Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Lunchroom Classics, artist - Makeba Mooncycle
Date of issue: 26.01.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Lunchroom Classics |
Yo, fourth period, everybody meet me in the lunchroom |
I’m saying, the Drum Society comin in there |
You know I’m saying, Hi-Tek gonna be there |
I think Makeeba gonna be there too (Yo Kwa!) |
Know what I’m saying, ah man, ah man |
Definitely, definitely-definitely-definitely |
Yo, yo-yo-yo, yo… Reflection Eternal, Makeba Mooncycle |
Yo-yo, Yo-yo, I come before ya bearing skills |
Get you off like cheap thrills |
Some may deny me, because of lack of faith |
I bring true lyrics, straight to your face |
Here’s a brand new testament, written by me |
Co-written by Makeba and Eternal Kweli (Kweli) |
Constant meditation last longer than duration |
Proper education is mind levitation |
To stimulate quite simple |
I clear all paths like Christ and the temple |
Coming with the skills that’s essential |
To even mention Brooklyn as the residential |
Ugh, the pictions be graphic |
Cause how we be livin is tragic |
So I take your imagination and I stretch it like elastic |
Ugh, some people treat oppurtunity like a blunt and pass it |
I see the mic as my oppurtunity and so I grab it (hold it) |
Mentally I live lavishly I cherish the heredity |
That’s preparin me to be a revolutionary till they bury me |
Carry me in your thoughts forever |
The way I put words together you treasure |
Ay-yo, whatever the weather instead of clever I’m better |
Cause I seize the time with reason and rhyme |
Sometimes I flip the different flavors |
This old school mama came ta save ya |
Cause I’m to old to scold, better |
I like, ya know, puttin hearts on hold |
But pay ya hand for the fold |
Waiting to be taught, here’s a whiff of holy breath |
I bring pain to your chest |
LET’S CIVILIZE THE PEOPLE |
Hang up your petty egos |
I’ve got a shield on my back cause people carry blades (true) |
Getting caught off guard leaves you in a shallow grave |
Now here comes the ruler of the night, better known as the moon |
Bobbin with J-Rawls animated like a 'toon |
Chorus: Kweli and Mooncycle |
This for the kids cuttin up in the lunchroom |
I pulled your card like spades |
And spit with major shit |
The ill pitch you afraid to hit, it’s like that |
Here we go |
Here we go |
Come on |
Uh, come on |
This song is like a baby being born (yes) |
It’ll stay in your head long after I’m physically gone |
Then the rest of the flesh is left for the vulture |
Makin me the anti-hero of the counter-culture |
Do you remember what you was doin when you first heard this? |
I was singin to my sis, that’s deeper than abyss |
It took the French to kiss, German demolish |
Feed the world from my breasts, a written conquest |
Lyrics are like permanent stains |
Now you’re usin' both sides of your brain |
Cause you never should go against the grain |
Acting like puppets, I own the string |
Addicitive like coke, is the real thing |
Check out the wisdom, that I bring |
Church bells are ringin |
Its the truth I’m speakin |
Freak it like Sodom and Gomorrah |
Check my holy ora, the reflection in my order |
Causes me to slaughter |
Disect like biology, cover the Earth like water |
It’s like sometimes cats like wanna be all up in your psychology |
No stoppin me or my man Hi-Teknology |
Follow me through global economies, start thinkin logically |
Be passionate you gotta be, your soul is your property |
On that you could place a bet before I make you face your death |
Make you rectrace your steps to exact place you slipped |
(Right there) To battle would be a waste of breath |
But see you chasin rep and you got hit so hard |
They had to replace your chest |
You on the floor carrowing, turn your punk ass over |
You see me towering, my mic grip tighter than the boa |
You microscopic like protozoa or amoebas |
Slower than molasses so they call you special |
Makeba, yo, what they want, a medal? |
Chasin crimes like Hantzel and Gretel when the dust settle |
Every one of these cats who got gas like pedals, got deflated |
J-Rawls, Makeba, Kweli anticipated |
New shit cause your style’s so old it depreciated |
You lost your value, money |
I pulled your card like spades |
And spit with major shit |
The ill pitch you afraid to hit, it’s like that |
Here we go |
Here we go |
Come on |
Uh, come on |