| Here comes the Heavster, and I know it makes you sick
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| -- Pete Rock and CL Smooth’s Mecca and the Soul Brother LP
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| Uhh, yeah, here we go, what
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| funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go Uhh, yeah, here we go, what
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| funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go This one goes out to all those… heads
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| KnowhatI’msayin? |
| Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan
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| Money-earnin Mount Vernon, can’t forget the uptown
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| Here we go Verse One:
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| Aiyyo turn me loose I don’t produce with no buttercup
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| Premier got the butter cuts, here comes that ol rugged stuff
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| No room for no pitty-pat, petty kitty-kat rap
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| I jig em renege em or give em a dug em diggum smack
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| I seen you hangin on ghetto blocks, tryin to get ghetto props
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| You need to stop, you’re just a ghetto flop
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| Here comes niggy-nack piggyback, knapsack sacky
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| Saki, classic like a Kawasaki, rough like Rocky
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| Sisters call me dadi Puerto Ricans call me papi
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| You can’t stop me Uhh, cause in these times of tough times
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| I’m coming with rough rhymes
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| Rugged beats I’m passin time on satin sheets
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| And where I came from, some come from
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| Tryin to diss the champion, numba one, Don Gargon
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| Talkin behind my back like they alla that, they ain’t halfa that
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| Matter of fact, I’m the one who put the town on the map
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| Tick tock tick, things are getting thick
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| Here comes the Heavster, and I know it makes you sick
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| Yeah… funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go Uhhh… yeah, well alright c’mon
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| Funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go Yeah… yes, well alright c’mon
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| Funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go Verse Two:
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| Here comes the bigger bro, I’m on the slow nigga flow
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| I like to do bigger show, so I can get bigger dough
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| I hung out in crazy states, sit down and ate crazy steaks
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| In the morning time I wake up with a rhyme and soem Corn Flakes
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| Rap is a stallion’s job, hung out with italian mobs
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| I been around the world with pretty girls and they credit cards
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| Around in the Source van, got paid when my horse ran
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| And despite the verdict, I’m still a Mike Tyson fan
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| In the trench I get ruff, on the stretch, I get vexed
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| Eddie F’s on the set who’s next to get wrecked
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| Mr. Sweeperman, time to do the sweep up Brothers couldn’t keep up, spendin too much time with their feets up Listen to it, this is how I do it
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| When I wreck a set rhymes float like fluid
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| Lord have mercy on those who curse me You don’t appreciate, neither-for you don’t deserve me Tick tock tick, things are getting thick
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| Here comes the Heavster, and I know it makes you sick
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| Yeah… what? |
| Funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go Uhhh… talk about it alright yeah
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| Funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go Uhhh… yeah, well alright c’mon
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| Funk funk flow, funk funk flow, here we go So break it down
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| So easy does it on the DL, the Heavster
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| Verse Three:
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| Didn’t it make you sick when I went pop and I kept my props
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| and I blew up the spot and was large on your block
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| I know it did that’s why you formed the committee
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| Of a bunch of itty bitty silly Milli Vanilli hillbilly niggies
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| never mind all the chitter chat, cause I got a bigger bat
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| Step out of line again to get your jaw tapped
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| Don’t try to play me for cream puff
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| Forgot I was big stuff, rough tough, and all that stuff, huh?
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| You jabber jaw junkie, rap tour flunkie
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| Quick at the lip, but when you see me you flip like a monkey
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| It always amazes me, how some brother’s faces be Smilin but behind your back they talk like an enemy
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| But I got a sharper blade, from here I see better days
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| Sittin on my porch countin loot drinkin lemonade
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| Swingin with the shy type, girl who’s the fly type
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| The non gettin high type, that’s how you know she’s my type
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| Tick tock tick, things are getting thick
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| Here comes the Heavster, and I know it makes you sick
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| (repeat until end) |