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Common: 
What  yo  yo  yo  yo  yo 
Yo  yo yo yo  yo  yo  yo  yo 
Check it  yo 
You say a one for the trouble  two for the time 
Come on y'all  let's rock that  uh 
(I can feel the funk)(x4) 
Check it 
I come to grips with mics 
I come to grips that a lot of mic users is dikes 
I come to grips with the likes of Fred Hampton 
Cold  so I'm lampin  with no need for spotlight 
When I got light like an intersection, you talk 
But you came to my town with protection 
Election year, had the block hot 
I scream "fuck the world" for having a baby girl sorta cock block 
I write rhymes like I come from the windy city 
With my crew, I click like simply, stand midi with reality 
Casually, I walk through these war games 
Some claim say but then they take on whore names 
If that's the way your sex drives, stay in your lane 
If you're a man, I can't tell like if the door rang now 
Chorus: 
Now, to the ladies in the house when you come in the place 
It ain't a bunch of niggaz all up in your face 
The music is thumpin and you're feelin the bass 
What you wanna do girl(wanna shout) 
To the brothas when you come in a jam, it ain't a bunch of niggaz 
It ain't high tech and ain't got free liquor 
You jackin his name and stick to make you jones get thicker 
What you wanna do man?(let go) 
Yo, check it 
Some niggaz be on the mic, sounding like dikes 
Allow me to get on and bust like Spike(uh) 
Lee, I'm in the majors with no rotation 
Through stations of bullshit, I see through like a pager 
In the age of Aquarius, various things 
Is gonna carry us in intellect and what have you 
Street astrologists interpret point stars and half moons 
Then end up on garages or walls in bathrooms 
Every black moon, a rap tune move me 
The rap sun, I rain more than Rudy, that unruly shit is played 
It don't stop 
It's time to get it, get it made 
I got my mind made up like Foxy Brown's face 
I know how the underground tastes 
I want a crib from the ground up, rooms spin at a round pace 
Get down based on true story, through Corey, came close to the 
teachers 
Colder as the Iceman, posted before it start wrinklin 
Linkin with cats, who don't react to change in the years 
Fulfill prophesies in rooms full of emptiness, now 
Chorus: 
I can feel the funk(x8) 
Yo, check it, check it 
I came through the corridor, with the aura 
Raw Chicago mora, scope the horror 
Read between the lines and know the border 
Some pop wines for juice, I wait in the water 
Waitin for you Big Willie niggaz to have a show at The Crib 
We gon get with your glamour, long as we know where it is 
Tell you ain't a player by your sweater doused with wack feather 
The Crib got the gangsta playa shit patent like black leather 
I rap better than you, you, or maybe him 
But I am like a tree and every lyric is a timb 
Spilled brews and greasy foods got my car smelly 
Some be so high, they believe they fly like R. Kelly 
But then they fall off, dusted niggaz is gettin sawed off 
They fall soft, my mental lift is for me to haul off 
I kick ass 
Chorus: 
(scratching) 
I can feel the funk(x16)(makes me wanna shout, wanna shout)(x4) 
(scratching)Wanna shout

Видео-клип к песне Food for Funk

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