is a balanced level of subject material. This is one of the greatest hip hop/rap albums of all time!

The album was recorded at a time when freedom of speech in American music was about to be removed and abolished thanks in part to the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) pressuring record labels to put “EXPLICIT CONTENT” stickers on their recordings. This was when PMRC led the fight against the distribution of music they “considered offensive” which led to a fight against censorship. That is why you have politically charged songs such as The Hunted Child, Freedom of Speech, Lethal Weapon, Peel Their Caps Back, and Shut Up, Be Happy on the album. This album is still as relevant today as it was in 1989.

Now there are provocative explicit sex rap songs on the album such as The Iceberg, The Girl Tried to Kill Me, and What Ya Wanna Do? that will make you feel wiggly and inappropriate. These songs will make you lose control. These songs are quite humorous and hilarious due to having such quotable lyrics. And these songs will give you and your friends something to laugh about loudly.

Shut Up, Be Happy was the cautionary warning that the United States of America could be under martial law if citizens do not go out and vote. A introduction that is still relevant today as it was in 1989.

We interrupt this program with a special bulletin. America is now under martial law. All constitutional rights have been suspended. Stay in your homes. Do not attempt to contact loved ones, insurance agents, or attorneys. Shut up.

Do not attempt to think or depression may occur. Stay in your homes. Curfew is at 7 PM sharp after work. Anyone caught outside the gates of their subdivision sectors after curfew will be shot. Remain calm. Do not panic. Your neighborhood watch officer will be by to collect urine samples in the morning. Anyone caught interfering with the collection of urine samples will be shot. Stay in your homes. Remain calm.

The number one enemy of progress is question. National security is more important than individual will. All sports broadcasts will proceed as normal. No more than two people may gather anywhere without permission. Use only the drugs prescribed by your boss or supervisor. Shut up, be happy. Obey all orders without question. The comfort you demanded is now mandatory. Be happy. At last, everything is done for you.

The Iceberg is one of those provocative explicit sex rap songs that will make you feel wiggly and lose control. Ice T kicks some of that fly pimp shit out there on The Iceberg. Ice T is the coldest motherfucker that you ever heard. Call him The Ice or just The Iceberg. He tells all about the late night escapades Rhyme Syndicate members Donald D, Evil E, and Charlie Jamm had. They gonna go crazy when they hear this one.

Evil E was out coolin’ with a freak one night. He fucked the bitch with a flashlight. Then he pulled it out and left the batteries in so he could get a charge when he begin. That shit was tight. Bitch’s titties start blinking like tail lights. Then he rolled her over to change a connection. However that bitch’s ugly face cold spoiled his erection.

Charlie Jamm fucked a freak on a ski-lift. The temperature outside was 10ºF degrees below 0ºF degrees which meant the temperature outside reached below freezing level at -10ºF degrees. He gave her the dick. It was cold and she said, “Quit!” Charlie Jamm said, “Bullshit!” She said, “Oh, oh, oh my god!” Charlie’s dick was frozen hard. But she said she never felt it. Maybe Charlie’s dick had melted.

Donald D went out with the Rhyme Syndicate posse on a night run Girls were on the corner. So they go have some fun. Donald D asked one if she was game. Back Alley Sally was her name. She moved on the car and moved fast. She pressed her ass on the window. All at once they heard a crash. Donald’s dick had broke the glass.

This is one of those humorous and hilarious songs which has such quotable lyrics. These are the quotable and memorable lyrics in the song.

I-C-E B-E-R-G
What’s that spell? Iceberg, baby, can’t you read?
Time to bleed, slaughter, slice

Before my posse makes a move on your mom’s crib
Think we got knives and guns? We got bombs, kid
Blow up your whole block, you hear the gunshots
Throw you in the Syndicate cellar and let your body rot
Cause I’m the coldest motherfucker that you ever heard
Call me The Ice…or just The Iceberg

I’m the Ice rhymer, a big timer
And yes I’m a pimp and a player and a hustler and kinda
A mack and a poet, impressive I know it
Don’t only rhyme for niggas ’cause I live my life co-ed
On the mic it’s livin’ breathin’ hype
A 1989 type Dolemite
Cool motherfucker, word
Call me The Ice… or just The Iceberg

Yes, I’m the rhyme kicker, the hard liquor
Parental Guidance Sticker? Yeah, I’m the nigga
Triple-X is how I rate
I’m the one your parents hate
I’m as cold as cold can get
Under pressure never sweat
Cool motherfucker, word
Call me The Ice… or just The Iceberg

Yes, I’m the big wheeler, the girl stealer
And if we play cards don’t let me be the dealer
The Ice, cool as water, hard as stone
The black mack of the microphone
Talkin’ shit the way I do
Rhyme Pays, the posse grew
Did you like Power? Word
Well this is The Ice… or just The Iceberg

The way Ice T says, “yeah, boy” and “bullshit” was quite satisfying.

The lyrics to the verse about Evil E fucking a bitch with a flashlight was hilarious and quotable.

Evil E was out coolin’ with a freak one night
Fucked the bitch with a flashlight
Pulled it out and left the batteries in
So he could get a charge when he begin
Used his dick, the shit was tight
Bitch’s titties start blinkin’ like tail lights
Rolled her over to change a connection
Bitch’s ugly face cold spoiled his erection

The lyrics to the verse about Charlie Jamm fucking a bitch with a flashlight was hilarious and quotable.

Charlie Jamm fucked a freak on a ski-lift
10 below, gave her the dick
It was cold and she said “Quit!”
Charlie Jamm said “Bullshit!”
She said “Oh, oh, oh my god!”
Charlie’s dick was frozen hard
But she said she never felt it
Maybe Charlie’s dick melted

The lyrics to the verse about Donald D fucking a bitch with a flashlight was hilarious and quotable.

Out with the posse on a night run
Girls on the corner, so let’s have some fun
Donald asked one if she was game
Back Alley Sally was her name
She moved on the car and moved fast
On the window pressed her ass
All at once we heard a crash
Donald’s dick had broke the glass

Now here are the hilarious quotable one-liners.

Fucked the bitch with a flashlight
Bitch’s titties start blinkin’ like tail lights
Bitch’s ugly face cold spoiled his erection
10 below, gave her the dick
Charlie Jamm said, “Bullshit!”
Charlie’s dick was frozen hard
Maybe Charlie’s dick melted
I’m as cold as cold can get
Back Alley Sally was her name
Donald’s dick had broke the glass

Ice T explains how his mind is like a lethal weapon on the song Lethal Weapon. This is his most lethal and lyrical song on the album.

