Ah, yeah, yes Psychedelic Uh, come on This is what I like It's that Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth stuff Uh huh, yeah Brothers can't understand You know I'm about to drop a funky beat on you Like this...
Hit the war drums that vibrate the earth underneath Here my people and I come, gotta wake up the chief Not a pale frail ghost, C.L.'ll wreck the most Cuz the Mecca land never had a Leo Africanos The Sudanian, master of the Mediterranean And if it's lovely I'm the one you're Skypagin' Lower than the Mole Man, R&B, you're silly The only male hardcore crusin' through my city Rise to the supernova, swami like Bola Heavy hitter I consider Ueuker leanin' on my shoulder Measure like a yardstick, thick at arithmetic You add it up and I roast a high pick flick Hit the pitch and then I'm gone as the funk lingers on I don't publicize here to keep the black race torn But steady at an altitude where you get the mental food Not to be rude, here's a fresh pot brewed Oh, what a web we weave when we practice to deceive Sparkin' off a trick up the sleave Pete stocked the bedrock, listen and you'll see And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me
Yo, you can't front It's like that, c'mon, yeah Yes, you know I got to talk You can't front I'm tellin' you now C.L. Smooth and the Rock, c'mon
Many consumed what was locked in a tomb That I gradually groomed, coming out now smelling like perfume So take a whiff when I wrap a gift, play ya like a gospel A logical apostle, collosal (whoooweee!) Afro, a cut me like a fade with a Braun Sport a bald head, but never needed Hair Club for Men Drop a SCUD, fully-capable, a form in a eclipse Skips to backflips soon as it leaves my lips Suave know, I can make the funk turn the habit Kick the old 45 and I can boogie on static Welcome to the Brahma Don, pilgrimage to Mecca Don A prayer for the parish, Soucron Affwaun Cuz ain't no misbehavin' when they manage what you're cravin' Put the "Anger in the Nation" on your station Anvils that fills the whole circumference And black people crowd in a mass abundance To hear Gabriel's horn, blow it like a Naiji What's the flavor unit with the top priority? C.L., untouchable with the clip full Impossibly, the posse can't front on me
Don't you dare front Don't you dare front Not on me Cuz I'm the man C.L.'s the rhymer Right on time Right on, my brother Come on, kick another verse for me
You desire the messiah for the entire empire Total organizer of the earth, wind, and fire C.L. and Pete Rock unlock the hard rock Many want to mock and the honey-dips clock Intercontinental for the residential Never coincidental, rough on a rental Count all the bars numeric Pro-prosthetic if ya let it resurrect the nongeneric The brother on the cover, yes, a rapper not a singer If you recognize him, point with your index finger Shock another flock when I hit the block God or Devil on the set that's level, labeled as a rebel In retrospect I detect those incorrect And reflect the black power project Supreme cuz I chose to never blaspheme Going to the extreme, place it on a very high beam And drop jewels for five thousand fools who stampede Cuz the proper show stopper's what ya need So come and get a taste of the dynamic duo And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me (Yoooo!)
You can't front, boy Cuz we're the skilled fools (skibooze?) We'z are the funk The hardcore funk We ain't no joke Comin' out to note Ah, yeah With the funk track Sing it, P.