| (Hey man, don’t you realize
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| In order for us to make this thing work, man
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| We’ve got to get rid of the pimps, and the pushers, and the prostitutes?)
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| Ba-ha-ha-ha…
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| Yes, yes, y’all
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| Ah, ah
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| That’s funky
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| Yeah
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| Hey yo, Marley, man
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| Yo, what’s up, man?
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| Hey yo, man
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| You know
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| We was gettin busy on the album everyday
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| We been gettin funky, but
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| I wanna take this jam back to Farmers
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| Knowmsayin?
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| Yo, let’s go back on Farmers
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| And get some of them early MC’s
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| You used to be kickin it with back in the day?
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah
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| Yo, let’s do a jam with them
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| Aight, bet
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| But first I gotta like introduce it
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| Youknowmsayin?
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| Aight, kick it…
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| (Farmers Boulevard)
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| Back in the days, before I was Cool J
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| I used to hang up on the corner, pumpin' games people play
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| Sittin' on a garbage can, rhymin' to my man
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| Talkin' bout big money and future plans
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| I always told the brothers, if I got a contract
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| When the money started flowin', I’d be back
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| To do a jam, against all odds
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| Introducing rapper 1 from Farmers Boulevard
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| Hey yo, B-o-m-b, bomb explosion
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| Attack like a cat when I’m trapped and I’m closed in
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| Sharp-ass claws, and I break all laws
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| In a while all jaws, cause I’m perfect, no flaws
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| Now I’m back to Farmers on some new improved
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| (Sh…) I’m makin moves, not fakin moves
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| So don’t you never come around here, talkin that talk
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| Or walkin that walk, you’ll get played like a sport
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| Football, soccer, whatever you savor
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| You’re a tramp and a pussycat, ready for labor
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| Ha! |
| L’ll have you breakin' locks
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| I’ll have you cookin fried rice in a big steel box
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| The type of skills that I got reigned for years
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| No worry or cares, your crew’ll shed tears
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| 'Hip-hip-hooray, he’s back! |
| ' Yo, save the cheers
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| Suckers, I’m drinkin forties of beers
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| On the Boulevard
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| Funky, funky, funky rhymes bein' said here
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| Hey yo, hey yo
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| Hey yo Uncle L, let’s go…
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| Yeah man, I wanna check out my man Big Money Grip
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| Yo, what’s up, man
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| Kick a little somethin'
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| Kick out the can and slam
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| Summertime, C.I.A. |
| step into the jam
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| Reach for the mic, and the punks start to fold up
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| And the brothers start fleein' like it’s a hold-up
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| Some step aside, but a few play me close
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| Never worry, cause the brother who cross me’s gettin buried
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| And the fool who wants to deal with another dose
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| I see to it in a hour that the mutha… 's comatose
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| Farmers Boulevard, the place
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| Handin me a mic is like givin' a chainsaw to Leatherface
|
| Smokin MC’s in an instant
|
| At my side bustin caps is T-Boogie, my assistant
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| Throw that speaker in the trash
|
| Why’s that? |
| Cause Gangster Boogie gave the woofer a gash
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| Big Money Grip makin you get up
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| Farmers Crew’s in effect, we never heard of a head-up
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| Yo, yo, yo
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| It’s kinda funky out here on the boulevard, yo
|
| Yeah, we livin' Chinese people in a Turkish bath, baby
|
| Hi C over there, man
|
| Yo, what’s up Hi C…
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| Hi C on the scene, at last to bust a funky rhyme
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| More than a line on time, because I’m gettin' mine
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| Never underestimate the skill of a great one
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| The Boulevard Lord, shorts, never take none
|
| Another funky rapper from around the way
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| Leavin' bodies at a party, cause somebody gotta pay
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| Boy, you been told, put your lips on hold
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| All you remember is a barrel and a mouth full of gold
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| Spreadin' terror on the street like they was in the past
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| Any punks on the block, yo, never could last
|
| And I never feel sorry for a sucker I gained on
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| Any slick talker, yo, he’s bound to get rained on
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| At any Farmers party at my side is a Mag
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| (One time a sucker got I’ll and went out in a bodybag)
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| Fear will erupt through the heart of another
|
| The Farmers Crew will never fall, that’s word to the mother
|
| Yo, yo
|
| It’s kinda funky out here
|
| Yo, yo, yo, Hi C
|
| Yo man, y’all kinda funky out here, yo
|
| I was —
|
| Yo, what’s up?
|
| Nine years ago, man
|
| Youknowmsayin?
|
| Farmers Boulevard, baby
|
| Yo, I was kinda —
|
| I was kinda stagnant to sleep on it
|
| But yo, L
|
| Won’t you — won’t you sum it all up for the people, aight?
|
| Aight, let me sum this up
|
| Now you heard the brothers speakin 'bout the street that we’re from
|
| Rhymes hittin', beats kickin', you can’t get none
|
| F-A-R-M-E-R-S passin' the test
|
| Marley Marl in the background doin the rest
|
| Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do, do-ti-la-so-fa-mi-re-do, Kato
|
| Get up out my face before I play you like Play-Doh
|
| I did a jam against all odds
|
| And it was dedicated to Farmers Boulevard
|
| (Farmers Boulevard)
|
| Keep on
|
| (Farmers Boulevard)
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| To the beat, y’all
|
| A funky beat, y’all
|
| Yes, yes, y’all
|
| You don’t stop |