Common:. What yo yo yo yo yo. Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo. Check it yo. You say a one for the trouble two for the time. Come on y'all let's rock that uh. (I can feel the funk)(x4). Check it. I come to grips with mics. I come to grips that a lot of mic users is dikes. I come to grips with the likes of Fred Hampton. Cold so I'm lampin with no need for spotlight. When I got light like an intersection you talk. But you came to my town with protection. Election year had the block hot. I scream "fuck the world" for having a baby girl sorta cock block. I write rhymes like I come from the windy city. With my crew I click like simply stand midi with reality. Casually I walk through these war games. Some claim say but then they take on whore names. If that's the way your sex drives stay in your lane. If you're a man I can't tell like if the door rang now. Chorus:. Now to the ladies in the house when you come in the place. It ain't a bunch of niggaz all up in your face. The music is thumpin and you're feelin the bass. What you wanna do girl(wanna shout). To the brothas when you come in a jam it ain't a bunch of niggaz. It ain't high tech and ain't got free liquor. You jackin his name and stick to make you jones get thicker. What you wanna do man?(let go). Yo check it. Some niggaz be on the mic sounding like dikes. Allow me to get on and bust like Spike(uh). Lee I'm in the majors with no rotation. Through stations of bullshit I see through like a pager. In the age of Aquarius various things. Is gonna carry us in intellect and what have you. Street astrologists interpret point stars and half moons. Then end up on garages or walls in bathrooms. Every black moon a rap tune move me. The rap sun I rain more than Rudy that unruly shit is played. It don't stop. It's time to get it get it made. I got my mind made up like Foxy Brown's face. I know how the underground tastes. I want a crib from the ground up rooms spin at a round pace. Get down based on true story through Corey came close to the teachers. Colder as the Iceman posted before it start wrinklin. Linkin with cats who don't react to change in the years. Fulfill prophesies in rooms full of emptiness now. Chorus:. I can feel the funk(x8). Yo check it check it. I came through the corridor with the aura. Raw Chicago mora scope the horror. Read between the lines and know the border. Some pop wines for juice I wait in the water. Waitin for you Big Willie niggaz to have a show at The Crib. We gon get with your glamour long as we know where it is. Tell you ain't a player by your sweater doused with wack feather. The Crib got the gangsta playa shit patent like black leather. I rap better than you you or maybe him. But I am like a tree and every lyric is a timb. Spilled brews and greasy foods got my car smelly. Some be so high they believe they fly like R. Kelly. But then they fall off dusted niggaz is gettin sawed off. They fall soft my mental lift is for me to haul off. I kick ass. Chorus:. (scratching). I can feel the funk(x16)(makes me wanna shout wanna shout)(x4). (scratching)Wanna shout.