WE WANT THE FUNK

Ah yeah fuck the judge
I made it past 25 and there I was
A little nappy headed nigga with the world behind him
Life ain’t shit but a fat vagina
Screamin’ “Annie are you ok? Annie are you ok?”
Limo tinted with the gold plates
Straight from the bottom, this the belly of the beast
From a peasant to a prince to a motherfuc

 

I’m a Product of the Post-Success

I’ve been pushin’, yes, I’ve been cookin’
Road trips, them risks, they’ve been tooken
Been ballin’, hoes, they been lookin’
I first class your flights, I’ve been bookin’
One in Bed-Stuy, she’s so Brooklyn
I can’t dodge her, she’s so Crooklyn
They let the crooks in, we let the guns blow
All you see is bright lights through the gun smoke

Big Baby Jesus

March on. Do not tarry. To go forward is to move toward perfection. March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life’s path. — Khalil Gibran