Professor Booty
Yo I don't hang out with those guys Man I ain't got nothing to do with those dudes Man I saw your female with them too, what's up wit her? I been hearin' that she's been giving that stuff out to all them graffiti guys Yo shut the f**k up Chico man I'd paint three of those murals for some of that a*s Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure? Why I think it's booty? That's what it is Yes, I got more bounce to the f**king bumpin' And you wanna know why because I'm mother f**king truckin' I'm in the pocket just like Grady Tate I got supplies of beats, so you don't have to wait 'Cuz I'm the master blaster, drinking up the shasta My voice sounds sweet 'cuz it hasta So light a match to my a*s 'cuz I'm blowin' up I'd like thank you people for just showin' up But now I want y'all to move it Put your point on the floor and just prove it Said I'm smurfin' not rehearsin', getting live y'all A little puffy so you know what I'm doing right 'Cuz that's the kind of frame of mind I'm in I got this feelin' and it's back again So don't touch me, 'cuz I'm electric And if you touch me you'll get shocked Well I think it's booty, booty You got, you got, you got, you got, you got You got the boomin' system but it's blastin' out doo Do you think it's chocolate milk, but it's watered down yoo hoo I been through many times for which I thought I might lose it The only thing that saved me, has always been music We got our studio, it's under the G, it's no question Life's been good to me 'cuz life ain't nothing but a good groove A good mix tape to put you in the right mood Said, this one goes out to my man the groove merchant Coming through with beats, for which I been searchin' Like two sealed copies, of expansions I'm like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions The logo I sport is the face of the monkey Union made, Ben Davis quality, it's no junk see My chrome is shining, just like an icicle I ride around town in my low-rider bicycle You think you know what you doin' [Incomprehensible] Booty, booty, booty [Incomprehensible] So many wack MC's, you get that TV bozak Ain't even gonna call out your names 'cuz ya' so wack And one big oaf, who's faker than plastic A dictionary definition of the word spastic You shoulda' never started something you couldn't finish 'Cuz writing rhymes to me is like Popeye to spinach I'm bad a*s, move ya' fat a*s, 'cuz your wack son Dancing around like you think your Janet Jackson Thought you could walk on me to get some kinda' walk I'll pull a rug out from underneath your a*s as I talk on I'll take you out like a sniper on a roof Like an MC at the fever in the DJ Booth With your head phones strapped, ya' rocking rewind pause Trying to figure out what you to do to go for yours But, like a pencil to a paper I got more to come One after another you can all get some So you better take your time, and meditate on your rhyme 'Cuz ya shit'll be stinking when I go for mine And that's right y'all, don't get uptight y'all You say shit when I bite, when I write y'all And that's wrong y'all, over the long haul You can't cut the mustard when fronting it on, it on
