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Singles Flirt Up Your Life CRACK..rar
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Singles Flirt Up Your Life CRACK..rar
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Video results for: flirt up your life crackMore results from video
Kool Moe Dee Let's go' (LL Cool J DISS)
Want me to get him? Well I got him My mouth is an Uzi and I shot him With the hundreds of rhymes and (More) Want me to get him? Well I got him My mouth is an Uzi and I shot him With the hundreds of rhymes and rhythm designed To make him rewind this time I draw the line He's mine...just chill Don't nobody touch him cos Imma get ill The boy's phony as a three-dollar bill And this time I shoot to kill Just like a sucker you took the bait Now you're like a dead fish on my dish, too late So party people kick your feet up, I'm about to heat up You're hungry for a battle, now it's time to eat up Boy, I'm gonna chew you, cos I knew you was Talkin' that junk, punk, now Imma do you The way you should be done, call you my son Make you say "Daddy, I don't want none" I've had enough of you actin' tough You huff, puff, grab your stuff you cream puff bluff Talk about a battle, but you don't wanna do it You got yourself into it, you blew it You egomaniac, I'm a brainiac You came back with a stone cold plain attack Your rhymes are weak-wack, how can you speak that? You need to sneak back to the drawing board Jack... The Ripper, down with my zipper You get paid to be a Moe Dee tipster Tryna knock the way I rock, get off my jock Imma knock you out the box, let's go... Let's Go! Verse 2 Put up or shut up, get up, yeah what up? Huh, get on the microphone and get cut up Talk about how your records went double platinum With those lyrics?! Huh, I laugh at them So you got paid, take the money you've made Bet it on yourself, are you afraid? Money talks, B.S. walks When I stalk like a hawk a victory is chalked So put your money where your mouth is, you don't know about this Battlin's for real men, and I doubt if You can even hang or give a run for the money You're just a sucker, and it's funny How you never ever had a drop of juice in New York And now you go on tour and try to talk that talk You try to act like you're a big man, but you're a big fag Stridin' and hidin' while ridin' my big man You ain't got a chance in the world Your records were smokin', but you sound like a girl... [How you like me now? I'm gettin' busier I'm double platinum] Hold up, is he a Man or a girl? What in the world? You sound like Cheryl the Pearl And you wanna battle me on the microphone? Leave that crack alone, let's go... Let's Go! I said, Let's Go! Come on, boy! Let's Go! Better than me? Verse 3 Picture that with a Kodak I don't take no shorts and you know that I roll hard, run the rap yard, put up your guard I don't get even, I get odd, Todd Always one up on ya And I tried to warn ya You slept, you took a backstep Ruined your rep and wept, you should've kept Your mouth shut, you know what? You gotta say you're sorry [I'm sorry] So what? You call me a punk, you wanna see who's soft? Put the microphone down, let's square-off You need a hand, you got hands for Tryna be me, now LL stands for Lower Level, Lack Lustre Last Least, Limp Lover Lousy Lame, Latent Lethargic Lazy Lemon, Little Logic Lucky Leech, Liver Lipped Laborious Louse on a Loser's Lips Live in Limbo, Lyrical Lapse Low Life with the loud raps, boy You can't win, huh, I don't bend Look what you got yourself in Just usin' your name I took those L's Hung 'em on your head and rocked your bells Now, here we go, blow for blow, let's throw Rhyme for rhyme, yours and mine, and yo When it's time to battle rhyme I know How to make it flow, so let's go To the ring, rapper's sing and swing Words and verse, see who deserves to be king Serve a blow to that ego As if you didn't know, let's go... Let's Go! Let's Go! Verse 4 How can you say you're the best? Get put to the test in front of a million and fess Tried to withdraw because you saw The juice I got's not like before Huh, I'm formidable, unforgettable You're submittable, you look pitiful Yeah you're headstrong, but you're dead wrong Wanna survive? Stick with the love songs Take off your shirt, flex and flirt And leave the real hard rhymes to the hard rhyme experts If you don't, boy you'll get hurt Feel like dirt and have to revert To comin' on stage butt naked To make up for what you can't do on record Open your eyes twice the size and realise I'm on the rise and you're on the demise Ostracized by my reprise Step in my face and watch how that head flies I mean business and I'm serious I ain't sellin' out and now here he is Frontin' and fakin' and talkin' about makin' The money from money, now don't you know they can Use your support cos you've got caught Signed, sealed, delivered, sold and bought A puppet on a string with no heart A fool and his money will always part You used to be a rapper, turned into a businessman Loafin' on the job and cheatin' the fans I'm too potent, powerful and spiritual Mental, emotional, physical and lyrical You wanna beat me? It's gonna take a miracle You've got a lock on my jock like a pitbull. (Less)