Evil E and Ice T are on a jack move laying down the dope groove and smoking those who disapprove of them. Wrecking the deck. Ice T is the Lethal Weapon riding the apocalypse. If you’re in his way, then lay beneath the ground soon. Violence is his business fool. He is on a mission that’s to cure all punks as he busts caps. The microphone of doom has hollow-point ammunition raps peeling your back. He just cold lamp and vamp you with the shotgun.

You hit the deck as rap busts from his lips. He’s not close to being finished. Another clip is loaded as he raps. Lyrics bring death from the microphone Mac-10. You think he’s violent, but listen and you will find his lethal weapon is his mind!

Up against the wall It’s Valentine’s Day. The Massacre’s about due for a replay. Ice T is about to explode like a hand grenade. Evil E does damage on the crossfade and cuts like a battle axe. Claim of mind designed by the Ice himself. You beg for mercy as you read the hand you’re dealt. You walked into a set up. It’s sucking you down and now you can’t get up.

Ice T raps from the heart and soul, where only facts are kept. Many rappers sell-out pop and other MC’s slept. He ain’t in no playing mood. Sucker MC’s try to kick game, but end up talkin weak shit. You’re weak. You’re wack. You need to quit you lil punk bitch. New jack poppin fake rap.

The lethal weapon is slaying more bodies than John Gotti. Just open any book. That’s ammo to the brain. What really matters is how well is your weapon trained. Some would say genius while others would say insane. The weapon power has been witnessed upon many pages. From Martin Luther’s “Dream” to Hitler’s psycho rage. What’s more powerful? The brain or a twelve gauge? The words he speaks have scared many people to this stage. It’s entertainment like “Terminator” on TV.

These lyrics explain how reading can make the mind a lethal weapon. Reading is fundamental.

More bodies than John Gotti, the Lethal Weapon is slaying
Just open any book. That’s ammo to the brain.
What really matters is how well is your weapon trained
Some would say genius while others would say insane
The Weapon power has been witnessed upon many pages
From Martin Luther’s “dream”, to Hitler’s psycho rage
What’s more powerful? The brain or a twelve gauge?
The words I speak have scared many people to this stage
But promote violence, I really have to disagree
It’s entertainment, like “Terminator” on TV
But some’ll never see, you’re stupid ignorant and blind
The Lethal Weapon’s the mind!

You Played Yourself is aimed at people who play themselves short and sell their souls to keep up with the current trends in music. The song has quotable lyrics that are memorable and important.

Ice T in the MC game. A lot of MC’s front and they sell out for the money. They claim that they’re rich and that they keep cash. These brothers start yelling about gold. Ice T calls out MC’s that front and sell out for the money as he calls out the fakers who are falsifying in Verse 3.

[Verse 3]
I’m in the MC game, a lot of MC’s front
And for the money they’re sell out stunts
But they claim that they’re rich and that they keep cash
Yo, let me straighten this out fast
Two hundred thousand records sold
And these brothers start yellin’ ’bout gold?
You better double that, then double that again
And still don’t get souped, my friend
You think you’ve made it, you’re just a lucky man
Guess who controls your destiny, fans
But you diss ’em ’cause you think you’re a star
That attitude is rude, you won’t get far
‘Cause they’ll turn on you quick, you’ll drop like a brick
Unemployment’s where you’ll sit
No friends ’cause you dissed ’em too
No money, no crew, you’re through

Verse 4 explain what addiction to crack cocaine is like.

[Verse 4]
You got problems, you claim you need a break
But every dollar you get you take
Straight to the Dopeman, try to get a beam up
Your idle time is spent trying to scheme up
Another way to get money for a jumbo
When you go to sleep you count Five-O’s
Lyin’ and cheatin’, everybody you’re beatin’
Dirty clothes and you’re skinny ’cause you haven’t been eatin’
You ripped off all your family and your friends
Nowhere does your larceny end
And then you get an idea for a big move
An armed robbery…smooth
But everything went wrong, somebody got shot
You couldn’t get away, the cops roll, you’re popped
And now you’re locked, yo, lampin’ on Death Row
Society’s fault? No
Nobody put the crack into the pipe
Nobody made you smoke off your life
You thought that you could do dope and still stay cool? Fool

These were the memorable and important one-liners in the song.

Guess who controls your destiny, fans
Ain’t nobody else’s fault, you played yourself
And still don’t get souped, my friend
You played yourself
You better double that, then double that again
Nowhere does your larceny end
Another way to get money for a jumbo

Peel Their Caps Back explained Ice T revenge story on someone who killed his homeboy Ink. Ink was a brother who shouldn’t have died. “Hit record on my dope remote” was the dopest and best one-liner that made the song brehsive. The song had that sinister mystery detective sound and vibe as well as that cold murderous vibe and sound.

Ice T is at his house copying a videotape on VHS. He scoffs at the FBI warning thinking, compared to the violent things he does, that’s hardly a crime. They call that shit a crime? That shit’s a joke, yo. Then he hit record on his dope remote

Then he heard his phone ringing. He wonders who could it be. It was Evil E. He said, “We got static. Word, I just got out. Punks tried to move at the club and we shot out bullets everywhere.” Ice T said, “Okay what’s the prob?” Evil E told him, “Ink got popped. He’s dead as a doorknob.” Ice T thinks Evil E is bullshitting. Evil E tells Ice T that he is not fucking around. Evil E told him, “I ain’t fuckin around. The posse’s rollin tonight. Nigga, are you down?” Ice T grabbed his AK, 16, and baby Mac. Strapped on his vest and threw the 9. Evil E said, “I know where they be. Let’s peel their caps back.”

The posse was airtight 12 o’clock midnight. 25 cars under the streetlights. Some people talked while others cried. Ink was a brother who shouldn’t have died. Then the silence broke. 38 hard brothers stood and stared at Ice T. The car’s loaded with a silence that could wake the dead. Pistols clipped as the chambers loaded full of lead. Everyone in the crew knew what he said would mean by morning somebody else soon would be dead.

The cars at the corner like a long black snake. Night prowlin’ for a life to take. Down in the ghetto it’s an eye for an eye. That’s the answer to the question why.

Then Ice T cocked his pump on the trigger. Already madder than a pit bull. Just laying for a reason to pull the trigger. Ice T is insane. His homeboy’s death made him this way. But then they spot him. Evil E shot him dead in the face. The members of Rhyme Syndicate made sure that he got him. Others ran. There was no mercy to the posse’s wrath. Automatic Uzi motherfuckin bloodbath.

