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You know what? |
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Huh? |
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You know what? |
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What? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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The |
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Sugar D I C D A D I E |
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That's just a title, explaining who I be |
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Mista L A W N G E |
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I take a sucker from any phil and injure thee |
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Now that I've spelled it out |
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And you like the way it sounds |
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I'm dissing rap music |
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and rap music on the grounds |
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You say I'm full of sheep |
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And for that I give a pound |
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The Sugar Dick Daddy |
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Mista Lawnge to break it down |
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Ladies, step to me for a real neat treat |
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And if you don't wanna call me Lawnge |
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You can call me sweet meat |
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I wear protection, you won't catch claps here |
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Come over later, but first go get a pap smear |
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Nine point five okay dear? |
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And don't forget clean underwear |
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Cause I don't want the funk to flow |
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After after I'm done, yo ya gotta go |
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'Don't you know ho, don-tcha know ho' |
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Okay enough is enough, time to get that off my bladder |
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And dig deep into the subject matter |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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I'm sick and tired of rappers not real |
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And suckers makin' it with a pop feel |
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Labels signin acts with nuff bills |
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Tax write off, cause you have no skills |
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You go make a demo |
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get a deal and start to sprout |
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Gold, platinum, and then start sellin out |
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You get a Benz and trash the Nova |
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Double platinum, and start crossin over |
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Then you get fall, I won't give examples |
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HINT HINT, they use the same old samples |
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But not the Sheep |
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for we are sleek and unique |
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Top of the peek and others are weak |
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Follow the words that I speak |
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The situation is bleak |
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But this is the fly shit that you seek |
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When the style is dope |
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Mista Lawnge'sa particapator |
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If you wanna battle, later |
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Cause Black Sheep are certified greater than... |
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But, I said later man |
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'I can dig it' |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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I turn on the radio |
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Be a prime time to a late night rap show |
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Here, the same old, same old |
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And that's on your, new single |
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Your product, is a product, of no productivity |
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Can ya, see G? |
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You kick a wack style |
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And claim to have brains |
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Take the funky drummer and give him back to James |
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I'm dope, I'm dope |
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Heh, I can't cope |
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Keep your cordless, cause you bore this |
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You say you're sure, yeah |
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but I'm the surest |
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That, Black Sheep are unique |
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Funk clever brothers that will |
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make the church girl freak |
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Out, without a doubt |
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You have no wins in a '91 bout |
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So shout, pout,do what you want |
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But you're out the picture |
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And I'ma get you sucka |
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Cause youse a dumb mothafucka |
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Better off as a tractor trail trucker |
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But movin right along to the Woodstock |
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Stop, remember when the band was on rock |
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Negro music, heh, seperated |
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It blew up and became rap |
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and you hated it |
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That's of course till you see |
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A motherfucker that, could be in your family |
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Drop lyrics then you hear it |
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With glee, then only thing it tells me |
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Is that you know a good thing |
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when you see it. |
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You run to get a ten |
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Cause you cannot be it |
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So, off the top off my head |
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I guess I keep it rollin |
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Till aaaaaaah... the rap gets stolen |
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Like so many other things called theft |
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And when it's gone what will be left |
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YOU sucker, dumb fucker don't turn blue |
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You know what? |
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Talkin' to you |
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You know what? |
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Chump |
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You know what? |
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You know what? |
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You know What? |