Lyrics:
Harold told Melvin back in the days of penny loafs
When Teddy Pendegrass was in the blue notes
A big lip street nigga was in the makin' a ferocious
pipe hot cook a niggas brain now
They calling him Frylock
You niggas can't hide from the
Eye of a cyclops
I ride drive-by put you guys in an ice box
You wanna know why? Because I'm
Dead messengers buried in
Their Melvins shirts
Awoken as reanimated mummies
From the sepulcher
Anonymous and secular
(where they at?)
Pussy boy, you don't get no rep off doin' drive-by's (facts)
Ace from the west, how he clicked up with the east side? (How?)
He ain't
hands on
Call my bluff, start acting up, and I'll leave you underground
Hey yo, niggas know the champ is in here
He took it from crack to rap, now he
with these hands
My alma mater from the school of hard knockers
Today's special, grilled medulla oblongata
Like Harold Melvin, I'm always with them
hands on
Call my bluff, start acting up, and I'll leave you underground
Hey yo, niggas know the champ is in here
He took it from crack to rap, now he
coming
Started my days
With book and pen
Making music with all my friends
Instrumentals not by then
Thanks to Melvin
Who hits the desk
I came from a poor
troops my nigga
And some real street soldiers
I gotta get it by any means
You never know when this life is over
So put your bid in and and get your hustle
Bad mother, shut your mouth
Even though I might die if
I flood the drought
I'm Justin, you're just around
Shed light on the underground
Look, but
from the underground
We are we are... coming up from the underground
Fire, come over me wash this sickness away
She came to me with broken wings
She
and the thunder
By the time that you realized that it's goin' down
You may find yourself going underground
When they see that this life is upon us
We would see
the rain , dark , quiet , safe
We can build houses and everything start again from scratch
And what's so bad about living underground eh?
It's not been so
leavin’ ‘less its hurricane season
Yo, where we come from we hold it down
You know the time
We represent the underground
409, big money!
Niggaz can’t take
only left over scraps, by hungry niggas wit large hustle
So many reps with the bars I call my American car, muscle
I still get thru it when the road is
from the norms
And soon millions of folk
Records were being sold
By the early sixties, Dylan, Baez, Phil Ochs
Were doing intellectualized copies
recite gotta speak my mind
Who sell every time with the beats that hit?
K-O on the flow be the ultimate
From the underground we're the world
know the route
By that time you figure it out
It's to late its all over for you now
As you approach my Lair
I bet i got u scared
Feels like you running
[Mr. Funkee]
The year is 1971. Now comes the first of the children of Roton.
Lords of the Underground witness the brith of the funky child,
Doitall,
bigger underground like the yams do
So when I'm out every bites gon' get your minds blown
So "Go conquer them or get conquered"
That's the language from my
letters down to Melvin
Gotta be careful what you tell them
Lost my faith in god feel like I had failed him
Babies dying from homicide it make me question
Is
a checkered double-knit suit drove up in a large El Dorado Cadillac, leased from BOB SPREEN...
("Where the freeways meet in Downey!")
...And he laid
Not Now
Lyrics by Rev. Jamey Williams
crranged and recorded by Melvin E. Knoblett
I heard the preacher preach the story of long, long ago,
When
Started from the Bottom Homie
It's King Judah and i'm only who i'm destined to be
The names Gully and the Steez o will damage ya let off the Choppa in
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