| I’m chocolate like a Barr
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| but my name is not Roseanne
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| my skin has a pigment, reminiscent of a tan
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| I plan to grow dreads
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| but first a nappy fro
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| the longer the hair
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| the easier to scare a foe
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| it grows from my head until it covers up my face
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| people look &stare when I walk into the palce
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| this is just a taste form the Funkee Human Being
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| ain’t no misbehavin'
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| ain’t no use for ravin'
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| surrounded by the people who would stab me in the back
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| my skin is really brown
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| even though it’s labeled black
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| sometimes I wear a cap, and sometimes I wear bandannas
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| forbidden in L.A. but I wore one in Atlanta
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| I chisled up a sculpture
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| to complement my culture
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| thoughts of silly nubians is prone to give me ulcers
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| hangin’with the brothers who are tribal in their ways
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| for this is how I like to spend my days
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| and it pays
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| to steal a groovy s&le form the archives
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| use my mental staff to eliminate aparthied
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| still gather papes like my man Malcom Forbes
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| ponderin’my life as I look into my orbs.
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| I love the shade of green like my brother Billy Bixby
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| I utilise a s&le that I salvaged from the 60's
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| cause I’m picky
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| my meal must appeal to me like Morris
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| far too many fraudulent opponents in the forest
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| I fall into the Gap when I need to purchase clothes
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| easy on the fads
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| cause the posers always pose
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| I suppose they will bite
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| they’ll try not to show it I came very plain and then feelin’rather loaded
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| I ditched all the beads
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| cause my needs seem to differ
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| me and CM-P are like the Gil and the Skipper
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| he will use his clippers to give himself a fade
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| I give my fro a sheen with a smidgin of Pomeade
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| I laid in the shade and I greeted mixel place
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| with a rhythm and a rhyme
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| and he said that it’s a twist
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| from the ordinary everyday continual assumption
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| that R&B &Rap makes a winner
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| guess who’s comin’through for dinner
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| a native-like brother with the passive little style
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| that most certainly will smother
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| suicidal rhymes with apocyliptic tunes
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| I will drink a seltzer while you dabble with the booze
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| and giggle when I see ya liver shrivel to a prune
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| I’m the Funky Human Being
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| not a monkey or a coon
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| assume that the style is Funkadelic in the 90's
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| Del is livin’phat
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| as I leave a foe behind me. |