Backcountry Flying in Idaho :: Ohio Bush Planes
My writing is geared for non-flyers. If you're a pilot, find something else to read, like a (More) My writing is geared for non-flyers. If you're a pilot, find something else to read, like a legal document or a parts manual. This is the third edit. 1 for fun. 2 for vengence. 3 a happy medium. I like to think of editing like farming. The job is never really done. ****************** Ohioans are always flying out west killing themselves in the mountains. It's just something we seem to be good at. All these dudes talk up "Mile Hi", a grass strip in Idaho, as if it's the place to go if you can't get your short strip fix elsewhere. I had to go see for myself. Base camp for me was Johnson Creek. It was a pain getting there, with little summer storms littering the western deserts, plains, and mountains for days. It was raining on my long final into Johnson Creek. Once I was there a couple days of reprieve were granted from the weather gods. Before setting up my tent, the new airstrip caretakers, Bev and Paul, rode up on their trusty four-wheeler. I told them I was going to try to find "Mile Hi" and they started talking about the "famous four"...four infamous strips of the area that are short, rough and have plenty of hazards. So, my goal just got a little larger... They had that well known, yet slightly over priced "Fly Idaho" book and let me borrow it to read up on these strips--even tho it was autographed by the author. I also got a map from them--it turns out the famous four are not on the GPS. They caught the vibe of my eager "little-brother" naivety (or whatever it is that makes me act this way), and started getting worried for me...Paul more than Bev. I told them if they didn't see my plane by dark the next day then send help. Paul was up at the crack of dawn while I was brushing my teeth and waiting for the ice to melt from my wings. He asked me if I still thought I should go to Mile High after reading his book. He said it was pretty hard to find the spot which was about 25 miles from where we were standing. An instructor took him there once. They did the "approach" and it was pretty scary. My stomach was starting to turn, but what I got from it was that Paul knows where Mile High is! If i can't find it, how can I con him into my back seat? He suggested I hit a few of the longer easier strips out east and get acclimated to the mountain flying. I agreed that I would (and part of me thought maybe I really would) and took off shortly after. I couldn't find Dewey Moore--not the person--the landing strip. After circling around a bit I spotted a clearing on the side of a mountain that had to be Mile High. I was alert and ready to rock now. I planned on landing somewhere easy and turning on the cameras, but there it was right before me. I flipped my buddy Mark's tail cam on and figured that would be good enough. The time was now. (and roll the film) ****************************** All the shots are in chronological order--except for the darker tail-cam footage of Dewey Moore. That was later on that evening. I went back for a 2nds. I'd like to give a shout-out to Paul and Bev for their awesome hospitality and care--and to see if i can have their job when they retire, -also a holler to Jack with the 185--good times at J-Creek. ****************************** ++++++++++++++++ Disclaimer(s) Section: ++++++++++++++++ Flying makes you get all sorts of existential sometimes. Sometimes I feel like flying has tainted my already fledgling ability to relate to people. I stroll into sandwich shops in small town X, smelling like gasoline, holding a skateboard, with sunscreen smeared across my face, wearing funny looking clothes and a puffy jacket in the middle of summer because I was freezing my ass off at 10,000 feet to snag a piece of the jet stream and they look at me really strangely...the occasional school girl might even chuckle...I spend my five minutes with them to exchange currency, etc, and then blast off to the thin air, or down below the low clouds and listen to the engine vibrate, count the revolutions and marvel that nothing has gone terribly wrong in such a long time. On this trip a couple really great guys I knew, respected and admired were killed by an avalanche in Tibet. I was sitting alone in Big Piney, Wyoming and had been alone all day in turbulence when I got the news in the form of an email...I knew one of