| Check it out…
|
| Verse one: red hot lover lover tone
|
| The pen hits the paper, ink spills and fills, the lines
|
| With lyrics that thrills like my dillz
|
| Take it on the grilled cheese tour, then I drop it Dont care about the niggaz cause the girls are gonna jock it Take her to my hotel, no speaking, just freaking
|
| Leave my door open so the niggaz can come peak in Rip the nappy dug out niggaz bug out with the hopes
|
| They can get theirs, but in the meantime they takin notes
|
| Here comes my kid, here comes my kid (ahhhhh)
|
| But I caught him in the rubber lid, huh
|
| Chitty chitty bang bang, gotta go gotta go The hoe is in a coma so I tippy tippy toe
|
| Walkin in the dark (tripped) slipped on my shoe
|
| (arrrrgh! ohh shit!!)
|
| Damn, more fornication
|
| Puba take the mic cuz Im here for the duration
|
| Verse two: grand puba
|
| Before I get this wreck I usually start with a 40
|
| But forties are no more cuz now Im drinkin 64s
|
| Call on grand puba, chubb rock if you want it done
|
| Hon spread the 411 as if her name was kaity chung
|
| Into devil bashing, always stay in fashion
|
| Love maxing and relaxing, hittin skins with a passion
|
| As a shorty I kept some dice I banked on seven or eleven
|
| Cuz my pops had it hard similar to james evans
|
| Now shit flipped, Im on the hip-hop
|
| To the beat you dont stop, rock on!
|
| I kick the new type of lingo, hit the spot thatll tingle
|
| Make the girls wanna jingle, so they run and get the single
|
| My simple task is to make you shake that ass
|
| On the quick fast, and to make it last
|
| Its just three men at chung king getting busy
|
| Weve come a long way since kunta kintizzy
|
| And you dont stop, rock on Chubb rock flip the script cuz Im gone
|
| Verse three: chubb rock
|
| Yippi-yi-yeah, stay, hooray, yo, hurrah
|
| I jumped up upon the mic with the chubbster, tone, plus the pu-ba
|
| Intricately go far
|
| Chillin in the mansion, nuff fashion (ahhh)
|
| Relax, and dig into the track and react
|
| I want a martin luther riff cuz I dont like to pack my iron
|
| Watchin kids on the corner buyin, gettin zooted then lyin
|
| Test and I commence, to firing
|
| One two three shots and then I tune the black watch
|
| Reclean my cylinder and then I grab my crotch
|
| And squeeze, the testes and then I grab my wood and cup it Oh there goes the nut I just busted
|
| Get myself together, cuz Im the man
|
| I knew it, I wanted to do a duet with the grand
|
| Mystic ruler took the 40 out of the cooler
|
| Now were rippin the track, we shoulda did one sooner
|
| And then we roll up on the groove field assist the team
|
| And now Im straighter than 9:15
|
| Get a little dough for this three man skit
|
| Ill end the jam with a curse
|
| Uhh, umm fuck?
|
| Or is it damn? |
| or what?
|
| Shit. |
| and slide out of the vocal booth and get a dollar chung king soda
|
| Grand puba, tone, plus now were over and were out |