| It was 11:33, just wakin up to write
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| Got plans to meet my man at the jam tonight
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| Got a call from Tiger Chan, he said, «Whassup Tak'?»
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| Yo my car broke down, meet me at the bus stop
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| «What time?» |
| About five, I’ll be ready when I’m done
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| 4:22, turn twenty-one, so you know
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| Threw on my shades to block the rays from the sun
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| I stepped out the door and now my day’s begun
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| So I’m walkin down the block, think about that girl Britney
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| Knowin that I’m goin to the club to get tipsy
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| If I step out of line, would she soon forget me
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| I don’t know — I’m Dazed and Confused like a hippie
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| Waitin on the corner for the four-door Honda
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| Picked me up, with the switch seat recliner
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| Yo I hear the horn blowin from these girls behind us
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| I turned around to look and they got all obnoxious
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| They recognize the face, «Can we get your autograph?»
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| Yo I turned back to Ryu and we started to laugh
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| «We got a show to do tonight,» that’s what I yelled out the window
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| They pulled up on the side, with a pen and pad for info
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| One had pretty eyes, with the buttermilk complexion
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| So I ran it down the line with the directions, yo.
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| Everytime we got a jam to make
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| We make sure the beat knocks, we dig up in the crate
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| Once the vibe is straight, we packin the place
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| It’s the S.O.B., put the needle on the plate
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| (What what what what?)
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| Put the needle on the plate
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| (uhh. uhh.)
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| Put the needle on the plate
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| (yeah UH)
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| «Wait back it up, hup, easy back it up» -] Q-Tip (repeat 3X)
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| Steppin out in style, three dimensional light beams
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| Knight Queens and Club Kings swingin hype cling
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| Trippin over bottles of Moet on my way to the dancefloor
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| Pan-thers, freakin my folklore
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| My bloody roar buddy deplore cunning game to transform
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| And trap a dame flat in nine seconds we take aim
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| Change to battle beast, that’ll cease, any attempt
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| In petty offensive diss to my click
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| We move quick, you might not even recognize my presence
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| Thirty second assassination sedation weapons
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| Step into the club, all these thugs wanna shoot me
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| Because I’m well known at the spot, they call me roofies
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| Hittin hard rocks when I travel through veins
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| And wake up in three days not remeberin thangs
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| The reign of the poetry prince of darkness the martian
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| Stompin, from California to Boston, Lost in Space
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| So take caution, face the facts, harken
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| Eagle talon attack, pack it up often
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| Audio abortion, Distortion Orphans
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| Corporate, decaptitated three-headed horsemen
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| Shredded portions of serial murder endorsement
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| Course across clubs and fold my armed forces
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| Everytime we got a jam to make
|
| We make sure the beat knocks, we dig up in the crate
|
| Once the vibe is straight, we packin the place
|
| It’s the S.O.B., put the needle on the plate
|
| (What what what what?)
|
| Put the needle on the plate
|
| (uhh. uhh.)
|
| Put the needle on the plate
|
| (yeah UH)
|
| «Wait back it up, hup, easy back it up» -] |