Then all of a sudden, a bullet came through Ice T’s eye. His dome exploded and he felt his other brothers die. He drank his blood as he fell like shit into the street. His corpse stunk like a burnt out rotten piece of meat. 10 brothers died in this stupid homicidal binge because nobody wins whenever someone dies.
But this drama, you’ll never hear a word of because all the newspaper’s gonna read is a gang murder.

The Girl Tried to Kill Me is explains the encounter Ice T had with a dominatrix who is a sex addict. She performed unspeakable sexual acts on him. However this dominatrix is already married. But Ice T is unaware of this until her husband arrives home. Her husband attempts to kill Ice T because he was having sex with his wife. The song uses a heavy incorporation of rap rock hence the loud electric guitars. The tambourine used in the background behind the rock guitar will make you feel wiggly and make you lose control.

The Girl Tried to Kill Me is one of those provocative explicit sex rap songs that will make you feel wiggly and lose control. Ice T kicks some of that fly pimp shit out there again on The Girl Tried to Kill Me. Ice T is the coldest motherfucker that you ever heard. They gonna go crazy when they hear this one.

Ice T met this girl the other night with a hype super dope body and face. Her mini-skirt was tight. I’m talking about legs, lips, and mind blowing hips. Ice T had to cross his legs just to look at her tits. She said she came out looking for some fun. She tells Ice T he is the one. He said, “Why?” She said he was fly.

Then she grabbed him by his hand. He thought he would die. She said she wanted to take him home to make love. Now that’s the kind of rap that brothers dream of. Ice T said, “Fast, slow, hard or soft, baby?” She said, “All the above.” But little did he know this girl had crazy plans for the night.

Now Ice T ain’t no sucker on the weak tip. But let him tell you, she was on some motherfuckin’ sex trip. She took me to him crib that night. There was leather and spikes. Then she broke out the rope and the dope strobe light. And she started buggin’. Lighting candles all over the room. Then she did a backflip and landed on his dick. He knew that he would be dead soon. This girl tried to kill him. Homeboys, watch out for this one.

She ripped off his shirt and tied hiss monkey-ass up faster than he could say, “No!”. It was like a rodeo, He was with a sex nut. He looked in her face. She sweated and she grinned with delight. And then she broke out a whip, He said, “Shit!” That must have hurt. This girl had crazy plans for the night.

Now whips ain’t all that she had. All kinda crazy shit was at this bitch’s pad. I’m talking about latex suits and spike-heeled boots. Oversized vibrators so that she could get loose. Ice T said, “Don’t…don’t…don’t whip me! I’ll do anything you ask!” And then homegirl stripped. 38″ tits. Man you shoulda seen that ass. This girl tried to kill him. She didn’t use a gun, bomb, or a knife.

His dick was harder than a bulletproof vest. So what? Then she started pouring baby oil on her chest. And then she said, “Gimme gimme gimme” Suddenly she jumped on his Jimmy and rode him like the Wild West. Ice T almost passed out from all the action. Then the front door busted open. It was her 6’ foot 10” husband. Ice T knew his life would soon end. There was nowhere to run. Homeboy tried to kill Ice T because he had caught him fucking his wife. He didn’t use a bomb, knife, or a gun.

This is one of those humorous and hilarious songs which has such quotable lyrics. These are the quotable and memorable lyrics in the song.

Now, I ain’t no sucker on the weak tip
But let me tell you, she was on some motherfuckin’ sex trip
Took me to her crib that night, leather and spikes
Broke out the rope and the dope strobe-light

She ripped off my shirt and tied my monkey-ass up
Faster than I could say “No!”
It was like a rodeo, I was with a sex nut

And then homegirl stripped, 38″ tits
Man you shoulda seen that ass

Now here are the hilarious quotable one-liners. These are the best one-liners he used in the song. These one-liners are the most memorable and quotable.

Now that’s the kind of rap that brothers dream of
Had to cross my legs just to look at her tits
Took me within a inch of my life
Now, I ain’t no sucker on the weak tip
Then she did a backflip, landed on my dick
She ripped off my shirt and tied my monkey-ass up
It was like a rodeo, I was with a sex nut
Man you shoulda seen that ass
All kinda crazy shit was at this bitch’s pad
Oversized vibrators so that she could get loose
And then homegirl stripped, 38″ tits
Homeboys watch out for this one
I said, “Fast, slow, hard or soft, baby?”

Verse 5 and the outro where the most humorous and hilarious parts of the song where Ice T is devastated and fearful of the fact that homeboy is going to kill him because he had caught him fucking his wife. The devastation in his voice is what made the last part of the song hilarious.

[Verse 5]
My dick was harder than a bulletproof vest
She started pourin’ baby oil on her chest
And then she said, “Gimme gimme gimme”
Jumped on my Jimmy, and rode me like the Wild West
I almost passed out, then the front door cold bust in
It was her fuckin’ husband, six-foot ten
I knew my life would soon end

[Hook/Outro]
Homeboy tried to kill me
He didn’t use a bomb or a gun
Homeboy tried to kill me
Yo…yo, nowhere to run
Homeboy tried to kill me
He didn’t use a gun or a knife
Homeboy tried to kill me
Cause he had caught me fuckin’ his wife
Yo…

Black ‘N’ Decker was the violent and graphic interlude that ironically calmed the mood down for the album after The Girl Tried to Kill Me got finished playing. One word to describe this interlude is gruesome. Motherfuckers are tryin’ to say that Rhyme Syndicate ain’t about nothing but blood and violence. But Ice T is violent.

These are the lyrics that made the interlude violent and graphic. But trip off this, man. Have you ever wondered what it’d sound like if a motherfucker took a drill half-inch and drilled right into the top of a motherfucker’s head? Oh man, you’d need some Black & Decker, man The cordless kind. I wonder what that shit would sound like. Probably sound like that.

Hit the Deck is Ice T’s more unique songs that is different from any other boasting rap due to Ice T’s use of diction. Ice T puts the lyrics on the paper with the pen. Evil E makes the records spin like a psycho with a switchblade. Islam drops the beats that you rock to. Thought that he would never get you? Got you. Doggin the floor like you know you never done before. How could a brother be so hardcore snd still keep you on the floor like a maniac?

Ice T is the coolest of the cool and is a mack on a mission. This ain’t no game to him. Ice T won’t be happy until the dance floor’s wet. He ain’t no rookie, He’s a microphone vet. Evil E’s on the set. Hit the deck!

