Well, I got more bounce to the fuckin' bump and Then you want to know why it's 'cause I'm motherfuckin' truckin' I'm in the pocket just like Grady Tate I got supplies of beats so you don't have to wait 'Cause I'm the master blaster drinking up the shasta My voice sounds sweet 'cause it has to So light a match to my ass 'cause I'm blown up I'd like to thank the people for just showin' up But now I want y'all to move it Put your point on the floor and just prove it And I'm smurfin' not rehearsin' gettin' live y'all A little puffy so you now what I'm doin' right 'Cause that's the kind of mind I'm in I got a feelin' that's back again So don't touch me 'cause I'm electric And if you touch me you'll get shocked! You've got the boomin' system but it's blasting out doo-doo You think it's chocolate mild but it's watered down yoo-hoo I've been through many times in which I thought I might lose it The only thing that saved me has always been music We've got our own studio the son of the G It's no question life's been good to me 'Cause life ain't nothing but a good groove A good mix tape to put you in the right mood This one goes out to my man the groove merchant Coming through with beats for which I've been searching Like two sealed copies of expansions I'm like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions The logo I sport is the face of the monkey Union made Ben Davis quality it's no junk see My chrome is shining just like an icicle I ride around town on my low-rider bicycle So many wack M.C.'s you get the T.V. bozack Ain't even gonna call out your names 'cause you're so wack But one big oaf whose faker than plastic A dictionary definition of the word spastic You should have never started something that you couldn't finish 'Cause writin' rhymes to me is like popeye to spinach I'm bad ass move your fat ass 'cause you're wack son Dancin' around like you think you're Janet Jackson Thought you could walk on me to get some ground to walk on I'll pull the rug out from under your ass as I talk on I'll take you out like a sniper on a roof Like an M.C. at the fever in the D.J. booth With your headphones strapped you're rockin' rewind pause Tryin' to figure out what you can do to go for yours But like the pencil to the paper I got more to come One after another you can all get some So you better take your time and meditate on your rhyme 'Cause your shit'll be stinking when I go for mine And that's right y'all don't get uptight y'all You can say shit because you're biting what I write y'all And that's wrong y'all over the long haul You can't cut the mustard when you're fronting it all
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Copy to Clipboard: Well, I got more bounce to the fuckin' bump and Then you want to know why it's 'cause I'm motherfuckin' truckin' I'm in the pocket just like Grady Tate I got supplies of beats so you don't have to wait 'Cause I'm the master blaster drinking up the shasta My voice sounds sweet 'cause it has to So light a match to my ass 'cause I'm blown up I'd like to thank the people for just showin' up But now I want y'all to move it Put your point on the floor and just prove it And I'm smurfin' not rehearsin' gettin' live y'all A little puffy so you now what I'm doin' right 'Cause that's the kind of mind I'm in I got a feelin' that's back again So don't touch me 'cause I'm electric And if you touch me you'll get shocked! You've got the boomin' system but it's blasting out doo-doo You think it's chocolate mild but it's watered down yoo-hoo I've been through many times in which I thought I might lose it The only thing that saved me has always been music We've got our own studio the son of the G It's no question life's been good to me 'Cause life ain't nothing but a good groove A good mix tape to put you in the right mood This one goes out to my man the groove merchant Coming through with beats for which I've been searching Like two sealed copies of expansions I'm like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions The logo I sport is the face of the monkey Union made Ben Davis quality it's no junk see My chrome is shining just like an icicle I ride around town on my low-rider bicycle So many wack M.C.'s you get the T.V. bozack Ain't even gonna call out your names 'cause you're so wack But one big oaf whose faker than plastic A dictionary definition of the word spastic You should have never started something that you couldn't finish 'Cause writin' rhymes to me is like popeye to spinach I'm bad ass move your fat ass 'cause you're wack son Dancin' around like you think you're Janet Jackson Thought you could walk on me to get some ground to walk on I'll pull the rug out from under your ass as I talk on I'll take you out like a sniper on a roof Like an M.C. at the fever in the D.J. booth With your headphones strapped you're rockin' rewind pause Tryin' to figure out what you can do to go for yours But like the pencil to the paper I got more to come One after another you can all get some So you better take your time and meditate on your rhyme 'Cause your shit'll be stinking when I go for mine And that's right y'all don't get uptight y'all You can say shit because you're biting what I write y'all And that's wrong y'all over the long haul You can't cut the mustard when you're fronting it all
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