Mad madness

trashy

brother from way back.

We're blowin mics since the days of 8 track.

Certified

bonified

pull out the weapon.

Rusted.

Your ho's gets busted.

Run your jules!

Shootin up ya damn fools.

Leavin' your loser lazy lyricist

in bloody pools.

Went away

came back

your still wack.

Now your slobbin Marly's mob

for a dope track.

Comin off like a bra

and its the witness.

No click-click

a fru (?) business

Don't care about no money

got props in it.

Flippin scripts

with every letter in the alphabet.

Wanna jump. JUMP!

And jingle your rump. RUMP!

Here to pump punks

with real hot lead chunks.

Full-grown

I ain't no baby with these rhymes kid.

Put the mic down

my peoples know where ya live.

I chop you little brittle riddle

right up the middle

and have the police playin the fiddle

in the hospital.

Somebody said, "He couldn't rip with the roughness."

Rhymes kick your teeth

but end up frontless.

Soul survivor of a thousand beats

sendin funeral wreathes

to all ya use-to-be chiefs.

Is a raw

to a bearlin in the woods (?).

Brothers tapes ain't jack

their best tracks is wack.

I heard you think you got a chance to win

but my glock is stopped off

to murder the top ten.

Rough and rugged and raw

I'm like a callous.

The underground can say

"ain't no Fra-zontin in my palace."





Well can I be the flavor of the month?

I got the flavor

plus I can bump a chump.

I got the funk

straight from my underground hide-out.

I freak it in the house

and let the hits just

ooz out.

Bust on the scene

to let ya know I wasn't frontin.

Got ya screamin for my album

so I had to do somethin.

Write tonight

to take a bit

not a bite.

And watch the (?)

freak you with

all my might.

Like "Here I am to save the day!"

I stop the tracks

with the mic

so I say "To chay"

and "On Gaurd"

when I'm swingin for your brow.

Cause in the house of hits

ain't no frontin allowed.





Just when you thought

that it was safe

to try and chop me.

Run for ya life

now here somes Mr. Funky

and I'm pissed.

So watch how many heads

I'll be the takeout

boy ya better look out

I work ya like a cook-out.

So get the flavor

the original Mr. Funky

(?)

and you watch me do my thing.

Because I hit ya with the funk

of the fly-talker

and make your girl

"Bump-bump! Get it, Get it!"

like Luke Skywalker.

I can't front

I love rappin with a passion.

Crash your head front

into the funk

you think I'm slam dancin.

See when you front

you make mad

the alter weight (?).

Freak this:

"funky twin powers activate!"

Sheik on the mic

with the cape and muscles.

Crushin MC's

while their girls do the hustle.

See other rappers

try to dis the lords

but yo, your dead wrong.

Damnit, can't we all just get along?

We'll see

there simply ain't no frontin allowed.

Yo, I'm out

like the Cosby show

peace to the Funky Child.





Punchin your god-damn eyebrows off

roughin it up north

lookin' like your laugh off (?).

It's a blash smash

and crash from my stash.

Be watchin your back kid.

Your girl and the phat path.

Talkin bout your macks and tax.

What's with that?

Your gettin wet like

sloooow sex.

Rippin on that old school kid.

Leavin sliced as a slit

says I wet your crib.

No question.

Testin the west

and the east and

once the ammo was released and

I'll make your girl come and getcha.

Hope you get the picture.

Boy your better off

if a pit bit ya!

What's its like

in the illest fight.

Believe the hype.

I'm givin crowds more nose jobs than Mike.

Fight sight alright

they bite

spot light tonight

is hype

trigger happy tripe

don't hit bite

my owner's right.

And ya know it's comin off

so don't ask it.

Snatchin the vocal

and hotties on the rap tip.

Mackin ya boys up.

Bringin the noise up.

And now ya need stitches

because my voice cuts.

Chainsaw

gain more

and riegn raw.

And never let a brother play it

is my main law