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Goodie Bag ?Album Version? - Goodie Mob |
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Put some fire on that ass end of dat weed |
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Cause in da SWAT's red hots don't drip or bleed |
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'cause', you know me, givin' me left hand dap |
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P-funk be ridin' shot gun escort your window broke out son |
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A cool breeze got my lips chap, mornin' slap some |
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Soul in my bread basket gap contain "X" marks the spot |
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Twain, O.C. the cut layin' |
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A stew of empty gas in my tank |
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A buck thirty lookin' ugly - think, |
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but it ain't gonna stop no show |
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Ol' burd puttin a buzz in you ear |
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"It's gonna snow" or maybe perhaps sleet |
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Rap up the beat outside barely made it to your wake |
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Lookin' like Mr. Fisher, dickie down no suit, no tie |
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Niggaz ain't gonna be able to just get by no mo' |
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You leavin' the hotel - 254 |
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Today was good to me |
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I went to the Goodwill with the ten dollar bill |
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Got that London Fog out tha back paid tha man |
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Me and Khujo and T-Boo, |
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three jack lumbers on tha loose |
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Cut your ass Lo like Cee, be under tha water |
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Half these figures around me be hollering Newt |
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Now what the fuck has this politician did for you |
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Complain, complain but Mr. Clampett ain't gon' change |
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Just ribb your ass up just to gut your pockets out |
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I heard Bill put two G's up for some folks |
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That they found in they house beat up |
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And I don't discuss that color scheme that they fall on |
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'cause tha scheme that they fall on don't match wit my tone |
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See, I wonder will I walk tha streets in 1995 |
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And not have to make bond from 254 |
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Uh, will somebody please turn the lights on 166 |
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I can't see where tha fuck I'm going, |
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I can't do shit but get mad |
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I can't keep get Billie and his uncle out my fuckin' Goodie Bag... |
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Without your shank you can't thank |
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Without your niggas you up the creek |
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Stank with a ass fool of ore takin' what I say for what it's worth |
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It don't matter 'cause how I feel might be triggered |
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From thoughts I had in the past |
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Now I struggle to reach the sky why try so hard |
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If all I'ma get is spit on |
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Cause life at the bottom ain't hittin on shit |
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But some of these folks is gettin rich |
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I know about mines, unwind, |
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can't take at times going through |
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The same drama that got me here in this state of mind... |
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Red-hot in the summer time |
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First of all, I stand a little more than five feet tall |
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But we can still brawl nigga, I ain't scared at all |
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I guess you niggas don't know or can't see |
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That it ain't even wise steppin' to me incorrectly |
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But yet still when nigga's feel they can deal |
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I will split yo' ass up for real |
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Cause we the maniacs with the chunky Goodie sac's |
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So I don't carry an ax, but I still swing low |
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with the lumber jax trax |
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Why we coolin' in the shade ain't gettin paid |
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For chillin, illin' willin' to do what I got to do |
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To come thru your speaker |
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Cee-Lo, he will never come weaker |
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Uniquer than a lot of emcees out today |
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Because I'm more than careful about what I say |
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When I pick up a microphone it's on |
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Them better leave me alone, I'm in my zone |
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Prone to snap if you offer me a chance |
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Like it when them chunky hoes can dance |
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I'll enhance the microphone |
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when it's in my grip, I do not slip |
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I can't forget my nigga's Jo, T-Mo, and Gipp |
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Ha, ha, ha, well Great Scott, is he a thief? |
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It seems like he has a mouth fulla gold teeth |
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I smile because your eyes can't take the glare |
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But Cee-Lo, him don't care, I cut off all my hair |
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And everybody stop and stare |
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when we come in the place |
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And I can get on the mic wit no time to waste |
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Get right up in yo' face, kick the flavor you taste |
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And when I'm on the microphone it's a damn disgrace |
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How you don't comprehend what I'm saying to you |
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And I'm the C, the double E from the Goodie Mo Crew |
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I'm coming thru, I'm comin' true, ooh I can't even stop |
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It's Cee-Lo B, I'm down wit that nigga pop, |
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pop, pop and my nigga Mike L |
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And Bert P and my nigga Pretty Ken, |
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you know he down wit me |
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We from Atlanta, G-A, that is where we stay |
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I'm diggin all in the Goodie Bag each 'n ever day |
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Ooooh shit!! |