| Ahh yeahh! |
| Feel the funk bay-beeee!
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| That’s right, this is called The Basement!
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| And my man CL Smooth kick it for you like this…
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| From the Heights, not what, am I right? |
| Simple I can do this
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| Like Popeye to Brutus, I’m your host like a stewardess
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| Fly with the neighborhood hijackin' fella
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| So prepare for landin', and crash into a cellar
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| Bodies in the buddha cloud, misty in the tune
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| Like a show all nights, a figure eight in a lagoon
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| With Pete Rock, the complete lock and beat stock
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| Now, all the horny heffers wanna dangle on my (errr!)
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| Down by the dungeon with the cracks on the wall
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| Buffoon, I’m like a mink while you’re soon to pimp a raccoon stall
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| Vocal arrangement, ready, set to hit the pavement
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| But not before the kid leave The Basement
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| The Basement, put the Funk in Grand
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| Here comes my man, my brother…
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| Grap Lover, get wreck cousin, c’mon
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| Call me the Grap Luva, yes, the younger Soul Brother
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| Keep your eyes on the prize 'cause you won’t find another
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| When the funk is played, the rhyme I display
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| Quick to bust a ditz so don’t slip in the way
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| Of the kid, with the flavor, the party people savior
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| Clockin' all the honies, eyes sharp like a razor
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| I kick a dance step, you’re soon to discover
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| Yo, that’s the kid from «Mecca and the Soul Brother»
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| Yeah, once in a while I be with C.L. |
| on the DL
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| Or I flow with Pete and find my placement in The Basement
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| The Basement, yes, where the beats and the rhymes flow
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| Peace, I gotta go, Grapster’s out the door of The Basement
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| Of the Basement!
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| Next we got… a special guest
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| I ain’t gonna tell you who it is…
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| C’mon, rap along
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| Tick, tock, tick, things are gettin' thick
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| Here comes the Heavster and I know it makes ya sick!
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| To see a black man gettin' paid on the regular
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| Car with the cellular, fellas, I’m tellin' ya
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| I got plots and plans, pots and pans
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| Stocks and grands, so make room for the big man
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| I walk the streets in peace and I’m never strapped
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| But I know a crew of Young Gunz that’ll send you back
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| So easy does it on the DL
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| Peace to Pete Rock and the Mecca Don C. L
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| Heavy D’s on this track, lettin' you know there’s no replacement
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| Peace, signin' off, check one, two straight from The Basement
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| Straight from The Basement
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| I’m tellin' you now, kid, it’s crazy fat
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| I wonder who this is comin' up?
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| Fourth but not least, the backbone of the Wig Out
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| Freestyle, crazy hardcore, no sellout
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| Speakin' upon where I dwell from the dungeon
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| All over the U.S. states, even London
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| Pastime present, black to the future
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| Swimmin' in beats like a Dolphin, so call me Don Shula
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| A Raider well like Art Shell, crazy defense
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| A Pro Bowl with soul for local events
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| The crew name is CL Smooth and Pete Rock
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| Here to sail when I prevail and stare into the dock
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| The Pimp Daddy of the funk flavor, catch you later
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| Clever like a secret agent comin' from The Basement
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| Uhhhhh, that’s right, it’s crazy funky
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| Aww my man
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| He’s crazy funky, his name is Rob-O, c’mon baby
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| Alakazam, you’ll never guess what I am
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| Motto is that nothin' ever changes but haircuts and kicks
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| To stacks of vocal breaks like days
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| What kid said, «Pete makes beats in The Basement»
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| Cool, hit the pavement, over to the chill side
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| The real side, the 7−7 hillside
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| I thought I’d just chill, take a breath
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| Straight up Columbus Hill, make a left
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| And get fixed, plus the ghetto chicks got flicks
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| Of me stacks of kicks, my joint’s bumpin' lovely
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| Walkin' down the street, much props, on the sin
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| I hear voices sayin', «That's Rob Odindo in The Basement»
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| Ahh ha ha ha! |
| Hah yeah! |
| This is funky! |
| I can feel it
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| My man from the Vernon, his name is Deda, Baby Pa
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| Fly like an eagle, a seagull
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| Always into somethin', like Snoopy, the Beagle
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| People, grab a tight hold of yourselves
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| Pa snatchin' raw tapes off the shelves
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| Blowin' up spots from state to state
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| I’m comin' to town but you just can’t wait
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| Check the station for conversation at six
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| Blah Uno here to put suckers in the mix
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| I get deeper than oceanography
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| Diggin' up crazy shit like psychology
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| So, speak the peace, then slide like grease
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| The beat is fat, but the rhyme is obese in The Basement
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| In The Basement is where I dwell, sucka MC’s fell
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| 'Cause I am crazy funky
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| C.L. |
| Smooth, my man Rahsaan, Rob-O, Deda Baby Pa
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| The Heavster, my brother Grap Luva
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| Everybody… |