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 fuck up

Chico manI'd paint three of those murals for some of that ass

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 fucking bumpin'

And you wanna know why because

I'm mother fucking 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 ass '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 inI 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 bozakAin'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 ass, move ya' fat ass, '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 ass as

I talk onI'll take you out like a sniper on a roof

Like an MC at the fever in the

DJ BoothWith 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