Lyrics Clap! - Soulive, Black Thought

Clap!

Clap your hands
It just ain’t real without Roots crew in it
And if you feeling Soulive, keep doing it
(and to whoever in front) You know what you can get
Y’all phobic off of this like we was arachnids
Drastic, it ain’t plastic it’s pro-blackness
Type of cat to pull a arsenal out the mattress
Blasts on em sipping cognac out the cactus
Beating backwards tell them killer pediatrics
It’s Willy Gank hillbilly bank, we miraculous move
I’m in it to win it yo, I can’t just lose
The women so anxious to choose
My soul so live from the crown to the shoes
I keep it South Philly with the downtown groove
I cool out spitting some joints that sound smooth
I even throwing tomahawks and laying down crews
My think tight son i crack necks like Bruce
I don’t shoot hoops I shoot dumb dudes
I might got a hoop imma make you jump through
Just recognize truth so when we come through
Clap your hands
Come on, clap your hands
Come on, clap to the music
It just ain’t real without Roots crew in it
And if you feeling Soulive, keep doing it
(and to whoever in front) You know what you can get, uh!
Yo, hey yo country’s at war
Little kids cry, rape, god damn it
The ghetto is the planet of the apes
Massive meltdown send in the red tape
With the cinder block shoes at the bottom of the lake
I’m from the city of sin the state of the art
Using no book and no pen for making the mark
A rap clubber lane hit em with the gutter slang
I know you’re insane, we another thang
The track bang
We put it to y’all chumps you so corny
My name, Black Thought the one person army
All the intellectuals and the thugs adore me
My lyrical range, from complex to strange
Wrecking your brain when the rhyme texture change
Hip hop fiends tapping they arm and catch a vein
Emcees scared to death, wishing i never came
Clap your hands
Come on, clap your hands
Come on, clap everybody
Come on, clap to the music
It just ain’t real without Roots crew in it
And if you feeling Soulive, keep doing it
(and to whoever in front) You know what you can get, uh!
Everybody on they jawn
Cartoons and soft porn
It ain’t no after school paper routes mowing lawns
Kids got backpacks full of yayo and heron
Coming into school shooting up the auditorium
It’s Psycho Killers week on Court TV
The least of y’all worries should be Thought’s CD
The Chairman of the Board copping snorts weekly
They done caught the minister with a pork BLT
My shit ain’t hot
Yo they probably drop me, psych!
Something i can never let myself see, can’t see
I’m thoroughbred nothing fancy
Remain calm no matter what the circumstance be
It’s the principle pillowcase full of nickels
That will smack, like a man kick you
Leave em crippled
Keep talking breezy imma big lip you
Yo homeboy ya get slid with you
Clap your hands
Come on, clap your hands
Come on, clap everybody
Come on, clap to the music
It just ain’t real without Roots crew in it
And if you feeling Soulive, keep doing it
(and to whoever in front) You know what you can get, uh!
Every time I turn around
They tryna take my breath away
On some shit like that…