| Alright y’all!
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| I want y’all to put your hands together
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| And to bring on a brother
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| That’s bound to lay more dips in your hips
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| More gliiiiide in your stride
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| And if you don’t dig what’s next
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| You got the wrong damn address
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| He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming (8X)
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| Bo! |
| Lickshot for the blood claat
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| Talkin that what-not, Puba come and hit on the right spot
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| Rhyme teller for the ladies and the fellas
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| And I only kick the flavor for my fellow ghetto dwellers
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| No rock’n’roll, it’s just soul
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| Ain’t nuttin changed, I still like to hit the hole
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| With my pole, smoke a stog' and then I roll
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| And when my corn hurts I wear a Dr. Scholl
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| I make beats, then I hit sheets
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| Then I build with the Gods to get the addicts off the nod
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| Grand Puba, and I drop a album yearly
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| And I’m very nearly really come to droppin shit like daily
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| My knowledge is bond, so you brothers better move on
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| You brought your wack style, come play the horn
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| Grand Puba Maxwell, not on the Hollywood tip
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| Here comes a brother more than _2 Legit to Quit_
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| I’m not sleazy but I like it nice and easy
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| Ain’t nuttin changed, I still wear my hair peasy
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| I like to dig it, that’s how we done done dug it
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| I tend to work for all the ones who like to wig it
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| «I got a story I want to tell you», «I like to tell it like it is"*
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| «Second time around»
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| Check, I get boom service just like room service
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| And when I jump upon a stage I’m not a bit nervous
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| I kick the reel to rell, I never been to jail
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| Oops maybe one time but I had a good time
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| I keep my pants saggin, I’m never lolligaggin
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| Niggas try to copy this they on the bandwagon
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| I shake my thing I do I pull a hamstring and then I call a old fling
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| Gotta Spike her and tell her _Do the Right Thing_
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| Ron Stud’ll do the rap, Alamo’ll do the overdub
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| 'Fore we hit these 40's G, we gotta get some grub
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| Grand Puba *inhales* Let me take a breather
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| Get you hot like a fever, you’ll be slammin even
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| So don’t bother, it’s the new Godfather
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| Tell your godson that Grand Puba is the one
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| «Way back in, history, the Prodigal Son
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| Was a, wealthy man» (2X)
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| Sing it baby, ha ha ha, bust it
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| No more skid row, can’t get a show
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| Time to kick a new flow, and make the dough y’know?
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| I’m a Pisces I like to drink iced teas
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| I’m a Reese’s with all the pieces
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| Or the Almond with the Joy, ten years from a boy
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| When I work out Puba go see Roy’s
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| Next to thirty-three, where Stud lives
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| You won’t catch the Puba doin nothin negative
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| Now honey don’t like me cause I won’t dance like Hammer
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| Honey ask Hammer, can he speak Puba’s grammar?
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| I can shake a leg if I want to, but I don’t want to
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| Cause that’s what my dancers do
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| Now I give the next man his props
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| But when it comes to micraphones, c’mon, give me mine Hobbes
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| I won’t diss the next brother to be paid that’s not my trade
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| But every brother, ain’t a brother, word to the mother
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| All praises to the father, you wanna try to see this
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| Don’t even bother!
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| Grand Puba, for those who came late
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| You try to step to this, then I’ll end up-state
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| Word is bond, let’s move on and on and on
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| Here we go, here we go, here we go, here we go!
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| Big up to my Now Rule brothers
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| All the cool ones, not the fool ones
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| And we gon' move it like this for the year ninety-two
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| Big up to my man, Positive K
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| Big up to my cousin Jeff
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| And allatha and allathat
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| This is how we gon' move this yo, word is bond
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| S.D., in the house
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| Definitely pumpin the shit like this
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| And this is how we gon' do it yo
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| Knowledge Knowledge
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| Uhh |