Playdough got them raps that snaps them thongs back, when the song's wack make it all crack with a smack like uh!, where you at, hittin' that, non-fatted formatted IBM compatible tattered diskette, bangin' out your cassette if you let beats wreck with the bass at 40 in your tape deck, break neck with the beat that Fred checked, with the righteous and illect or where the chicken heads pecked, call me Inspector Gadget with a habit for modelin' songs at the beauty pageant talent show, USS penmanship, we could tally ho, rally flow at a Cali show, ring around the ro', my earlobes hang low cause I bang no wackness they know, spit shinin' my halo till that freakin' thing glow, I can yell it in angelic kangos man cause anything goes, lay low with artillery, sendin' out the drummer through auxiliary, just in case I'm killin' the usage of a simile, got the metaphor for the tour where they're feelin' me, hands where the ceilin' be, everybody hearin' me, words are the food for the mood life spiritually, bring it to you lyrically or sonic imperially, I'm graced everyday, though not necessarily perfect, chose this beat then worked it, no hook to catch it yet I jerked it, chewin' on a Cert, Tic Tac, and I slurped it, fresh will interpret, the flesh isn't worth it, everybody work it, work it, work it, work it
Holla back if you'll never swallow that hollow rap, never follow that, huh!
Let me know if you love to tippie toe through the spiritual, here we go, huh!
If you've got somethin' everybody don't and you won't stop life through the music
Yell it like your life depended on when this life ended cause your spirit ain't free till you choose it
