Lyrics Road Beaters - People Under The Stairs

Road Beaters

With the electric soul shock, body rock and rolling
Take a David T walk to that corner liquor store
And mama wants a new pack of George Benson & Hedges
They mentholated
To all my P fans I’m glad you waited
We graduated from paying dues to sitting on the porch
Brothers playing the blues in search of more pews
To fill up the funk church
The masses massive tabernacle it cracklely wax
To sample the man full of holy drums
(You guys are rolling bums)
With swollen thumbs, we walk through slums
Find some bottle with wood done, ya…
Stand up
Cool with the rhythm
Get down
Stand up
Cool with the rhythm
Get all
Yo, it’s the art of fresh music not that artificial crap
That the people calling rap, yo we getting rid of that
We Rat Packing the beat, till we feel it’s complete
Break beats getting discovered
Some get flipped to outnumber
The weak drum machines, don’t use 'em won’t abuse 'em
Getting funky like drunky
Call us the groove junkies
And we gotta have a fix every minute on the dot
Just the
And we tearing up your block
You can hear it up the street
You can hear it in your sleep
Booming out the record stores while you at the swap meet
Macking to a seven feet
Crunching on a two piece
Said it’ll make your day fucked up people, just trust me
We back on the three dot, booming in your ghetto blaster
Till midnight, feel right and party till you drop
Hip hop live in the flesh, keep it well dressed
Hands pushing up
Now all I wanna see you do is…
Groove to the rhythm, something new to give 'em
I prove the rhythm choose the women like night swimming in a hot tub
And Double K got dubs
We rock clubs like Tiger Woods
Giving up funk for goods
To Howard Robinson and Beverly Wood
Eating cheeseburgers with my pals, going home to lounge
In the styles of my predecessors
The B-Boy, never the less, the S, the western born
That early morn' to that yes yes y’all
Thes rock like a new clock on top of the school hall
Ringing roll call
Professor head shake, monitor the gym hall
Up taking out the fakes
With a twelve string incision
Reinvent the rhythm
The cats that’s living just like us
Now envision a mathematician giving up a calculator
Ayo that’s me without the funk, Double K rock the cross fader
Yo we got the whole world under surgery for funk transplants
Making music not hood so yo we don’t got the look
We got bad memory, a gang of records and fans
Mad plans to keep it live with just the blink of an eye
Yeah we thought that you thought that we wasn’t coming back
We turned around and smacked that clown
(Who told you that?)
We too cool for our britches, putting stitches on your zip disc
Get this, hip hop is the drug and we in rehab
Just be glad, that you don’t live close to us
Then you see most of us
And we be known to bust
With no junior should’ve learned a little sooner
It’s the two forties in the tight ish running to ya
Two villains in the car chase (crash!)
Throw your roadblock of weak beats
Continuing the mission through the streets
Of the angel town
With my Steeley Dan Brown
While I groove with the rhythm, move with the rhythm
Get off with it
I’m about to quit it but before I step off it’s like
«Yeah»
To the break of daylight it’s right
Make y’all
«Ha ha!
Rastafan you son of motherfuck!»