|
Breakdown! |
|
[Chorus] |
|
The flow will break you down |
|
Bet the flow will break you down |
|
I gets so busy on the mic with my rythmic flows |
|
That's bound to leave you bangin' when it gets exposed |
|
'cause the way I could display my style is wicked |
|
So run up to your counters, and go and get your tickets |
|
I know you got dreams of roasting me hot |
|
But I got flavor like that candy in your grocery shop |
|
The dramatical, craft-matical, soul fanatic |
|
And nadic, with the crazy flow that's automatic |
|
Flowin' like them bolts from the sky like Zeus |
|
An old schooler, who drops mathematics like a ruler |
|
Or protractor, you don't have no nactor |
|
Hang with me, come with the steez and see I'm no actor |
|
That shit is real homes, psyches, so bring your own dice |
|
So we call roll, gonna lose, I'm takin' all your dough |
|
Punch you in your eye and come raid your town |
|
With the sound full of spunk as we break it down |
|
'cause it's... |
|
[Chorus] |
|
Ah, ah, ah, ah-choo! |
|
What to do? timbuck-one, timbuck-two |
|
I can't see a t'ing like Mr. Magoo |
|
The sniveling, huh-huh-ha |
|
C-c-c-coughing, hah-choo! |
|
Stuffy, naughty, nappy |
|
Check-a the box, dreadlox fox |
|
So na, hic-up, na, hic-up |
|
What's up? tic-tic-tock, oops! |
|
Shiver me timber now boots |
|
Oh my gosh, oh my goose |
|
Shucks, yo now I huh, huh, hah, got the hic-ups |
|
And I rips up many tracks |
|
Jumpin' Johosafat |
|
Don't make a sound, I see you rabbit |
|
Tracks, like thunder and lightening |
|
Watch the frightening, can't you tell? |
|
I'm loco, ooh, they don't know very well, so |
|
I lumps 'em, bruise 'em, with black eyes and stitches |
|
They're mad, can we run |
|
>From rags unto riches |
|
Now my scruples, I lose 'em |
|
Damage, I bruise 'em |
|
I'm two-faced kid, so call me the ?? from ?? |
|
I got secrets, Bo, I don't know |
|
Like loco, I'm ??? |
|
I'm changing, visions blurry |
|
So call me, um, Quasemoto |
|
And yo, I'll switch up |
|
Hic-up! |
|
Switch up |
|
Hic-up! |
|
Switch up |
|
Hic-up! |
|
Switch-up |
|
Hah |
|
With or without the hic-ups, these emcess quickly pick up |
|
Then I freak my Fu-schnick styles to the microphone |
|
Yo, rip it |
|
And I freaks it |
|
Hic-up! |
|
Freaks it |
|
Hic-up! |
|
When I freaks it with my drunken technique |
|
I'm makin' pimps squeak |
|
But now it's whacker than the ??? |
|
Way up shits creek |
|
So don't sleep, when it's time to creep |
|
We roll my jeep |
|
And if the shit gets kind of thick, here comes the five sticks freak |
|
To break you down |
|
[Chorus] |
|
The funk makes me tipsy, got the whisky |
|
Yo, can this be the funkdafied horror |
|
Tommorrow I'll flip tip |
|
See, er, the blur in my eyes rectifies |
|
The funk freak me, so peep me, as I speak the grammer |
|
I rocks my bandanna, shave my head clean |
|
And on my screens than Vanna White |
|
How should I roll when I write? |
|
Then light the spliff, now it's time to recite |
|
A verse, a hurse you be leavin' in |
|
Beleive me when I say what I feel, and it's real, not like TV |
|
And science fiction, my addiction is the funk |
|
With more fumes than a skunk, 'cause I'm bound to jump |
|
So check the sound |
|
[Chorus] |