Ice T and DJ Evil E are doggin the deck like it’s never been done before. You had enough? Ice T is about to blow up. Don’t you dare bite his rhymes. His rhymes are poison soaked in an acid bath. Your throat’ll need a skin graft. He was possessed by this treacherous track. This ain’t no joke. A sucker tried to flex and his arm got broke. Don’t make a move that you’ll regret. Evil E’s on the set. Hit the deck!

[Verse 3: Ice-T]
You start to think and wonder bout how it’s done
“An emcee? Maybe I could be one”
Drop the thought, get a job, change your mind

To be a dope MC takes time. But if it’s in your heart, get a pen. Motivation must be kept. There is no time for draggin. Don’t stop writing until the ink flow ends. Work and don’t halfstep. Dog the mic every chance you get. Stay down and build your reputation. You wanna be an MC? Get off the bandwagon!

Ice T kicks flavor to a musical track that is too fast to catch and too complex to match. He jumbles topics. You won’t know where he’ll go. Analyze his elements and tactics. And when he is finished, you can take this rap apart. Back in your face with a cold but steady flow. You feel the power of the Ice in the first row. Glowin like it did before but even more. The room is lit. The raps are hardcore. Let me see how hot you can get.

This One’s for Me is a political rap song which called business politics for bad business practices such as payola on radio stations. Ice T was upset at the fact that radio stations were not playing “real rap” music such as Public Enemy and Boogie Down Productions. Ice wanted to let the people know what’s happening because he was trying to save his community. But these bourgeoise blacks keep on dogging him. They don’t care about violence, drugs and gangs. You know brothers out there selling out like it ain’t nothin. The motte of the song is “You gotta stay down for yours”.

Ice T called out the Los Angeles based urban adult contemporary radio station KJLH for not playing “real rap” music. KJLH wouldn’t play his records one time back in the 1980s. KJLH is just a bunch of punk bourgeoise black suckers. KJLH just cares about their little old R&B bullshit they play all day and night. Ice T represent Los Angeles all over the United States and KJLH ain’t did nothing for him. Think about it. They ain’t tryin to represent the black community. They used to play soul music but now they don’t anymore.

Ice T is known and respected as a creator of the crime rhyme which is gangsta rap. Ice T is dubbed as the founding father of gangsta rap. His lyrics are deeper because he’s the one that makes you think before make a move. Ice T wrote songs such as “Pusher”, “High Rollers”, and “Colors” just to prove that he could kick game and drop knowledge at the same time. Infamy got dumped for fame.

This so-called government sells drugs to kids and say it’s done by criminals. And when the cops are crooks, who can you trust? You only see young brothers in a drug bust. His homey got a year for an ounce of weed while Bush sells weapons to the enemy. You gotta be stone blind not to see.

Cocaine can’t be made in the United States. The young kids on the streets aren’t the enemy. They’re just ghetto youth after money. They sell drugs. But who sells drugs to them? The CIA or FBI, my friend. Look at the streets. It’s a cocaine bloodbath. We gotta realize dope is pure death. Mess with drugs and you’re breathing your last breath. Selling drugs is straight up genocide. They’re gonna laugh while we all die. Sitting up there thinking you’re making that money. You gotta get something goin out there. We are just playin ourselves cold out of the pocket.

If Ice T lied like them, I think he’d get shot. This is because Ice T is kickin facts like this our government hates.

Ice T calls out chump MC’s with these lyrics of his.

Hold up, I ain’t finished on the diss tip
There’s a few more punks that I got to rip
All you chump MC’s who sell out quick
When P.E. was on the top, you rode the tip
But now they got problems and you suckers run
Who’s Chuck’s real friends, does he really have one?
You yell P.E. this, P.E. that
Fist in the air, proud to be black
Now they got static and you run like punks
I haven’t heard an MC stand up for him once
Maybe you suckers are just hopin that they fall off
So you can fill their shoes, nope sorry boss
That’s what the matter with black people anyway
We ain’t down with nothin, I don’t care what you say
Yell or lie, don’t even bother
How low will a brother go for a dollar?
Public Enemy broke a new rap age
And now you rappers ain’t got nuttin to say?
“Yo it’s their problem” “Griff shouldn’ta said it”
E where’s my pistol? (Yo I’ll go get it)
Cause it’s time for me to enforce some discipline
Are you down or not, are you out or in?
Chuck Flav and Griff are my true friends
I got their backs if it means my career ends
All you so-called down MC’s with Public Enemy
I ain’t heard nobody out there, tryin to help my man out
YouknowhatI’msayin? Griff is my man, I don’t care WHAT he said
YouknowhatI’msayin? And I ain’t gon’ let them go out like that
YouknowhatI’msayin? Chuck, Ice got your back
Anybody out there got problems with Public Enemy, come talk to me

This one’s for me, I make records for you
But this cut I straight out had to do
There’s topics in my mind I have to break
Cause so many of you out there are so damn fake
If ya ain’t know they’re no-one, cutthroats
Backstabbers, scheamin for banknotes
And all of you out there know what I’m talkin bout
If you claim you’re down then NEVER sell-out
Never sell out, youknowhatI’msayin?
You gotta stay down for yours
You know I want it, sure as I’m Ice-T
I make records for you, but this one’s for me

You know what I’m talkin bout out there
There’s ways to sell out left and right
But you ain’t got to do that
There’s things more important than money
I’m talkin bout pride, I’m talkin bout dignity
You got it out there
All you got to do is stand on your own two feet
Don’t go out like no sucker
Stay down, youknowhatI’msayin?
Peace

Ice T calls out the United States government with these lyrics of his.

Once again, I’m back in the diss mode
I gotta speak my mind, it’s time to unload
On this so-called government we’ve got
If I lied like them, I think I’d get shot
They sell drugs to kids and say it’s us
And when the cops are crooks, who can you trust?
You only see young brothers in a drug bust
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust
My homey got a year for an ounce of weed
While Bush sells weapons to the enemy
You gotta be stone blind not to see
“Our government is honest!” Nigga, please
Cocaine can’t be made in the United States
Kickin facts like this our government hates
The young kids on the streets ain’t the enemy
They’re just ghetto youth after money
They sell drugs, but who sells drugs to them?
Try the C.I.A. my friend
Or the F.B.I. or even Bush
Somebody’s gettin rich, damn sure ain’t us
We’re just killin ourselves while others laugh
Look at the street, it’s a cocaine bloodbath
We gotta realize dope is pure death
Mess with drugs, you’re breathin your last breath
Sellin drugs is straight up genocide
They’re gonna laugh, while we all die
Sittin up there thinkin you’re makin that money
Hustlin and all that, you’re killin your brothers
YouknowhatI’msayin? You just stupid, straight up stupid
Puttin dope into your body – c’mon, youknowhatI’msayin?
You gotta get somethin goin out there
Get some brains, youknowhatI’msayin?
We are just playin ourselves cold out of the pocket

This is one of those political songs which has such quotable lyrics that are memorable.

