"Kick it over here baby pop!"
|
|
Chorus: Murray, Sermon, others
|
|
[KM]Swing it over here!
|
[all]Yo swing it over here!
|
[KM]Swing it over here!
|
[all]C'mon swing it over here!
|
[KM]Y'all swing it over here!
|
[all]Yo swing it over here!
|
[KM]Come swing it over here!
|
[Red]Yo, swing it over there!
|
|
Verse One: Keith Murray
|
|
My rap style is swift like boom bips
|
so come get a whip, and a bump, it's rough
|
Crews couldn't hold it in handcuffs
|
The ordeal is that I'm raw ill on the mic
|
Switchin my styles up like a transvestite (word)
|
I think of competition as ?? and
|
Keith Murray is the vocabulary champ
|
?Come in against deep notable to breach lines?
|
I'll make you make the same mistake twice three or four times
|
and nobody got a style like this
|
You could say, I got my thinking cap on backwards
|
I'll demolish the retarded smartest rap artists
|
regardless, tryin to scream the hardest
|
I fuck your head up like amphetamines with L.O.D.
|
Then bend you out of shape like a master Yogi
|
I put my head through your chest, just to see
|
who's next in line, just to get wrecked
|
I makes contact, bust the interlude
|
I take my skills to another level like qualudes
|
And you couldn't hear me out; cause the type of shit
|
I converse about'll drag your brain in the slaughterhouse
|
|
Chorus: change to [all] throughout
|
|
Verse Two: Erick Sermon
|
|
Cling cling, somebody tell me something
|
Why I got more props than Don King without bouncing boxing rings?
|
*ding ding* I be the flyest guy you ever sawr on the microphone
|
Rip the shit to pieces, so leave me alone
|
Check me out, the way I freak the mode
|
The active half flippin shit so split 'fore I explode - BOOM!
|
So umm, pay attention, before I put you and your crew on suspension
|
for being closed minded to my invention
|
Yo, I rock on reel when I record oh my lord
|
The world full of jackers so I keep my shit stored
|
When I rock the microphone I rock it right
|
and keep it hardcore and more blacker than Wesley Snipes
|
To my crew there's no match
|
You want more funk then here's another batch, yo I
|
|
Chorus: [all] throughout
|
|
"The Redman that's what they call me" --> EPMD's 'Headbanger' (repeat 3X)
|
[ED]Oh no, here comes the Funkadelic Redman
|
|
Verse Three: Redman
|
|
Aoowwwwwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness! Could this be
|
the funk that I was stretching out my lungs
|
Funkadelic sums up *nasal inhale* I clear the mucus
|
Stick tissue up my nose to stop the snot from makin spots
|
To be or not I still give niggaz polka dots for plots
|
Now Richard Dawson had a survey sayin that I was awesome
|
Throw on your Walkmans while I pour the funk sauce in your coffins
|
WAKE UP! While the blunt's laced up just to pick the pace up
|
My style's freaky, nasty like ?Seka? pussy papers
|
when I raped her, you don't know check the four-uno-uno you know
|
That funk mixture that gets your body, holy like scriptures
|
Now right about now I'm settin off a bomb to blow the Empire
|
to ashes -- cause my shit's more raw than niggaz stashes
|
Massive funk, swingin bangin bent up while I fucked ya
|
I'm rough enough ta, fuck up another white man's trucker
|
Redman's evil like the board of ouiji, niggaz could smoke
|
a whole pound of weed and couldn't see me off the TV!
|
|
-----------------
|
Swing It Over Here
|
| EPMD |