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(feat. Aceyalone) |
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Relax your mind... and take your time.... |
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Relax your mind... and take your time.... |
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Relax your mind... and take your time.... |
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Would you like to be a part of my fantasy? |
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Fantasy, insanity, vanity, family, Kennedy, can it be? |
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It'll be great we can break all laws of gravity |
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Make room, or fly to the moon on a boom |
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We can let it get better, get etiquette, adequate, that'll get sloppy |
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Ten-four, you copy? |
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Big jollopy I pop a seed, pop a floppy |
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Teenybopper, hoppy, hype, my squad's the gods of the mic |
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So play vanilla, hammer, shamma-lamma-ding-dong |
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Killer, slummer, plan a pop song, KA! |
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But I like breakbeats and beatin' on the walls of bathrooms |
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The b-boys b boys forever |
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Yo, punk- what's your function? |
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Robotics, planets, products, annex, got it |
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Mechanics or sonics, organic, exotic, narcotic |
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Bought it, forgot it |
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I jot it down 'til I'm hooked on phonics |
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So much to do with a touch of double dutch |
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Of dodge ball, the Taj Mahaj's right below us |
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Slow us down and show us the forest |
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Or a Brontosaurus |
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I'm a Taurus, poorest one of all |
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Born in back of a pool hall, a joker |
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My Pappy's a penny and a poker player |
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Who's a loser, screwser, booser |
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Livin' a life of anger |
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Had one, two, one too many Harvey Wall Bangers |
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So bungee jump off a bridge and soar |
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With a rubber baby elastic plastic |
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Band around your ankle |
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Fasten up, next stop Banana Republic |
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For what? hip hop drops |
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(who's the man with the master plan?) |
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(who's the man with the master plan?) |
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Every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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Every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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Every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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Every rapper in the house die |
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Now every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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You're wack, you're wack, you're wack, you're wack |
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You're sucatash, you're mow mow(?) |
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???????????????????????? |
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Yeah right, your mic, mic, might be a slight slow |
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My mic, my mic, my mic'll blow you right |
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Outta sight, wanna fight |
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??? I'mma rip you if your tight |
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I'll grease the pipe |
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You're right, my type, you're wack |
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You're white, you're black |
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You're blue, you're yellow belly helly do jelly can't jam |
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Hunky see, hunky do |
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Don't get kickin' the funky chicken |
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Can-can-can-can it be, can it be any identity crisis |
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Come in slices and devices |
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What the price is for the nicest spices |
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Every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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Every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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Every rapper in the house shut the funk up |
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Every rapper in the house die |
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Drop |
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J-Sumbi: aww yeaah, give it up, give it up, |
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Yes that was a little snippet from Aceyalone's own |
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Private rhyme garden, live and direct from the Sunshine Shack |
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I'm the J-Sumb, and, uh, before we go, |
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Let's hit 'em with a final verse |
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Acey: |
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Hydroplaning, while I was explaining |
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And maintaining, gaining altitude |
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A longitude, latitude, attitude |
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Formatical, fragile, grammatical, radical dude |
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Spit ball, pitfall |
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Hole in the wall is all I see |
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Eight ball, wait y'all |
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Aceyalone has found the key |
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Freestyle Fellowship |
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This fellow gets beat while |
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He moans and groans and throws a fit |
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Aryans are carryin' out sin |
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Burryin', marryin' men |
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Black men, black men, black men |
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Freestyle Fellowship |
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Freestyle Fellowship |
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Freestyle Fellowship |
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The Freestyle Fellow... |
