Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song T.R.I.B.E. , by - Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E.. Song from the album New Funky Nation, in the genre ПопRelease date: 31.12.1989
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
T.R.I.B.E. |
| But Godfather, James Brown said it gots to be funky! |
| Well, take O.M.B. |
| with you |
| I’m a B.G., too young to be an O. G |
| But all the O.G.'s who know me respect me |
| MC’s be slippin, I should be sittin |
| And now I be hittin cause they just keep trippin |
| (Trippin) (trippin) (trippin) |
| We catch you trippin, trippin in the hood |
| You think your rap could hit me from the bottle |
| I think you have nothin to say but to follow |
| Follow the leader, I drink a liter |
| Of Miller, still be standin with the rap fever |
| Turn up the level, bust on the devil |
| This is your spot, pass me a shovel |
| Turn up the stereo, this is your burial |
| 8 feet under, turn off the radio |
| In your tombstone you lay down alone |
| Like me, but I spray them on the microphone |
| Rappers, I ???, they try to bomb on us |
| Radios fear us, we’re too predominous |
| It’s for the culture, it’s for the culture |
| It’s for the culture, it’s for the culture |
| It’s for the culture, your lyrics, I told ya |
| I brings it to ya, a Boo-Yaa sculpture |
| Cause I know what a MC don’t know |
| My lyrics locked down in the rap ??? |
| Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E |
| Ain’t we funky now? |
| Ain’t we funky now? |
| They threw away the key that unlocks my cell |
| But they failed, unloaded two shells, my record still sell |
| I ??? |
| MC as if I was a swordsman |
| I got out, I was huntin for the warden |
| That’s the way it is, that’s the way I be |
| And if you didn’t know, prison guards feel me |
| I’m Riddler, my pen was behind bars |
| And when I get out you’re gonna boom me in your car |
| Pump up the woofer, turn up the tweeter |
| O.M.B., bring on the bass beater |
| Boo-Yaa T.R.I.B.E |
| Ain’t we funky now? |
| Ain’t we funky now? |
| Flip a u-turn, check out what I learned |
| The punk judge sentenced me a short term |
| In the pen again, rappin from the lock-in |
| And it’s the lock-in messin up my head again |
| That’s why servin time got me smokin punks |
| (To all you posses) 187 with the riot pump |
| I’m packin it, click-clackin it |
| If it’s too long, then I sow the front off it |
| Don’t like to show off, we might just let off |
| Check out the T.R.I.B.E., watch my boys go off |
| What a big mess, unfinished business |
| Riddler did it, who played the witness? |
| My old crimey sittin at the witness stand |
| He still the homie? |
| Be a snitcher, smoke him, man |
| No mistakes allowed in the Boo-Yaa crowd |
| This is the streets, so referee, go on with the foul |
| You know what I’m sayin? |
| And with these lyrics I be sprayin |
| Turned state evidence, changed his identity |
| He got away, 187 to his family |
| Let’s go home |
| Ain’t we funky now? |
| (Hell yeah!) |
| (Hell yeah!) |
| Ain’t we funky now? |
| (Hell yeah!) |
| (Hell yeah!) |
| Told you my boys was funky (funky) (funky) |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell to the muthafuckas |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell to the muthafuckas |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell to the muthafuckas |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell yeah! |
| Hell to the muthafuckas |
| Hell to the muthafuckas |
| Hell to the muthafuckas |
| Hell to them other bustas |
| (*laughter*) |
| Hell yeah! |
| Bustas! |
| Yeah! |
| Boo-Yaa in the house |