To Whom It May Concern Lyrics

You know what?
You know what?
You know what?
You know what?

The sugar D I C D A D I E
That's just a title, explaining who I be
Mista l A W N G E
I take a sucker from any phil and injure thee

Now that I've spelled it out, and you like the way it sounds
I'm dissing rap music, and rap music on the grounds
You say i'm full of sheep, and for that I give a pound
The sugar dick daddy, Mista Lawnge to break it down
Ladies, step to me for a real neat treat
And if you don't wanna call me Lawnge, you can call me sweet meat
I wear protection, you won't catch claps here

Come over later, but first go get a pap smear
Nine point five okay dear? And don't forget clean underwear
'Cause I don't want the funk to flow
After after I'm done, yo, ya, gotta go
'Don't you know ho, don tcha know ho'
Okay, enough is enough, time to get that off my bladder
And dig deep into the subject matter

You know what?
You know what?

I'm sick and tired of rappers not real
And suckers makin' it with a pop feel
Labels signin' acts with nuff bills
Tax write off, 'cause you have no skills
You go make a demo, get a deal and start to sprout
Gold, platinum, and then start sellin' out

You get a Benz and trash the Nova
Double platinum, and start crossin' over
Then you get fall, I won't give examples
Hint, hint, they use the same old samples
But not the sheep, for we are sleek and unique
Top of the peek and others are weak

Follow the words that I speak, the situation is bleak
But this is the fly shit that you seek
When the style is dope, Mista Lawnge's a particapator
If you wanna battle, later
'Cause black sheep are certified greater than
But, I said later man

'I can dig it'
You know what?
You know what?
You know what?
You know what?

You know what?
You know what?
You know what?
You know what?

I turn on the radio, be a prime time to a late night rap show
Here, the same old, same old, and that's on your, new single
Your product, is a product, of no productivity
Can ya, see G? You kick a wack style
And claim to have brains
Take the funky drummer and give him back to James
I'm dope, I'm dope, heh, I can't cope

Keep your cordless, 'cause you bore this
You say you're sure, yeah, but I'm the surest
That, black sheep are unique, funk clever brothers that will
Make the church girl freak, out, without a doubt
You have no wins in a '91 bout, so shout, pout,do what you want
But you're out the picture, and I'ma get you sucka
'Cause youse a dumb mothaf**ka, better off as a tractor trail trucker

But movin' right along to the Woodstock
Stop, remember when the band was on rock
Negro music, heh, seperated, it blew up and became rap
And you hated it, that's of course till you see
A motherf**ker that, could be in your family
Drop lyrics then you hear it, with glee, then only thing it tells me
Is that you know a good thing, when you see it

You run to get a ten, 'cause you cannot be it
So, off the top off my head, I guess I keep it rollin'
Till the rap gets stolen
Like so many other things called theft
And when it's gone what will be left
You sucker, dumb f**ker don't turn blue

You know what?
Talkin' to you
You know what?

You know what?
You know what?
You know what?

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Songwriter(s): Lean Mc, Clarence Haskins, Andres Titus
Publisher(s): Bridgeport Music Publishing
Record Label(s): 1991 The Island Def Jam Music Group
Official lyrics by

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