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Common:
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What yo yo yo yo yo
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Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo
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Check it yo
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You say a one for the trouble two for the time
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Come on y'all let's rock that uh
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(I can feel the funk)(x4)
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Check it
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I come to grips with mics
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I come to grips that a lot of mic users is dikes
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I come to grips with the likes of Fred Hampton
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Cold so I'm lampin with no need for spotlight
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When I got light like an intersection, you talk
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But you came to my town with protection
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Election year, had the block hot
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I scream "fuck the world" for having a baby girl sorta cock block
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I write rhymes like I come from the windy city
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With my crew, I click like simply, stand midi with reality
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Casually, I walk through these war games
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Some claim say but then they take on whore names
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If that's the way your sex drives, stay in your lane
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If you're a man, I can't tell like if the door rang now
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Chorus:
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Now, to the ladies in the house when you come in the place
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It ain't a bunch of niggaz all up in your face
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The music is thumpin and you're feelin the bass
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What you wanna do girl(wanna shout)
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To the brothas when you come in a jam, it ain't a bunch of niggaz
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It ain't high tech and ain't got free liquor
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You jackin his name and stick to make you jones get thicker
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What you wanna do man?(let go)
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Yo, check it
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Some niggaz be on the mic, sounding like dikes
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Allow me to get on and bust like Spike(uh)
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Lee, I'm in the majors with no rotation
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Through stations of bullshit, I see through like a pager
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In the age of Aquarius, various things
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Is gonna carry us in intellect and what have you
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Street astrologists interpret point stars and half moons
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Then end up on garages or walls in bathrooms
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Every black moon, a rap tune move me
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The rap sun, I rain more than Rudy, that unruly shit is played
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It don't stop
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It's time to get it, get it made
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I got my mind made up like Foxy Brown's face
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I know how the underground tastes
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I want a crib from the ground up, rooms spin at a round pace
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Get down based on true story, through Corey, came close to the
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teachers
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Colder as the Iceman, posted before it start wrinklin
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Linkin with cats, who don't react to change in the years
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Fulfill prophesies in rooms full of emptiness, now
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Chorus:
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I can feel the funk(x8)
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Yo, check it, check it
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I came through the corridor, with the aura
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Raw Chicago mora, scope the horror
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Read between the lines and know the border
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Some pop wines for juice, I wait in the water
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Waitin for you Big Willie niggaz to have a show at The Crib
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We gon get with your glamour, long as we know where it is
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Tell you ain't a player by your sweater doused with wack feather
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The Crib got the gangsta playa shit patent like black leather
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I rap better than you, you, or maybe him
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But I am like a tree and every lyric is a timb
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Spilled brews and greasy foods got my car smelly
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Some be so high, they believe they fly like R. Kelly
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But then they fall off, dusted niggaz is gettin sawed off
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They fall soft, my mental lift is for me to haul off
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I kick ass
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Chorus:
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(scratching)
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I can feel the funk(x16)(makes me wanna shout, wanna shout)(x4)
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(scratching)Wanna shout
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|
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-----------------
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Food For Funk
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| Common Sense |