Somebody’s gettin rich, damn sure ain’t us
We’re just killin ourselves while others laugh

The song has memorable and important one-liners such as these.

You gotta stay down for yours
Somebody’s gettin rich, damn sure ain’t us
Look at the street, it’s a cocaine bloodbath
Selling drugs is straight up genocide
We gotta realize dope is pure death
You gotta get something goin out there
We are just playin ourselves cold out of the pocket

The Hunted Child is a political rap song about a 17 year old male who was gang banging and killing for the thrill that is now on the run. Ice T explains why he is the hunted child. The song tackled the subjects of street violence, gun violence, gang activity, capitalism, and political corruption.

Today in Los Angeles, another youth loses his life with a gunshot wound to the head. Street violence is at an all-time high. Sources say the assailant was 17 years old and lives in South Central Los Angeles.

This 17 year old male is want wanted for a homicide. He didn’t know what he was doing but did it anyway. Now the LAPD (Los Angeles Police Department) posse’s on his trail. He was out with his crew. Him and this sucker punk went at it when the boys caught some static. Now he is hiding out because police are after him. Of course he has nowhere to run.

He was only 17. He didn’t mean to kill anyone. But he was slanging and banging for the thrill. But once he pulled the trigger, then things got ill. His homeboys dipped out the back fast and left him alone in the echo of the gun blast. Everybody saw his face. He didn’t wear a mask. You wanna know his name? Just ask. The Hunted Child.

Ice T calls out the flaws of capitalism (science of capitalism) in The Hunted Child. He explains how the youth are abrasive to the concept of capitalism. (The science of capitalism which you teach to the youth on the streets today with the ‘ends justifying the means’ mentality ain’t happenin’.)

These lyrics explain how the government system has people geared to kill one another.

We’re just brothers on the streets killin’ brothers
This system has us geared to kill one another
Sellin’ dope to poison each other
The plan of The Man, word to the mother
But I’m a sucker cos I fell into their plan
187, I killed a brother man

Since I was young I never had a damned thing
At Christmas time I’d hate to hear the bells ring
Cos in the ghetto Santa ain’t got a dime
Your mother’s standin’ in the welfare line
The way the youth survive is crime
My life is over so I might as well speak my mind
I killed a brother cos this system had me geared to kill

This is one of those gangsta rap songs and political rap songs which has quotable lyrics that are considerably violent, political, and conscious. These are the quotable lyrics in the song.

We’re just brothers on the streets killin’ brothers
This system has us geared to kill one another
Sellin’ dope to poison each other
The plan of The Man, word to the mother

I’m sweatin’ heavy cos my face is on TV
Everybody in this whole world’s after me

My life on Earth was hell, you understand?
But when I die I’m goin’ to hell again

The science of Capitalism which you teach to the youth on the streets today with the ‘ends justifying the means’ mentality ain’t happenin’

These lyrics are the quotable one-liners on the song.

Street violence is at an all-time high
Didn’t know what I was doin’ but did it anyway
My ghetto quarters ain’t no better than a jail cell
But when I die I’m goin’ to hell again

What Ya Wanna Do? was the 8 minute long Rhyme Syndicate posse cut on the album about partying, fun, and sex. Well mostly the song is about partying. So party on. Okay party people in the house. Party!

Ice T got the Rhyme Syndicate with him. They about to tear stuff up. Y’all feel good? Yo, what the hell y’all wanna do? Ice T is on a syndicate rhyme spree with Rhyme Syndicate. You wanna get in? Put a sucker’s head out. Sound a little hot for you, boy? Syndicate mob ain’t nothin’ but hardened crooks. You try to diss and your ass is on a meat hook. Bad move. Want some of him? You’re on a mission and you end up missing. Rhyme Syndicate is blowin’ up like napalm.

Randy Mac is clockin’ a stupid grip on the party track he is cold lampin’. But when the Syndicate rolls he’ll be jackin’. The Mac is cuttin’ records and punks are gettin’ ripped. He busts the lyrics like a drive-by.

Nat The Cat is too swift to be stopped. He is a tough, talented power entertainer. A Notorious Asiatic. Nat The Cat is like Michael Jordan. A team player on a solo flight. Lookin’ down on MC’s faces full of fright and fear. He slam dunks a rap through their ear to hear. Eureka! He just struck a platinum fame! In the game things’ll never be the same because money changes everything. Catapultin’ above the top.

Once again comin’ at you hyper is the Donald D the Syndicate Sniper. No matter what killer he mentions, keep on dancin’. St. Valentine’s Day Massacre on a jury. He walks the street with a battle axe.

Life ain’t nothin’ but a piece of existence. Because when you die, you’s a past tense. So Bronx Style Bob likes to live my life like a big carnival. Get drunk and act like an animal. He likes the rock ‘n’ roll, the funk, the jazz and hip hop. Suckers get loud when Bronx Style Bob brings the beats and live.

The Black stallion Hen-Gee is knockin’ on concrete walls and standing tall. Rappers in his face, they stall and stutter. They are softer than melted butter. Born in Brooklyn, he can tell by the way that he walks and talks. Strollin’ with a slight limp. Flyer than any big city pimp. Hard solid as your city sidewalk.

Toddy Tee climbs a mountain top with just one rope, gets to the top of the stairs, and says a rhyme that’s dope. Wanted by the FBI for transport of sucker MC’s across the Syndicate borders. They can’t give him no time because it’s his rhyme.

Everlast is in effect gettin’ big respect. Then he collect big checks. 1’s, 5’s, 10’s and 20’s. A 100 g’s and pullin’ honeys left and right. Day and night. You gotta see it to believe it, It’s quite a sight. They’re all on the tip to get a sip of this poetic performer that’s fully equipped.

Y’all played yourselves right in front of the mic. Moved your body so that the feelin’ was right. But if you get lost scream out and admit that the beat’s too fast, slow it down or MC Taste quits. MC Taste is not the kind to give you a call. Circlin’ cyphers into molecules. They’re all on the tip to get a sip of this poetic performer that’s fully equipped.

