Testo Hit'em hard Vanilla Ice

Hit'em hard

Written by: vanilla ice, tha hit men, darryl delite
Allamby, zero
Produced by: vanilla ice & zero
Published by: ice baby music, inc., dj zero music, inc.,
Oliver and cooley music publishing, bmi.
Keyboards: darryl delite allamby
Background vocals (rap): vanilla ice
Mix by: vanilla ice
Synchclavier engineer: robert wechsler
Recorded & mixed at luminous studios, inc.

Here comes the lyrical breakdown,
Move out the way punk, and take a seat clown,
It's the ice man slicin', dicin'.
Hittin' like tyson.
So listen to the rhythm I givin' em,
My lyrics got the impact of a mac truck
When I'm sendin' 'em
Yo, my funky rhymes flow,
Kickin it like psycho
And I'm exploding like nitro-glis,
Coming like a hurricane bliss,
Straight sacking the track like a quarterback
My man zero is back with a killer slice,
I'm blowin' up the mic,
Ya damn right, vanilla ice
With twice the punch,
I put the crunch on marky
And take the funky out of his bunch.
I hit the home run
You got to third base, son.
I'm in first place,
Take a seat clown for the beatdown.

Uh, tonight's the night of the big fight,
With the mic in my hand I got the grip tights.
Ready to swing it like a louisville slugger,
Right at the head of a sucka,
Crack home run.
How did it feel to have the mic hit ya dome, son? uh!
I tried to make your head ring like a church bell.
I put it on ya hard
I'll make ya hurt well,
'cause you fell into my booby traps
No more good vibrations,
I'm tired of your boots raps,
So I eat ya like scooby snacks,
An maybe roll you like a zig zag
Or smoke you like a hootie mac,
You did what I did,
So you're gonna lose kid,
'cause to me you're still a new kid on the block
Get off my jock,
Get off my diznok
Before you get dropped
For the beatdown

Yeh, this is the last verse,
Should I say the last round.
And it's time I knock out another class clown.
Sit down and take notes
As vanilla kicks ballistics withdope lyrics,
Oh waht a pity, though
'cause ya had to spend three million dollars on your video.
It was video and I can admit that,
All that money's wasted 'cause your songs wacked,
I make stuff to make the people gather.
An' let 'em see us in a pit,
I wanna slam dance with ya, hammer.
Now can I kick it, of course I can.
Yo, you will get burned out, then turned out.
I'm gonna keep comin stong, song after song,
Ya thought I'd fade, well ya did wrong.
I'm the imperial threat for this sound fools.
Ha ha, here comes the lyrical beatdown.