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Coolio feat. Ras Kass Miscellaneous 2 Minutes & 21 Seconds Of Funk Coolio feat. Ras Kass 2 Minutes & 21 Seconds Of Funk You know what I'm talkin' about Wino Yeah, yeah, yeah Two minutes and twenty-one seconds of funk and I ain't no punk That's right, that's right A tisket a tasket that's all you ask it Snap your cd and drop the pieces in your casket Like little Jack Horna', I'm still bendin' cornas' buckin' shots on your block, I'm sippin' on Corona's Uh, your McDonald had a farm wit' a six-fo on suicide 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? My shit is flawless Had to be passin' out bruises, 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!" Part of the penitentary still, penetratin' your grill 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 Coolio's on the case, get yo hoe out my face, fool Lodi Dodi, I don't know karate, but I know a razor and none of y'all can't fade me I know you wanna try to play me and busta's wanna playa hate me I'm one of the dopest niggaz out I guess that's why they hate me Cause I slang hits like niggaz slang cavi 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' these motherfuckin' microphones since nineteen seventy-niner, 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? 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 as their legs start to dangle, 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 straight to the ?exit? section of my neighborhood liquor store Huh, and you know what make me laugh, bitch? Even your mama want my autograph, autograph, autograph, autograph, autograph |
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