You know it's Whitey

And the Likwits

I say it's Whitey

And the Likwits

You know it's Whitey

And the Likwits



Watch me rock these sounds

From the polo grounds

To the sunset strip

Like a nasty trip

I'll flash it back on ya

Run it up on ya

I'm born in Hempstead

And live raised in California

Mr. Entreprenuer

I rock the shot that's sure

I need a dime plus more

I sip the fine liquor

I want the cash in hand

And the beach front land

And I get loco

From Acolpoco to Japan

Mr. Whitey Ford gets terrain explored

You perpetrate that Ford

You must be out of your gourd

It's time to make like Greg Nice, kid

And praise the Lord

Keep the faith

Smoke an eighth

Until you stack the papers all up in my safe

Commence the motivate

Consume an altered state

I'm killin' your whole wack show

Like I'm Edgar Allan Poe

With the psychotic thriller

No peckerwood iller

Than this freckled-face man

With the farmer's tan

If I can't bomb on you

I'm bombin' on your man



CHORUS

Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains

Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains

Some get the powers, love, some get the papers

Some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors

Better...

Praise the Lord, keep the faith (4x)



I say roll to the rock

Rock to the roll

Whitey Ford brings the devastatin' mic control

Like Derryl McDaniel

A hundred G's annual

The tip's get clocked, baby

The bond's get stocked

My style gets rocked

Just like doors get knocked

With legendary status

Like my name's Lou Brock

And my lazairre sounds

Be shakin' the grounds

Huntin' down crews

Like packs of bloodhounds

Snatchin' off crowns

And meltin' 'em down

I once was lost, see

But now I'm found

Amazing grace

How sweet's the sound

And when the saints come marchin' in (keep the faith)

I'm Nestle's Alpine White / Classic rapper's delight

All these shorties pullin' tools

'Cause they know they can't fight

I bank my selections on worldwide connections

So get the seven digits, baby

Never burn your britches



CHORUS (2x