Food for Funk

Common:<br>What, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo<br>Yo, yo yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo<br>Check it, yo<br>You say a one for the trouble, two for the time<br>Come on y`all, let`s rock that, uh<br>(I can feel the funk)(x4)<br>Check it<br><br>I come to grips with mics<br>I come to grips that a lot of mic users is dikes<br>I come to grips with the likes of Fred Hampton<br>Cold, so I`m lampin, with no need for spotlight<br>When I got light like an intersection, you talk<br>But you came to my town with protection<br>Election year, had the block hot<br>I scream "fuck the world" for having a baby girl sorta cock block<br>I write rhymes like I come from the windy city<br>With my crew, I click like simply, stand midi with reality<br>Casually, I walk through these war games<br>Some claim say but then they take on whore names<br>If that`s the way your sex drives, stay in your lane<br>If you`re a man, I can`t tell like if the door rang now<br><br>Chorus:<br>Now, to the ladies in the house when you come in the place<br>It ain`t a bunch of niggaz all up in your face<br>The music is thumpin and you`re feelin the bass<br>What you wanna do girl(wanna shout)<br>To the brothas when you come in a jam, it ain`t a bunch of niggaz<br>It ain`t high tech and ain`t got free liquor<br>You jackin his name and stick to make you jones get thicker<br>What you wanna do man?(let go)<br>Yo, check it<br><br>Some niggaz be on the mic, sounding like dikes<br>Allow me to get on and bust like Spike(uh)<br>Lee, I`m in the majors with no rotation<br>Through stations of bullshit, I see through like a pager<br>In the age of Aquarius, various things<br>Is gonna carry us in intellect and what have you<br>Street astrologists interpret point stars and half moons<br>Then end up on garages or walls in bathrooms<br>Every black moon, a rap tune move me<br>The rap sun, I rain more than Rudy, that unruly shit is played<br>It don`t stop<br>It`s time to get it, get it made<br>I got my mind made up like Foxy Brown`s face<br>I know how the underground tastes<br>I want a crib from the ground up, rooms spin at a round pace<br>Get down based on true story, through Corey, came close to the teachers<br>Colder as the Iceman, posted before it start wrinklin<br>Linkin with cats, who don`t react to change in the years<br>Fulfill prophesies in rooms full of emptiness, now<br><br>Chorus:<br><br>I can feel the funk(x8)<br>Yo, check it, check it<br><br>I came through the corridor, with the aura<br>Raw Chicago mora, scope the horror<br>Read between the lines and know the border<br>Some pop wines for juice, I wait in the water<br>Waitin for you Big Willie niggaz to have a show at The Crib<br>We gon get with your glamour, long as we know where it is<br>Tell you ain`t a player by your sweater doused with wack feather<br>The Crib got the gangsta playa shit patent like black leather<br>I rap better than you, you, or maybe him<br>But I am like a tree and every lyric is a timb<br>Spilled brews and greasy foods got my car smelly<br>Some be so high, they believe they fly like R. Kelly<br>But then they fall off, dusted niggaz is gettin sawed off<br>They fall soft, my mental lift is for me to haul off<br>I kick ass<br><br>Chorus:<br>(scratching)<br>I can feel the funk(x16)(makes me wanna shout, wanna shout)(x4)<br>(scratching)Wanna shout