|
[BROther ?uestion]
|
Get loose, get loose, Manifest get loose
|
And just rock heartbeat showin you got juice
|
And have fun (HAVE FUN) have fun (HAVE FUN)
|
Have, HAVE, HAVE FUN!!!!
|
|
[Mr. Manifest]
|
Introducing lyrics for the year of ninety-three
|
The black brainchild is about to kick the groovy
|
speak out the head, provided for the hardrocks
|
Here to resurrect the ghetto beats for the blocks
|
You can dig the styles cause the styles are for the digging
|
A fat sack of soul, that's how the Sector roll
|
Never making fake material, why should I?
|
The mind is so equipped to rip, so why would I
|
give you less than that, you in fact, this is where it's at
|
cause lyrics I've provided is about to swing the bat
|
and shake up the levels from New York to Montego
|
It's all about the lyrics, it's not about the ego
|
Quick to make a jam and slam sound like the pro that I am
|
It's profound, like the kids from the underground
|
Every single lyric is prepared, in the hunt for the metro
|
with scoops of fat loops and funky lingo
|
Level's being felt, all over in the fifty states
|
Breaking more beats than my moms breaks the china plates
|
Transmitting, hitting areas we freak with funk
|
when we come to planet Earth, with a trunk of fat, soul
|
Alert doing work on the everyday
|
Here to bring the swing like my man Donny Hathaway
|
Just, follow the dotted line, and do what we do
|
Because you gotta get a grip, if you want your shit
|
|
[BROther ?uestion]
|
Now get loose, get loose, Lord Akil get loose
|
And just rock heartbeat showin you got juice
|
And have fun (HAVE FUN) have fun (HAVE FUN)
|
Have, HAVE, HAVE FUN!!!!
|
|
[Lord Akil]
|
Umm, from the Southern side of Philly yet of The Roots
|
there comes me, who?
|
The janky little brother of Mr. Bruce
|
A jazz kickin kid who flows, like the river Jordan
|
Not fond of Honda scooters, but I'll take an Accord and
|
zoom right through your borough, because I'm crazy thorough
|
No offspring running 'round but no my penile is not sterile
|
Collects the crazy papes from, selling crazy tapes, umm
|
Big heads be gettin swollen, I crush em just like grapes
|
The level that I'm zoning, the one that's on the third
|
Eatin buds or mad grass that gets you HIGHER than a bird
|
Kinks, be in the head, cause I leave the curls to Jheri
|
Got mad souls out the ass with shit, fat like William Perry
|
A poor black kid with rhythm, a eye for jazzy beats
|
Straight from the underground, found new life on the South Streets
|
We ? off the jams that will uplift the people's souls
|
Cause the Objects that are Foreign, the kids with baggy clothes
|
are the cats that I'm coolin with, when we be together
|
Two and two equals four but Foreign Objects be forever
|
So, just let me flow as I reach up to the next plateau
|
And then you'll give me my respect
|
Uhh, cause I'm a Foreign Object
|
|
[BROther ?uestion]
|
Now get loose, get loose, A.J. Shine get loose
|
And just rock heart-beat showin you got the juice
|
And have fun (HAVE FUN) have fun (HAVE FUN)
|
Have, HAVE, HAVE FUN!!!!
|
|
[A.J. Shine]
|
First off, I'm burstin off shots of gab
|
and gettin lifted by the gift, I start to jab
|
The rhymes that I grab send schools to the slab
|
As I write scores, the funky orator's gone
|
on some next ish lookin
|
for the next fish with a wish that used to be a duck
|
but now you're stuck dumbstruck
|
Trying to hang but you can't swim I think you're fucked
|
You traded in your blues for boom, tap shoes
|
I do shows and change all opposing views
|
I get down, I go up as I blow up
|
cause I got this O.M.B. rhyme you can't defuse
|
Yeahhh, here to rock all of you rockers
|
When I carry the ball, I stay be-hind my blockers
|
I move swift, I needs no lift
|
I don't have to riff because I shift the gift
|
and now my name is Joseph Simmons, but I'm not Run
|
With the mic in my hand, I've only just begun
|
to hold mine, I'ma goldmine plus a ton
|
The way I shine, I be the rising sun, huh!