them pretty well and was thinking of him for the remainder of my 60 flight-hour trip. -Wondering why we push the limits--to feel alive? To be cool? To counter thoughts that we are not capable human beings? To flirt with death because it's easier than flirting with women? But why do we do anything? Is 10 years of adventure worth 30 of the easy life? It all seemed so absurd to me as I grappled with it and was at the gates of this remote, mountain flying adventure. Aviation is not mountaineering, and every single person we know and love will die, and sitting on a couch in Ohio or Boulder wouldn't make that go away. Being in the forest above the trees was the best place to be, contemplating their lives, and hoping the old "rock climbing posse", as I coined them in my mind, who were closer to them than I was were staying sane and finding comfort amid tragedy. I wanted to make tributes to them...something, but they already are the tribute. One day video blogging, the next day gone. The one thing guaranteed in life seems to be death, and with that, this is my personal "Fly Idaho" disclaimer, so that when you skid sideways off of "Simonds" or cartwheel two thousand feet down to the river from a missed approach on "Mile Hi", I don't have blood on my hands: For starters, these four strips might be illegal to land on. I'm not sure. It's a grey area. The forrest service is trying to shut them down. My disclaimer is that basically some other pilot-nut out there wants you to know this isn't the way to land on here if this is your first time--especially if your plane can't get in and stop on a hillside like mine sort of can. There are ruts in the grass that I was warned about so i peeled it up to the right just after the ruts. Maybe hike in before landing to check it out? Although the strips look pretty long and gentle (and even flat) with the wide angle lens, these strips eat planes and people die on them. A couple of them are so long you could land three times on them, but there are other hazards to be aware of. Don't shrug off the locals advice about taking density altitude seriously just because you read a paragraph about it once in a flight book. It will sneak up on you--even if you are from Idaho, Montana, or the moon. If you're from sea-level like me your prop will likely not be perfect for the situation. Re-pitch it if possible and if it's not possible, then just be ready for crappy performance--likely right when you need it 5 feet off of the ground to pull you out of a stall or a downdraft. (Less)
Kool Moe Dee Let's go' (LL Cool J DISS) Want me to get him? Well I got him My mouth is an Uzi and I shot him With the hundreds of rhymes and (More) Want me to get him? Well I got him My mouth is an Uzi and I shot him With the hundreds of rhymes and rhythm designed To make him rewind this time I draw the line He's mine...just chill Don't nobody touch him cos Imma get ill The boy's phony as a three-dollar bill And this time I shoot to kill Just like a sucker you took the bait Now you're like a dead fish on my dish, too late So party people kick your feet up, I'm about to heat up You're hungry for a battle, now it's time to eat up Boy, I'm gonna chew you, cos I knew you was Talkin' that junk, punk, now Imma do you The way you should be done, call you my son Make you say "Daddy, I don't want none" I've had enough of you actin' tough You huff, puff, grab your stuff you cream puff bluff Talk about a battle, but you don't wanna do it You got yourself into it, you blew it You egomaniac, I'm a brainiac You came back with a stone cold plain attack Your rhymes are weak-wack, how can you speak that? You need to sneak back to the drawing board Jack... The Ripper, down with my zipper You get paid to be a Moe Dee tipster Tryna knock the way I rock, get off my jock Imma knock you out the box, let's go... Let's Go! Verse 2 Put up or shut up, get up, yeah what up? Huh, get on the microphone and get cut up Talk about how your records went double platinum With those lyrics?! Huh, I laugh at them So you got paid, take the money you've made Bet it on yourself, are you afraid? Money talks, B.S. walks When I stalk like a hawk a victory is chalked So put your money where your mouth is, you don't know about this Battlin's for real men, and I doubt if You can even hang or give a run for the money You're just a sucker, and it's funny How you never ever had a drop of juice in New York And now you go on tour and try to talk that talk You try to act like you're a big man, but you're a big fag Stridin' and hidin' while ridin' my big man You ain't got a chance in the world Your records were smokin', but you sound like a girl... [How you like me now? I'm gettin' busier I'm double platinum] Hold up, is he a Man or a girl? What in the world? You sound like Cheryl the Pearl And you wanna