street up *come get it* R: ladies g'd up, what? Don't smoke the weed up *come get it* L: what? baby come get it (rah: what? nigga come get it) [rah
pop Where the front doors broke and them locks don't lock Come home with me, dog where the beef is seeking Kids don't trick or treat, they get tricked for treating Come
earn, enough I own my own law firm Don't need a tux, I tweaks pea coats and khakis Khakis, Levis and T-shirts Levis and T-shirts, whatever the street's works Street
out free tickets To the wedding of his son An' me, I nearly got busted An' wouldn't it be my luck To get caught without a ticket And be discovered beneath a
free tickets To the wedding of his son An' me, I nearly got busted An' wouldn't it be my luck To get caught without a ticket And be discovered beneath a
shots and don't run Late nights the police don't come And if you still don't know where I'm from 10th street (96th and Spellman) 12th street, Vernon (
you think that you a patriot? You ain't nothing but a motherfuckin racist bitch Fulla hatred, pressin a button trying to inject me But I ain't got no
a gangsta bitch bandanna Peep the grammar, I appeal like banana pudding, I couldn't come If I couldn't get it done, I might dine and dash, I don't rhyme
-A-L - sort Of a freaky situation With a peppermint twist Ricky or Mike is next on the list Nastified and all-funkified Come'on Come'on Come'on Ride Can
even wit a chick I like I?m here 'till Thursday, don?t make me switch my flight Don?t get your moms caught in the middle of the night Don?t look good
and let my fo-fo rip, so bitch don't slip Don't make me put a lump on your lip A dip in your hip, I'm snatchin' your shit I want it all so give me it
follow me For quality, and I make no apology For linking my thinking with computer technology Cause this is like a modern day hymn For the new church I search for
tear the street up COME GET IT [R:] Ladies G'd up, what? Don't smoke the weed up COME GET IT [L:] What? Baby come get it ([Rah:] What? Nigga come get
become a part of us even if we don't understand it. * In attempts to moderate they ask why we don't write love songs. What is it that we sing then?
A lack of love, a lack of understanding A lack of compassion a lack of better parenting The sad thing is either they don't know Don't show Or just don
on the street Gran your fuckin' heat Come with me inside the whirl wind Everybody's welcome into the psycho's den Even though we don't know the attack
A night of Lust Give us trust in The Night Give of color Hundred hues A rich Mandala For me & you & for your silky pillowed house A head, wisdom & a bed
we're out on the street, Feeling the beat of the heart's in anger at the upper crust Elite who don't hear us scream or beg for a halt or Their society