Swung It, Blunted, Brung It (Explicit)

Swung It, Blunted, Brung It (Explicit) - Daddy-O

Yo Rick bring yo' a** 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-a** 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 motherf**ker 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

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 d**e

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 d**e 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' A**

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

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-SH*T

Cause the Daddy-O sound is legit BEEEEOTCH

Yo I'd like to give a big up to Run-D M C

The Unknown Ruffnecks and DJ Kiil