battle me on the microphone? Leave that crack alone, let's go... Let's Go! I said, Let's Go! Come on, boy! Let's Go! Better than me? Verse 3 Picture that with a Kodak I don't take no shorts and you know that I roll hard, run the rap yard, put up your guard I don't get even, I get odd, Todd Always one up on ya And I tried to warn ya You slept, you took a backstep Ruined your rep and wept, you should've kept Your mouth shut, you know what? You gotta say you're sorry [I'm sorry] So what? You call me a punk, you wanna see who's soft? Put the microphone down, let's square-off You need a hand, you got hands for Tryna be me, now LL stands for Lower Level, Lack Lustre Last Least, Limp Lover Lousy Lame, Latent Lethargic Lazy Lemon, Little Logic Lucky Leech, Liver Lipped Laborious Louse on a Loser's Lips Live in Limbo, Lyrical Lapse Low Life with the loud raps, boy You can't win, huh, I don't bend Look what you got yourself in Just usin' your name I took those L's Hung 'em on your head and rocked your bells Now, here we go, blow for blow, let's throw Rhyme for rhyme, yours and mine, and yo When it's time to battle rhyme I know How to make it flow, so let's go To the ring, rapper's sing and swing Words and verse, see who deserves to be king Serve a blow to that ego As if you didn't know, let's go... Let's Go! Let's Go! Verse 4 How can you say you're the best? Get put to the test in front of a million and fess Tried to withdraw because you saw The juice I got's not like before Huh, I'm formidable, unforgettable You're submittable, you look pitiful Yeah you're headstrong, but you're dead wrong Wanna survive? Stick with the love songs Take off your shirt, flex and flirt And leave the real hard rhymes to the hard rhyme experts If you don't, boy you'll get hurt Feel like dirt and have to revert To comin' on stage butt naked To make up for what you can't do on record Open your eyes twice the size and realise I'm on the rise and you're on the demise Ostracized by my reprise Step in my face and watch how that head flies I mean business and I'm serious I ain't sellin' out and now here he is Frontin' and fakin' and talkin' about makin' The money from money, now don't you know they can Use your support cos you've got caught Signed, sealed, delivered, sold and bought A puppet on a string with no heart A fool and his money will always part You used to be a rapper, turned into a businessman Loafin' on the job and cheatin' the fans I'm too potent, powerful and spiritual Mental, emotional, physical and lyrical You wanna beat me? It's gonna take a miracle You've got a lock on my jock like a pitbull. (Less)
Backcountry Flying in Idaho :: Ohio Bush Planes My writing is geared for non-flyers. If you're a pilot, find something else to read, like a (More) My writing is geared for non-flyers. If you're a pilot, find something else to read, like a legal document or a parts manual. This is the third edit. 1 for fun. 2 for vengence. 3 a happy medium. I like to think of editing like farming. The job is never really done. ****************** Ohioans are always flying out west killing themselves in the mountains. It's just something we seem to be good at. All these dudes talk up "Mile Hi", a grass strip in Idaho, as if it's the place to go if you can't get your short strip fix elsewhere. I had to go see for myself. Base camp for me was Johnson Creek. It was a pain getting there, with little summer storms littering the western deserts, plains, and mountains for days. It was raining on my long final into Johnson Creek. Once I was there a couple days of reprieve were granted from the weather gods. Before setting up my tent, the new airstrip caretakers, Bev and Paul, rode up on their trusty four-wheeler. I told them I was going to try to find "Mile Hi" and they started talking about the "famous four"...four infamous strips of the area that are short, rough and have plenty of hazards. So, my goal just got a little larger... They had that well known, yet slightly over priced "Fly Idaho" book and let me borrow it to read up on these strips--even tho it was autographed by the author. I also got a map from them--it turns out the famous four are not on the GPS. They caught the vibe of my eager "little-brother" naivety (or whatever it is that makes me act this way), and started getting worried for me...Paul more than Bev. I told them if they didn't see my plane by dark the next day then send help. Paul was up at the crack of dawn while I was brushing my teeth and waiting for the ice to melt from my wings. He asked me if I still thought I should go to Mile High after reading his book. He said it was pretty hard to find the spot which was about 25 miles from where we were standing. An instructor took him there once. They did the "approach" and it was pretty scary. My stomach was starting