Ice-T and the syndicate are in your town. They’re gonna bring the roof down underground. Syndicate posse growin’ and goin’ out of control. His posse got unity. This record’s shippin’ gold.

Randy Mac is back again for Round 2 to drop science for the ones who know it’s him. He ain’t conceited. Strapped for the attack Randy Mac is rollin’. The mic, the mixer, then the show is stolen. Knowledge and wisdom. It’s a mystery.

Nat The Cat is rockin’ on a rappin’ rampage and he is in control of the stage. He breaks down on a cat stand. Some think his stage presence is low. I think it’s loud enough to see him flowin’ and showin’. Go psycho breakin’ backs like bolo.

Bronx Style Bob is back. He knows you’re waitin’ for a rap to make you get up and start to clap. More bounce to the ounce and tizzy to the file. He is inclined to get smooth and prove that he can rock a funk rhyme. A funky rhyme to be exact and precise.

Hen-Gee is an impressionalist. Not a ventriloquist. He don’t hang out with suckers worth less than piss. Suckers can all come kiss the tip of his nine millimeter. When he aims he doesn’t miss He aims it to suckers that come around jockin’ on his tip when on the radio his records be rockin’. Don’t come frontin’ asking him for a pound. If y’all ain’t invited means you simply ain’t down.

Syndicate’s chilllin’ out tonight. They let Shaquel Shabazz loose and now it’s war. Bust the mix and let the rhymes roar.

Grab a partner and hit the dance floor because Toddy Tee is back to rock for you once more. Don’t worry about what he said or she said as long as what’s said is done in his bed. The Juvenile Committee’s on his side. And he’s kickin’ knowledge on a natural high feeling strong.

This is mortal combat, There ain’t no comeback. You’re tryin’ to get with Everlast but you don’t know where he’s at because in this world there’s no bombs or guns. Just a microphone, metaphors, words, and puns.
Sentences and phrases. No clubs or razors. No mercy for a sucker that wages. Grab the microphone and proceed to roar. He’ll take the floor to even the score.

Syndicate’s housin’ all competition. Divine Styler paralyzes a physical powerful vision. But savage ignorant pop that’s ignorant listen. Divine Styler is the rhyme thriller with dimensions of flavor.

The reason Rhyme Syndicate is bustin’ these raps are to make all you wack MC’s shut up. You’re always buyin’ rap records jammin’ def beats then dissin’ rap artists out in the streets. You always say our jams are wack but yours’ll be tight. But you never been near a studio in your life. You see, disrespect is your last resort. You’re like Howard Cosell. You never played this sport. But you’re always talkin’ mess bout how it should be done. So this message goes to amateurs and pros alike. You may be good but there’s no one better.

Read all the lyrics and you’ll figure out how long the entire song is.

Party!
(Okay party people in the house)

[Intro: Ice-T]
Yo, yo, in the place to be
My name is MC Ice-T
I got the Rhyme Syndicate with me
We about to tear stuff up, y’all feel good?
Yo, what the hell y’all wanna do, Syndicate, tonight, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Randy Mac in the place to be, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Nat The Cat, you’re in the house tonight, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Donald D is in the place to be, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Bronx Style Bob is in the house, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Hen-Gee is in the house, what you wanna do, homeboy? (Party!)
My man Shaquel is in the place to be, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Yo, Toddy Tee is in the house tonight, what you wanna do? (Party!)
Yo, Everlast is in the house, come on, what you wanna do? (Party!)
And MC Taste is in the place to be, what you wanna do? (Party!)
My man Divine is in the house, what you wanna do, homeboy? (Party!)
Yo yo, I’m about to kick this party up, is that alright?
[Round 1: Ice-T]
Yo, Yo, MC Ice on a Syndicate Rhyme spree
You say you wanna be down, you gotta talk to me
You wanna get in? Put a sucker’s head out
Sound a little hot for you, boy? Then, toy, get out
Syndicate mob ain’t nothin’ but hardened crooks
You try to diss, your butt is on a meat hook
Want some of me? You’re on a mission
Bad move, you end up missin’

[Round 1: Randy Mac]
Let’s get it straight for the ’89 tip
Randy Mac is clockin’ a stupid grip
On the party track I’m cold lampin’
But when the Syndicate rolls I be jackin’
You thought I fell off, I ain’t even slipped
The Mac is cuttin’ records and punks are gettin’ ripped
Gangster I am, bust the lyrics like a drive-by
You wanna sleep? Well, it’s lights out, beddy-bye

[Round 1: Nat The Cat]
Notorious Asiatic, tough, talented
A power entertainer
Catapultin’ above the top
Nat The Cat, too swift to be stopped
I’m like Jordan, a team player on a solo flight
Lookin’ down on MC’s faces full of fright and fear
I slam dunk a rap through their ear to hear
Eureka! I just struck a platinum fame
In the game things’ll never be the same
Because money changes everything
[Round 1: Donald D]
Once again comin’ at you hyper
Donald D the Syndicate Sniper
Boston Strangler, Charles Manson
No matter what killer I mention, keep dancin’
Five Fingers Of Death, Fists Of Fury
St. Valentine’s Day Massacre on a jury
Wanna convict me for kickin’ black on wax
I walk the street with a battle axe

[Round 1: Bronx Style Bob]
Life ain’t nothin’ but a piece of existence
‘Cause when you die, you’s a past tense
So I like to live my life like a big carnival
Get drunk, act like an animal
I like the rock’n’roll, the funk, the jazz and hip-hop
Suckers get loud, I drop ’em
I like [?] Fab Five
I’m Bronx Bob, bring the beats and I’m live

[Round 1: Hen-Gee]
Black stallion, knockin’ on concrete walls
Standin’ tall, rappers in my face, they stall
Stutter, softer than melted butter
There’s no other word, go ask your mother
Hard solid as your city sidewalk
Born in Brooklyn, can tell by the way that I walk and talk
Strollin’ with a slight limp
Flyer than any big city pimp
[Round 1: Shaquel Shabazz]
Gold, girls, cold cash
On the mic Shaquel Shabazz
Supreme, the Lord, the G-o-d
Down with the Syndicate posse
It’s you we rule without a tool
Mathematics in effect, it’s time to school
I’m the principal and knowledge is the key
Shaquel in the place to be

[Round 1: Toddy Tee]
I climb a mountain top with just one rope
Get to the top of the stairs and say a rhyme that’s dope
‘Cause I’m a cliffhanger, no, I ain’t a stranger
Yo, I’m Toddy Tee, and I’m a Compton banger
Wanted by the F.B.I. for transport of
Sucker MC’s across the Syndicate borders
No, they can’t give me no time, ’cause it’s my rhyme
Everlast, get funky for me one time

