Lyrics Cumin In Ya Ear - The Goats

Cumin In Ya Ear

Ya better believe that I’ll be dreamin’of a black Chrismas
And at the top of my list is a fatspliff
And ya know it’s a hoota of the Buddah blessed
True to the blue cause I got sigma on my chest
And we rest because our cause speeds on its way
It’s on our way, we’re on our way, the S I G M A So what do you say?
What do you know?
Where you like to go?
To the step show with a pro or with a falsetto
And what I mean is a speaker who can’t see the light
He cooks his rhymes in a breaker puts 'em in a pipe
I’m not the type, I’m not the type, I say it one more time
I’m not the type to be sublime in any rhyme of mine
I heard you wasn’t down with these Philly mutherfuckers
Instead of Welches Grape you used some shit called Smuckers
Well knucker, I’m here ta letyou know just what I think o’that
To quotemy man Chico Smooth move Ex-Lax
Ya slippin’tryin’ta keep pace with the driver
But you can’t even catch my saliva
>From drippin', I’m spittin', all over you like Pippen
Scottie beam me up cause all these lunatics are flippin'
Like a tumbler, I’m the rumbler, not Stevie but wonder
Not a stumbler or a blumbler over words that you can’t understand
My man, 50 grand, shakin’hands
If I had a bird brain last name… I’d be Dan
While I get mine ya bitin’rhymes like a canine
Day nine in line welfare line time
A pro lifer is the piper that I’d like ta uh Roll a rolla roll on If it is the early morning dawn, I’ll sing that song like Orlando
Tony, a white man, not a leader just a man too
Saying what ya can’t do cause ya typed it in stereo
Like seeing a doughnut and calling it a Cheerio
Heroes and heroes and heroines
I’m here ta rectify all the comins and goins
This moment in time is defined by ambiguity
Plausible denial, no trials is the beauty
Draw the line because ya know the Jack-in-the-box will cross it And just intime cause for your mind I think they said ya lost it I said ya lost it, one more time, ya lost it!
Ya paid the cost for tryin’to be somethin’that you’re not
A big shot but what ya got is a small spot
And you can get a lickety lick lick shot
Cause Jack-in-the-box is not drivin’Mrs.
Daisy
I get what I got but not from old white ladies (damn!)
So save that shady shit for somebody’s Uncle Tom
I ain’t related, ya hate it when I drop a bomb
Coo Coo ca chew I’m the Goats who are you?
Grab the microphone and do that thing that you do Ya call it rhymin', ha, that’s so funny I forgot ta laugh
I made better sounds than thatcome out crack of my ass
On my first day, on my worst day, and even in my hearse day
You couldn’t write a rhyme, if I gave you the first verse
Ta play with sorta sloppily but make sure you gives props to me
I don’t play games so damn I hates Monopoly
I’m the macho, hancho, nacho eatin'
Like Tanto, I’m yo, smooth as a motherfucker
1 2 I’m gettin’ta be the who’s who
Of the food for the thinkers I don’t tinker with the winkers
Like I, Hop, I drop props at all hours
Like Psycho, I might go stab Duke in the shower
Doobie Doo Doobie Doo Scoobie Doo Doobie Da Yaaa!
Rhyme sayer, not a mayor, I don’t pretend to be a player
Flava, I hope the dopes listen to Chief Seattle
He’s not one for the battle or the paddle or the saddle
Like Lite Beer from Miller, it is and that’s that
Like Rhyme beer from Killer, it’s the shit and phat’s phat
Spelled with a P just like in tel-tel-telephone
Livin’in North Philly’s a form of hell-hell-hell-hell a home… not