to turn, but what I got from it was that Paul knows where Mile High is! If i can't find it, how can I con him into my back seat? He suggested I hit a few of the longer easier strips out east and get acclimated to the mountain flying. I agreed that I would (and part of me thought maybe I really would) and took off shortly after. I couldn't find Dewey Moore--not the person--the landing strip. After circling around a bit I spotted a clearing on the side of a mountain that had to be Mile High. I was alert and ready to rock now. I planned on landing somewhere easy and turning on the cameras, but there it was right before me. I flipped my buddy Mark's tail cam on and figured that would be good enough. The time was now. (and roll the film) ****************************** All the shots are in chronological order--except for the darker tail-cam footage of Dewey Moore. That was later on that evening. I went back for a 2nds. I'd like to give a shout-out to Paul and Bev for their awesome hospitality and care--and to see if i can have their job when they retire, -also a holler to Jack with the 185--good times at J-Creek. ****************************** ++++++++++++++++ Disclaimer(s) Section: ++++++++++++++++ Flying makes you get all sorts of existential sometimes. Sometimes I feel like flying has tainted my already fledgling ability to relate to people. I stroll into sandwich shops in small town X, smelling like gasoline, holding a skateboard, with sunscreen smeared across my face, wearing funny looking clothes and a puffy jacket in the middle of summer because I was freezing my ass off at 10,000 feet to snag a piece of the jet stream and they look at me really strangely...the occasional school girl might even chuckle...I spend my five minutes with them to exchange currency, etc, and then blast off to the thin air, or down below the low clouds and listen to the engine vibrate, count the revolutions and marvel that nothing has gone terribly wrong in such a long time. On this trip a couple really great guys I knew, respected and admired were killed by an avalanche in Tibet. I was sitting alone in Big Piney, Wyoming and had been alone all day in turbulence when I got the news in the form of an email...I knew one of them pretty well and was thinking of him for the remainder of my 60 flight-hour trip. -Wondering why we push the limits--to feel alive? To be cool? To counter thoughts that we are not capable human beings? To flirt with death because it's easier than flirting with women? But why do we do anything? Is 10 years of adventure worth 30 of the easy life? It all seemed so absurd to me as I grappled with it and was at the gates of this remote, mountain flying adventure. Aviation is not mountaineering, and every single person we know and love will die, and sitting on a couch in Ohio or Boulder wouldn't make that go away. Being in the forest above the trees was the best place to be, contemplating their lives, and hoping the old "rock climbing posse", as I coined them in my mind, who were closer to them than I was were staying sane and finding comfort amid tragedy. I wanted to make tributes to them...something, but they already are the tribute. One day video blogging, the next day gone. The one thing guaranteed in life seems to be death, and with that, this is my personal "Fly Idaho" disclaimer, so that when you skid sideways off of "Simonds" or cartwheel two thousand feet down to the river from a missed approach on "Mile Hi", I don't have blood on my hands: For starters, these four strips might be illegal to land on. I'm not sure. It's a grey area. The forrest service is trying to shut them down. My disclaimer is that basically some other pilot-nut out there wants you to know this isn't the way to land on here if this is your first time--especially if your plane can't get in and stop on a hillside like mine sort of can. There are ruts in the grass that I was warned about so i peeled it up to the right just after the ruts. Maybe hike in before landing to check it out? Although the strips look pretty long and gentle (and even flat) with the wide angle lens, these strips eat planes and people die on them. A couple of them are so long you could land three times on them, but there are other hazards to be aware of. Don't shrug off the locals advice about taking density altitude seriously just because you read a paragraph about it once in a flight book. It will sneak up on you--even if you are from Idaho, Montana, or the moon. If you're from sea-level like me your prop will likely not be perfect for the situation. Re-pitch it if possible and if it's not possible, then just be ready for crappy performance--likely right when you need it 5 feet off of the ground to pull you out of a stall or a downdraft. (Less)
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