[Round 1: Everlast]
Everlast is in effect gettin’ big respect
Then I collect big checks
1’s, 5’s, 10’s and 20’s
A 100 g’s and I’m pullin’ honeys
Left and right, day and night
You gotta see it to believe it, it’s quite a sight
They’re all on the tip to get a sip
Of this poetic performer that’s fully equipped

[Round 1: MC Taste]
Y’all played yourselves right in front of the mic
Moved your body so that the feelin’ was right
But if you get lost scream out and admit
That the beat’s too fast, slow it down or I quit
I’m not the kind to give you a call
To stop on a rap that I lead, so I pause
I give you 5, 4, 3, 2, 1
If that ain’t enough, sit down till we’re done

[Round 1: Divine Styler]
Syndicate scorned, you act obedient
Tired of your fish rhyme [?] ingredients
Black on black while styles [provide?]
[?] of brothers that’s gotta be
Circlin’ cyphers into molecules
Takin’ over your space, that’s illogical
The vocal chords on a board with 24 tracks
Get away from the break [?] gotta rap

[Round 2: Ice-T]
Syndicate posse growin’, goin’ out of control
You say we’re weak? This record’s shippin’ gold
Power, strength, my posse got unity
We stick together and we’re soon to be
In your town, we gonna bring the roof down
Ice-T and the syndicate underground
No sell-outs, ’cause it’s caps we peelin’
Girls we love ’em, and shows we steal ’em

[Round 2: Randy Mac]
Knowledge and wisdom, it’s a mystery
I drop science for the ones who know it’s me
You say I’m dope, cool, it makes sense
I ain’t conceited, I’m just convinced
Strapped for the attack Randy Mac is rollin’
The mic, the mixer, then the show is stolen
The pimp, the player, hustler ass kicker
Watch your girl, ’cause I stick her

[Round 2: Nat The Cat]
Nat The Cat, my man will rap when I’m playin’ the back
Some think my stage presence is low, I think it’s loud
Enough to see me flowin’ and showin’
Go psycho breakin’ backs like bolo
Give me the mic, a metamorphis ignite
I break down on a cat stand, I kill ya like a hit-man
And come out kickin’ with the [?]
Rockin’ on a rappin’ rampage
In control of the stage

[Round 2: Donald D]
There’s a mouse in my house, so I bought a cat
The cat ran away, so now there’s a rat
I’m on the attack with my baseball bat
That one rat brought many others back
All through my house I set up traps
It seem like the rats have a map
But, nowadays I don’t know how to act
So, now, I feed the rats crack

[Round 2: Bronx Style Bob]
Back and I’m statin’ the fact
I know you’re waitin’ for a rap
To make you get up and start to clap
For Bob, a Bronx [?] Syndicate style
More bounce to the ounce and tizzy to the file
’79 the time I was inclined
To get smooth and prove that I can rock a funk rhyme
Hey, yo, ice-cube chillin’
‘Cause we got the gats and knack to see the kids top billin’

[Round 2: Hen-Gee]
Impressionalist, not a ventriloquist
Don’t hang out with suckers worth less than piss
Suckers can all come kiss the tip
Of my nine when I aim I don’t miss
Aim it to suckers that come around jockin’
On my tip when on the radio my records be rockin’
Don’t come frontin’ askin’ me for a pound
If y’all ain’t invited means you simply ain’t down

[Round 2: Shaquel Shabazz]
Wake up it’s time to be noticed
I’ma do this, I’m gonna show this
Beat to be mathematical
Syndicate’s in the house, let’s get radical
Bum rush the show and grab the mic
Syndicate’s chilllin’ out tonight
They let me loose, and now it’s war
Bust the mix and let the rhymes roar

[Round 2: Toddy Tee]
Grab a partner and hit the dance floor
‘Cause I’m back to rock for you once more
I don’t worry about what he said or she said
As long as what’s said-said is done-done in my bed
The Juvenile Committee’s on my side
And I’m kickin’ knowledge on a natural high
And I’m feeling strong
Yo, take this mic and get the party on

[Round 2: Everlast]
This is mortal combat, there ain’t no comeback
You’re tryin’ to get with me but you don’t know where I’m at
‘Cause in this world there’s no bombs or guns
Just a microphone, metaphors, words and puns
Sentences and phrases, no clubs or razors
No mercy for a sucker that wages
War, I’ll take the floor, even the score
Grab the microphone and proceed to roar

[Round 2: MC Taste]
Are y’all set, all prepared to start
Move in close ’cause here comes the dope part
By the way, I’m the Taste, if tracks
Could talk but they – but here go the facts
Brace yourself, you shoulda grabbed a grip
Protect your clan ’cause we’re about to trip
Bass reflex, the kicks that drive, divide
The weak from the rest [?] can’t survive

[Round 2: Divine Styler]
Syndicate’s housin’ all competition
We paralyze a physical powerful vision
But savage ignorant pop that’s ignorant listen
Divine is [?] no time for style
And I rock your grey matter with a smile
‘Cause I’m the rhyme thriller with dimensions of flavor
The knack – stylistic black

[Round 2: Ice-T]
The reason we’re bustin’ these raps are what?
To make all you wack MC’s shut up
You’re always buyin’ rap records jammin’ def beats
Then dissin’ rap artists out in the streets
You always say our jams are wack but yours’ll be tight
But you never been near a studio in your life
You see, disrespect is your last resort
You’re like Howard Cosell, you never played this sport
But you’re always talkin’ mess bout how it should be done
And when we ask to hear your record you never made one
So this message goes to amateurs and pros alike
We’re the MC’s that cold be doggin’ the mic
You may be good but there’s no one better
We rock you so cold, you need a cashmere sweater
Fight dirty in the pit when combat is on
We always attack before attacked upon

[Outro: Ice-T]
Yeah, Rhyme Syndicate, we in here
We tossin’ it up
I got my man Everlast in the house
Tossin’ it up, you know what I’m sayin’ ?
Kid Jazz and Bango couldn’t be here
But we gon’ to’ it up for them anyhow
Wherever you are you’re a star
Rhyme Syndicate blowin’ up like napalm
I got my man Chilly Dee deejayin’ on the set
And the one and only DJ Evil-E, we in here
Yo, we outta here like last year
Rhyme Syndicate
We gotta do it like the alphabet and A-B-C ya!
Yeah

[Everlast]
Everlast, Everlast in full effect
Where’s my gold record?
Where’s my record?
Where’s my record?

