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Lyrics
Listen up everybody, the bottom line I'm a black intellect, but unrefined With precision like a bullet, target bound Just living like a hooker, the harlot sounds Now when I say the harlot, you know I mean the hot Heat of the equator, the broth that's in the pot Jalick, Jalick ya wind up ya hip Drafting of the poets, I'm the #7 pick Licks licks licks boy 'pon your backside Licks licks licks boy 'pon your backside Listen to the fader, Shaheed lets it glide Tip the earthly body, heaven's on my side Even in Santo Domingo when I got a Gringo We got mics, when do we go? Know a little nigga who can rhyme when you ask me Short, dark, and plus his voice is raspy 1 for the treble, 2 for the bass You know the style Tip, it's time to flip this I like my beats hard like two day old shit Steady eating booty MCs like cheese grits My man Al B. Sure, he's in effect mode Used to have a crush on Dawn from En Vogue It's not like honey dip would wanna get with me But just in case I own more condoms than T.L.C Now the formula is this: me, Tip, and Ali For those who can't count it goes 1-2-3 The anti batty boy, big up is who I be Brothers find this hard to do but never me Some brothers try to diss but Malik, you see 'em bitching Me no care about them dibby MC, my shit is hitting Trini gladiator, anti-hesitater Shaheed push the fader from here to Grenada Mr Energetic, who me sound pathetic? When's the last time you heard a funky diabetic? (I don't know man, I don't know man, I don't know man) (I don't know, I don't know) Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Complementary are we, the three for poetry I got a humdinger coming hook line and sinker The Timbo hoofs with the prints on the ground Timbos on the toes, I like the way it's going down Down like a lady of the evening When it goes in Toots just believe it's in Cause Queens is the county, Jamaica is the place Take off your cleats cause you can't run the race Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God Oh my God, yes, oh my God The title MC means Master of Ceremony Some people who MC don't know what this term means
More songs from A Tribe Called Quest
Song Info
Release Year
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Genres
Hip-Hop
Rap
Moods
-
Vocals
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