De La Soul
Some say the game's real
'cause The Man didn't give us manuals to the game to make it big
A corner boy tryna claim a smidge
To keep all the right foods in the fridge
Keep all the right dudes on the bridge
When I get in, the captian seek
Sorta liek James Kirk, but my name's Work-MATIC
Here to adjust, the pros oppose to gettin froze than economy plus
Link up with Erick and P.
And do a whole collabo together, called +The Joint+, business class
To run up in first so the biz can last
Instead, the biz went to hell and got infiltrated
By them mainstream infidels, so here to settle the score
Blow up the track to bits and leave nothing!
No clause or claim, provoking a fear or fame
Just know the name! It ain't De La, that's the group I'm in
It ain't old school, that's the truth I blend
And this will not be the realest shit I ever wrote
But more real than theirs, so what that say about the words THEY spoke?
I tell ya light and raw, you never find a black man with blue balls...
Like you hard, sell a load every area code
Domestic or inter-national, see that sounds a little un-rational
Watch your step, you might TRIP!
Look out below, a nigga done fell in
These rhymes are for sell, but it ain't gun sellin
Tellin tales as such, that's just for liars
Equipped with the hands to silence ya whole choir
Deny her! She the one who started this nonsense
Excuse me, I got issues of my consciences
Flip like Geminis, in fact, I am just a Virgo
Tee shot the bird to skeet skeets a burner to ya big mouf
You can find us in the big house, invitin you to the doorstep
Where the raw's kept, the fourth step, broke
I'm a take him if I got money on his mouth so I'm a move the cliff
The right route, we break bread and make bread
Charge a fam a fee for it's mistake bread
Good times, sometimes seem corrupt
I put my shell on the book so we movin on up
Confuse it all up, peep the rule of thumb
I got consent from a king so a bitch can't run
And beggars can't beg when the deaf don't hear
If I'm blind to the facts, I see your bullshit clear
And you been all year in my ear with your feathers
Peacockin the boy, we droppin the boy
Inserts volumes, twenty are dances
It'll be sweet if you heard the advance...
Now bring the chorus in
[Chorus x2: Dave (Pos)]
SHOUT! Talk about it! Say somethin!
(That's that SHIT right there!)
You heard that? LOUDER! It's the BIG MOUF!
The mirror shows me frowns when the money's tight
Sometime you gotta go LEFT to get the money right
And I'm NOT gonna be left behind
Fuck all your phonecalls, Merce has left the line
Whatever you need say, say it to Trent or Ray or Chris Ak, or Smilez
No longer wanna hear it, unless it's the files of the MP3
Gottin me to spit the P, with about five-letter Fs' attached
While you in your ride screamin'...
(YO, what the hell did he say?!) (Man, bring that back!)
A poor man's hope, a poor manhood
Back in your egghead like yo...
You niggas will NOT elude me!
Helpin you remember wire the first, you should include me
The Leo slash dragon, who pulled out the knife
And SLASHED all four tires on the bandwagon!