[Divine Styler]
Divine Styler with Physical Poets, look out

[Donald D]
Microphone King Donald D the notorious, yeah

[Bronx Style Bob]
This is Bronx Style Bob…

[Ice-T]
Nat The Cat, boy

[Randy Mac]
Randy Mac
One in a million on your back, boy

[Ice-T]
Yo
So we bout to get outta here
Seems like the police is outside, man
(Yo Ice, man, they got King Tee, Aladdin and Islam)
What, the police, man?
I knew somethin’ had happened
I was wonderin’ why King Tee missed the party, man
Yo Randy Mac, you got some money?
(Aw, you know what time it is, man
I got…)
Yeah, for some bail, buddy
We got to go do some work, man…

Freedom of Speech is the song which led the fight against censorship after Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) began pressuring record labels to put “EXPLICIT CONTENT” stickers on their recordings and the fight against the distribution of music they “considered offensive” with no regard to constitutionality. This was when PMRC which led to fight against the distribution of music they “considered offensive” back in 1989. This was a controversial time in hip hop history. The song uses a bit of political rap and nerdcore.

As Jello Biafra said, “What they’re trying to do with radio, with this, uh, McCarran-Walter Act and a lot of other ways, is start by saying that they’re protecting the public from wicked rock bands, or girlie magazines, or whatever. But, if you follow the chain of dominoes that falls down what they’re really trying to do is shut off our access to information itself. If they can’t do it by law they know there’s other ways to do it.”

Jello Biafra was telling that if religious conservatives and politicians can’t enforce censorship by law like in Communist countries with totalitarian regimes and dictatorships, they know there’s other ways to do it. This is currently happening other countries such as Russia, Syria, Lebanon, North Korea, South Korea, China, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Yemen, Malaysia, South Africa, Australia, Austria, United Kingdom, United States, Canada, Venezuela, Iraq, and Sudan.

To the politicians, can’t you see the more you try to suppress us, the larger we get? The United States Constitution says we all got a right to speak and say what we want. If you’re bitchin’ about rock ‘n’ roll, that’s censorship, dumb bitch. And who decides what’s right to hear? You? Tipper Gore’s argument was weak.

Freedom of Speech. That’s some motherfuckin’ bullshit. If you say the wrong thing, they’ll lock your ass up quick. The government will censor what we see, read, hear, feel, and learn. The books will burn. You better think it out. We should be able to say anything.

This is one of those political rap songs which has quotable lyrics that are considerably militant, political, and conscious. These are the quotable and memorable lyrics in the song.

They can suck my dick while I take a shit all day
Think I give a fuck about some silly bitch named Gore?
Yo PMRC, here we go, raw
Yo Tip, what’s the matter? You ain’t gettin’ no dick?
You’re bitchin’ about rock’n’roll, that’s censorship, dumb bitch
The Constitution says we all got a right to speak
Say what we want, Tip, your argument is weak
Censor records, TV, school books too
And who decides what’s right to hear? You?
Hey PMRC, you stupid fuckin’ assholes
The sticker on the record is what makes ’em sell gold
Can’t you see, you alcoholic idiots
The more you try to suppress us, the larger we get

It’s the suckers deprivin’ the truth from our children
You can’t hide the fact, Jack
There’s violence in the streets every day, any fool can recognise that
But you try to lie and lie
And say America’s some motherfuckin’ apple pie
Yo, you gotta be high to believe that
You’re gonna change the world by a sticker on a record sleeve
Cos once you take away my right to speak
Everybody in the world’s up shit creek

Freedom of Speech, that’s some motherfuckin’ bullshit
You say the wrong thing, they’ll lock your ass up quick

But don’t close it, always keep an open mind
A man who fails to listen is blind

They can suck my dick while I take a shit all day
Think I give a fuck about some silly bitch named Gore?

Let me tell you about down south
Where a motherfucker might as well not even have a mouth

These lyrics are the quotable one-liners on the song.

They can suck my dick while I take a shit all day
The knowledge I drop will be heard by millions
Microphone on the stage cold illin’
And who decides what’s right to hear? You?
The more you try to suppress us, the larger we get
Yo, you gotta be high to believe that
Even though it may not bring mass appeal
A man who fails to listen is blind
We only got one right left in the world today
Your opinion is yours, my opinion is mine
We should be able to say anything, our lungs were meant to shout

Ice T and of the Rhyme Syndicate ramble on to brag about stuff that is absolutely not true on the Rhyme Syndicate posse cut My Word Is Bond.

The other day Ice T spent a million on a def gold chain that weighted 39 pounds, my name plate the same
He put his gold chain to find out it was too heavy So he hired himself this brother to wear the gold chain for him.

One night they was out chillin. Ice T was held at gun point by a thug’s .22. But when he told him that he was the L.A. player Ice-T, the brother robbed somebody else and brought the money to him. You might think I’m lyin’ but man, you’re wrong. As I told you before, Ice T’s word is bond.

Bronx Style Bob played basketball back in a park. The team on the board hit three pointers in the dark. He got a scholarship. He was goin’ straight to the Pro rank. The Lakers wanted to pick him but takin’ Magic’s spot could be bad for The Lakers rep. So he sent Bronx Style Bob to play in Chicago instead. He gave Michael Jordan a break and then he came back to the city.

Donald D did a concert in the White House. And after that Donald D and Donald Trump hung out. Afterwards he knocked Vanity boots in a limousine. He rejected Michael Jackson’s demo. (Oh the humor.) Donald D smacked Freddy Krueger and he didn’t reply. He also hit Mike Tyson in his eye. Drank a case of Cisco and he didn’t get high.

Bronx Style Bob was walkin’ down the block on Monday morning. He saw this girl in a Jaguar. She stopped by Bronx Style Bob. She said her father casted for the Cosby Show. Then she said, “Bob, would you like to go?” You know, So he went with her and they chilled. He got her drunk off the Eight Ball and they illed. She was stupid rich. So he bought himself an island which he charged it to her Master Card. She gave him a mansion.

Ice T has been a player ever since his youth. In 1st grade he was knockin’ kids out cold. In 2nd grade he was truckin’ the large gold. In 3rd grade he was checkin’ the youth bank. By 4th grade he was putting gas in his Mercedes Benz. By the 12th grade he was gamblin’ outrageous. He drove through Desert and broke Las Vegas. As I told you before, Ice T’s word is bond.

I rate this album 5/5*****!!

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