|
How many times must I have to say
|
this I never miss yo when I display?
|
From styles I paint the funky picture I portray and
|
before I hit the court I made it my forte
|
cause I got this, you can come and get this, cause my
|
method is the most and I boast so you can bet this
|
is like the best of the rest of the flock
|
And now you're walkin down the hallways of the Always Jock
|
Abbreviated A.J. here for the day
|
Bustin rhymes in your face while I'm fadin away
|
It's like that y'all, and ya don't stop
|
The funky Bid on the root with the hip-hop
|
|
[Black Thought]
|
Now.. get loose, get loose, ?uestion get loose
|
And, rock heart-beat showin YOU got juice
|
And have fun (HAVE FUN) have fun (HAVE FUN)
|
Have, HAVE, HAVE FUN!!!!
|
|
[BROther ?uestion]
|
It's me the BROther ?uestion on the M-I-C to flow
|
To bust a fat rat-a-tat rhyme one mo' gen'
|
I'm flexin with my mental verbalistic chocolate
|
Sucker know you're listenin so please get off of it
|
A score and two years ago began the ?uestion's mission
|
South of 52nd Street, on ?
|
and anybody wanna diss the sure shot body rock
|
fresh flowin dude, we can take it to the stage
|
Sucker, Foreign Objects coming soon
|
From the rat cave to a room with a view
|
My brother's B.G., and my band is Josh U
|
And the stank whole rhythmic funk, plus my nuc'
|
You can comprehend the verbal letters that I send
|
Ahh, ooooh, ahhhh, like Boyz II Men
|
I don't have a Benz-y shoes are walkin like Jimmy
|
Make em say, "Yo ?uestion's demi," make em squeal like ?
|
Man, yo, I jams on every gram
|
Move out the way, I gets on, rockin round the clock
|
In school I used to doodle, nowadays I use my noodle
|
And I'll be rockin planets, and soon I'm livin fatter
|
I'm a levelheaded son who knows where I came from
|
Umm, lights, camera... ?uestion
|
|
[? ? ?]
|
Get loose, get loose, Black Thought get loose
|
And just rock heartbeat showin you got the juice
|
And have fun (HAVE FUN) have fun (HAVE FUN)
|
Have, HAVE, HAVE FUN!!!!
|
|
[Black Thought]
|
Well umm, yik-yik yak-yak, chi-chi-chi-ka-SPLACK
|
Thoughts that I stutter and brother that I left back behind
|
Lines of swine I'm qualified for groovy stew achoo
|
I caught the boogie like the flu and God Bless the Black
|
Cardiac cerebral abstract cathedral
|
The mental is the temple and the central sees you tryin to flam!
|
Man I catch a lift like Bob Mar-ley, and par-lay
|
On airy clouds I drop, bombs like a Sau-di, Arabian
|
Flocks I rocks like Fabian
|
It's the nipple sex upon the grits that call me baby and
|
run a finger, through the knaps of the rap, singer that
|
pull a scat, from the stack, that I keep in the shack
|
of my soul, bring the bowl I got the flat out good
|
That's why I'm dug by the hippies plus the pimps and hoods
|
in the slum, could I umm, come, should I umm, come
|
Yes I does, and gets down said I wasn't know that I was
|
but they gel, that's why they blow up cause they didn't give spect
|
to the erector of the Foreign Object, I collect, to preserve
|
Plus develop and envelop in The Roots of rhyme
|
Yo that's the end of the line, I got mine, and I'm out
|
|
[Brother ?uestion]
|
A-ha! Ahh, suki suki now
|
It's the Brother ?uestion
|
and now you know how it is
|
when the Foreign Objects get wreck
|
Like that, yeah, ha ha ha
|
And we out y'all, and we out y'all
|
And we out y'all, and we out y'all
|
And we out y'all...
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
The Session (Longest Posse Cut in History) 2
|
| The Roots |
