get dizzy (Make it funky) Totally def as Evil E guts the records and the beat is kept (Make it funky) Stupid fly, it's got to the F U N K why? So that
Circle K She made a date for a half past eight and I said, "What the hey?" So I journeyed to her crib and I let myself inside That chick was slouched down on
glow Quarter mill' for the gang If you tryna book a show Templates on the Bentley Ridin' through the 'jects Got a pocket fulla money Nigga, hand on my
cap guns son, the real deal K-A, microphone wrecker E-D The O, the U, the B, the L to the E Rocking on, word is born, so abandon ship My name is Erick
on mo' time, not guilty Bailiff, take her into custody Oh, no, not my baby Hell naw Next case State vs. Velvet Jones A.K.A. Ludacris You bein' charged
type shit that we on Official Wu-Tang head-banger Flood your space with big waves like you did in Sri Lanka Yo, I drink heavy gallons of Crew, play the big part Niggas got squid on
the locals, they hit em, fling em, delete em, hug em, love em, then leave em, if you call me a genius, nobody would disagree it. I'm spotted on different
a chrome four fifth pressed on ya back So what you want, nigga? How you wanna act? I hope civilized 'cause I love to see niggaz die Brains all leakin' out on
lyricist Sometimes the suckas on the side gotta hear this Page, a rage and I'm not in a cage Free as a bird to fly up out on stage Ain't here for no
up in this motherfucka G-A-N-G-S to the motherfuckin' A motherfucka I got my brother Cool B, my nigga Berm on the side ah me Dre house, my cousin K-Mud
a decoy I'm the real thang I'm a genius you're a pea brain get pissed on and whipped on So who you talkin' shit on I'mma spit on, any negative spirit
and a waitin', as I can see So treat me like the pope and bow to your knees Oh the genius on the mic is back again So get on the phone and go tell a friend
'cha, doing ya right in ya ear, so clear Spitting verses that come thirsty for more, so I split 'em, serve 'em, twirl 'em right from the door Now look who's back on the scene, the lyrical genius
born type of death set on a mop-stick You infected me, took diamonds, I took all your shit Your 'sell by date' expired so you had to be sold I'm a suffer genius
rhyme that lingers You wack dj's a.k.a. butter fingers How do you think you can come in competition You're rockin' for fun I'm for real I'm on a mission
, I owe you for this one I've been patiently waiting for a track to explode on, yeah You can stunt if you want and ya ass'll get rolled on, it's fifty
with a chip on his shoulder who only owns half of a magazine, and the only way to have it seen is to put me on the front of it again only think that
