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1- "My style is fat, so I swung it, blunted The riggedy ruffneck Brooklyn nigga brung it" -> Das EFX
repeat 1 (4X)
[Daddy-O] Yo Rick, bring yo' ass home.. The sounds of my voice make the honies wanna flip and the flow of my phrase make you have no choice to get wit There used to be a Stetsa, comin out to get ya so beware; takin it to your punk-ass like (UHH UHH) Take two to the gut I come to kick a scrumpdelicious bone out your butt You're funkin with the O-Dad; and yo, guess what I got a RHYME and I'm puttin it where the monkey put his nuts RAGGIN on you wannabe-a-screamer MC's and all you Diggity Das triple-toungin wannabe's who just don't have the fat flavor for the FUNK And just in what I heard - you lack the spunk and you lack the style, and you lack the poise And all you MC's sound like little boys Actin like hardrocks, STARIN in my face BACK UP OFF ME 'FORE I PUT YOU IN YOUR PLACE! I'm the same brother that likes +Sally Walk+ and I'ma "bad motherfucker from East New York" You see me callin them SHOTS like I'm Jimmy the GREEK and when you see me on the STREET I make a HEART skip a beat!!
2- "My style is fat, so I swung it, blunted" -> Das EFX
[Daddy-O] Ride along with the wave cause my tides never end Dippin through curves as I come around the bend Feedin you the floor, without Johnny Gill and get you all messy like your drink when it spill I got that nat-urally legitimate dope being slung by the (??) coast to coast And it's so cold, I'm callin it wintery If you don't understand you must be thinkin elementary.. Badder than this it don't come And you get strung from my ability to blast like a gun SO WHAT'S FOR DINNER HON? Beats breaks and funk-fritters; punches and hard-hitters BUT YOU DON'T WANNA GO THAT WAY So my advice to you, is that you pu-puh-PARLAY And bring it on back to the street Turntables microphone and dope.. beats Cause it ain't no secret to it black And the only rule is don't be wack And you best stay out of my path or I'ma haveta put this SIZE NINE IN YO' ASS So I'm keepin it - ON AND ON AND ON And you know why you're movin UP cause it's a rap song My years in the game equal about eleven And when I die, I'M GOIN STRAIGHT TO HIP-HOP HEAVEN with MC Trouble and Cowboy rockin the mic and (??) playin the drums so the beats are tight Cuts courtesy of Subroc and Scott LaRock Peace to Trouble T-Roy, YA DON'T STOP!
[Daddy-O] So now you think you know me; and maybe you remember I was in a group and we had six members We freaked (fake??), and saw +Sally Walkin+ Spoke with +Susie+ and had the +Jazz Talkin+ But now it's kinda different, rap is gettin TRICKY Gettin all commercial like watchin Mork and MINDY Niggaz writin rhymes - thinkin of the video but even a good video don't make a good song do it? (NO!) So back to the FOOD on my plate I'm comin at you non-stop and there's no escape So whether I'm schoolin neighborhoods on how to speak and act or coolin with my homeboys, smokin chunky black I give a little HEART-BEAT HEART-BEAT PUMP and watch the whole dance floor SHAKE THAT RUMP to the sounds of the O-Dad ridin the funk And it sho' sound good COMIN OUT YO' TRUNK Watch me as I pump like a fist in a fight and get you all strung like a FIEND on a crackpipe with the sureshot, not that BULL-SHIT cause the Daddy-O sound is legit - BEEEEOTCH!!!!
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