Testo Freak Out - Erick Sermon
Testo della canzone Freak Out (Erick Sermon), tratta dall'album Double Or Nothing
Hahahaha, hahah (beep)
Uh-huh (beep)
Hahahahaha
This is Dr. Trevis
Makin' a funk call to y'all motherfuckers
Y'all guess what the fuck is going on now
Me and Reggie Noble, makin' funk tunes around the global
'Cause time keeps on slippin'
And I get the funk from the kitchen
Thinkin' Mr. Ass-Whippin'
There's no time for me to bustas
So I'ma chill and let Red get into a fly poetic justice
Yo, it's all in the mind and I'm high and I kick it for the do or die
Or 201 area code, leavin' shit blown
Funkadelic is the one to bring the preacher out your feature
And to make girls act like they can't
Find their shoes when I freak 'em (Ooh)
Ooh, yes y'all, I got the mad method, can you catch it?
And if your ears not tuned in then adjust it
Breaker one-nine, breaker one-nine
Representin' today, hey, Erick Sermon's on the way
Dre gave me a ride
So I gangsta lean with DRS and put the smoke up in my chest
And if you understand me, then escape and kick it
While the E Double gets wicked with your brain twisters
It's going down, it's going way down
So get the four pound and cruise around town
Boogie, boogie to boogie to bang, boogie to bap
My rap get madnap on asscracks
And eff it if it's BMI or ASCAP
'Cause my funk roll stickier than Bisquick
If it's mixed with that same funky sticky stuff I roll my spliffs with
I shot the sheriff on the terrace
And I kick the funk like these that have more off-days than Ferris
Just wrote these raps up in the studio
Brothers can't tell and sisters couldn't hear me though, hear me, ho
E got the funk, Red got the funk
Red got the funk, E got the funk
E got the funk, Red got the funk
Red got the funk, E got the funk
Uh, someone's knockin' at my door
Yo, Johnny Gill, I need the whole floor
So I can get busy, 'cause I gets busy, remember?
And if you don't, call Michael Jackson and don't be afraid to ask him
Erick Sermon got mad tunes, no matter what they say
I got more props than Richard Bay
The mind-bogglin' with the hardcore followin'
So what's up? 'Cause I don't give a fuck
Oh, I make you sing with Toni Braxton
I tear the shreds out of jams in stadiums when it's packed in
Back up, boy, you messin' with the rude boy, yes, I told ya
I rock leather jacks with Timb sweatpants one leg rolled up
Hold up, this is a stick up, I spark the izzup
Then (beatboxes) like a biscuit, one-twos and skirts are lift up
E got the funk and Red got the funk, pop the trunk
I got lots of funk to make a victim say, "That's the one"
Of course I'm funky like fat people havin' intercourse
Basically the funk's stuck in your teeth
So get your dental floss (Ooh, ooh)
Freak out, twenty and over, let me knock your teeth out
When I was young, I made my treehouse to a weed house
And I'm deeper than Nostradamus, swimmin' in chronic
And I leave the kitty cats meowin', homey, buyin' it
Biatch, trick, trick, biach
This is Dr. Trevis
Comin' to y'all motherfuckers with some more raw fuck shit
Def Squad representatives
Def Squad forever, signin' off
Credits
Writer(s): Erick S. Sermon, Reggie Noble, Roderick Lemont Kirkpatrick
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Altre canzoni dell'album
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