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Stomp ya feet, and clap ya hands 'Cause you're listening to the sounds of the P-Funk band Ain't nothing new in what we do, 'cause we doing it all just for you Stomp ya feet, and clap ya hands 'Cause you're listening to the sounds of the Sure Shot band Ain't nothing new in what we do, 'cause we doing it all just for you Uh to the... Qualifying, rectifying, rocking 'til the day we dying Every time you're screaming, crying, we'll be there with no denying (repeats) C'mon Double Check it out, people, I'm so glad you're here I want my peoples in the front, my peoples in the rear To let go of your troubles, grab a chair, and cool out Turn up the stereo, light up the blunt, and crack the Guiness Stout (Mike, you don't drink that!) Yeah, but it rhymed And I'mma keep going, flowing like the river, little nigga Since 1987, I've been putting in work Like a single mother serving suckas, and makin 'em jerks Big fluid when I do it, everybody say "go" The cut creator of the hood, and already a pro Smoking up the fat grams and slam like Big Show Or Bam Bigelow to party down with the hoes Until the crack of dawn, and don't nobody dare yawn "Word up!" to Sanchez and the little homie rhymed Right now, we on some wine-light, violin type Make the beats late night, so they come out and act right And put a kick in your eardrum, yo, you should expect Nothing but the fly shit when we rocking your set Damn right, it's Thes One and Double K one time Lay back with a cool one, so let's do one, ya get it? I'm like "with it" when it comes to being hip Hang out with old dudes that's rude, and talk shit Close down on your rookies like your ladies at bedtime Next time you wanna rhyme, throw this into rewind And realize the real lives and the dope shit being given It's a privilege like your left turned herb, ya heard Now I'mma chill with my blunt and Guiness, let the track speak To all the stupid-ass people undermining the street Yeah, I know what that was, when I "street, " I mean "real" The People Under the Gangsta Steps, serving your thrill Qualifying, rectifying, rocking 'til the day we dying Every time you're screaming, crying, we'll be there with no denying Every time you're screaming, crying, we'll be there with no denying Let's rock! Let's rock! The type of family beat, horns with an age limit of like 38 and older For old dudes, who pulled dames with game like a Pee Chee folder For 40 holders, twist, tap, and drop the cap when you feel it Non-sober sounds better, a sort-of a sweater-wearing groove Got you feeling the jazz and make you wanna move (On to the next brew!) 'Bout to crack a new 32 Shout going to my crew and especially (Yahoo!) Andre, Brandon, Paul, Anthony, Mike, and me Who can't stand new music, rather bump the JB's And stay ill, changing DATs, pushing rocks up a hill Stupid sissy (Hush that fuss!) Ay-yo, chill! Smoking beedis, hanging out the window sill, watching the moon Writing rhymes, making beats, waking up at noon Digging up old tunes, that's the life for me And chilling with my best friend whose name is MPC So, Mike, please see if my track is going to tape I gotta about a million rhymes, and I don't know their fate So one way or another, brother, I promise they'll get heard Yo, this is just the second LP, you can count on a third, word And that's all I got, before I go, I gotta give a shout To Yuyo, Juan Carlos and Tino, Remi, Miguel, and Grenjes, mi primos I'mma end this with Enola, I'm out drinking all the Inca Cola's with rum So get in the streets and act dumb (Says right here) People Under The Stairs, set rhymes to stun (Y'all niggas is out?) Aww, man, baby, don't trip The record's not over, man, all you gotta do is flip... Qualifying, rectifying, rocking 'til the day we dying Every time you're screaming, crying, we'll be there with no denying Every time you're screaming, crying, we'll be there with no denying Let's rock! Let's rock!

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