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Yeah yeah
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Fuck all these niggaz
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You know what I'm talkin' about Wino
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Yeah yeah yeah
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Two minutes and twenty one seconds of funk
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and I ain't no punk
|
That's right that's right
|
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A tisket a tasket
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that's all you ask it
|
Snap your cd and drop the pieces in your casket
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Like little Jack Horna' I'm still bendin' cornas'
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buckin' shots on your block I'm sippin' on Corona's
|
Uh your McDonald had a farm wit' a six-fo on suicide
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sittin' in the barn wit' no alarm
|
Straight up collected it, cool and calm
|
crowbar in my hand and my skeleton brick still works like a charm
|
Who's the rawest?
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My shit is flawless
|
Had to be passin' out bruises,
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lacerations and broken jawses
|
Emcees wanna floss you better understand who's the boss
|
before I do a Michael Jackson and "Cut your shit off!"
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Part of the penitentary still, penetratin' your grill
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I keep on keepin' it right, while you keep on keepin' it real
|
I'll bring the treble and the bass to delapatate your waist
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Coolio's on the case, get yo hoe out my face, fool
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Lodi Dodi, I don't know karate, but I know a razor
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and none of y'all can't fade me
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I know you wanna try to play me
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and busta's wanna playa hate me
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I'm one of the dopest niggaz out I
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guess that's why they hate me
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Cause I slang hits like niggaz slang cavi
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I remain like khakis, I guess that's why they mad at me
|
On a record you might outgat me
|
but you can't outrap me
|
my shit is fatta'
|
and yo shit need a little bit mo batta'
|
Freestyle in unrestricted manner or method
|
Free funk text readily selected, so check it
|
Uh, ?dip diver?, socializer, I've been rockin'
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these motherfuckin' microphones since nineteen seventy-niner,
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and by the time that this little nappy head nigga retire
|
I'ma be at the ripe ol' age of forty-eight or forty-niner
|
My shit is wise, CPT M.C. for hire
|
my name ain't Rick James but I'll burn your ass with a fire
|
So, what's your desire baby love?
|
Is it hands wrapped around mics
|
or fingers wrapped around triggas?
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Eitha' way it go I'm dumpin' and I'm dippin'
|
still tennis shoe pimpin', 40 Thevz in position
|
Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, now nigga I'm a giant
|
and yo ass is like Jack,
|
but yo magic beans is wack
|
Skills is what you lack
|
I'm like a Benz, you ain't even like Cadillac
|
you mo like a Regal
|
I'ma pit bull, and you's a Beagle
|
I'm set to strangle hangin' emcee's at all angles
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as their legs start to dangle,
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dance around everybody like Mr. Bo Jangles
|
Los Angeles, Compton, Long Beach, and Carson Hawthorne
|
livin with the Watts
|
I'm sendin' out shout outs
|
I used to drink Ol' Gold
|
now I just stroll
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straight to the ?exit? section of my neighborhood liquor store
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Huh, and you know what make me laugh, bitch?
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Even your mama want my autograph, autograph, autograph,
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autograph, autograph
|
|
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-----------------
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2 Minutes & 21 Seconds Of Funk
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| Coolio |
