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I get in shape and do my physical fitness Your head's numb, so your brains a miss this Pick 'em up, eat 'em up, pick 'em up, beat 'em up Pick 'em up pimplehead, pick 'em up picky I roll wit globs and I come real sticky Ripping the mic, I plug it up in your ears Crazed and brewer. I'm coming out like beers Like Rheingold, Miller, Coors, and Buds I'm a eat 'em wit popcorn and treat 'em like suds you duds Coming out the wick wack, wicky, wickable wack Black jack, that's a fact, writing exact behind your back The funk rhyme to master, blaster Kicking up in a brainstorm, rainstorm Rap storm, rap form Rap time, rap rhyme Rap class, I'm here to fail and to pass To continue, from the more, hype tip I roll and rock, rock and roll Jazz and pop, rhythm and Blues Dance and fusion, pain confusion Look at the lights, what a night on the town I'm Poppa Large, big shot on the East coast [x4] Now I'm back to funk, freak the funk Hype the funk, swipe the funk and all that junk I get busy on 'em, communicate wit the world SongtexteMan, woman, a baby boy and a girl Poppa large looking out the pawn shop Taking stroud while your face and arms drop Stop, look, learn to read, learn to write Learn to talk, learn to walk And watch your step though, I'm hype and ripe though Kleptomaniac, my rhyme is psycho A Ricky Ricardo, a Guy Lombardo Sporting a ragtop, an El Dorado Step into Hollywood, I'm screening the boulevards The rhymes is gain type, I'm ready to pull it's card Jack or Ace, King or Queen, call me the deuce I'm pouring LA juice Hitting the top, feeling the rim Getting a trim, I never rhyme like them On and on, on and on, on and on Until the break of dawn I go overtime, rock the mic in nighttime Daytime, switching off to Primetime Specifically, strolling back in the west time Rock the funk wit the mic in the east rhyme Hype and dope, hype the frame, the mic is smoking Yo, I ain't joking Rhyme to kill, rhyme to murder, rhyme to stomp Rhyme to ill, rhyme to romp Rhyme to smack, rhyme to shock, rhyme to roll Rhyme to destroy anything toy boy On the microphone I'm poppa large, big shot on the east coast [x4] You're dripping sweaty, coming hard on your neck As I flow and grow from head to toe Seeking a style like John Mcenroe Dissing 'em all, serving them wit the mic stand Like Prince and Michael coming out wit a big band The crowd is loud, you can pay as teh manager Run wit the money, I pull the trigger and damage ya Boom, taking life more serious I may sound lyrical and very mysterious Rhymes are grip tight, no grams to kill more A son of Sam, how could I begin more Grabbing the mic, you see the dark and shadows You're in living hell, the funk, pound to pound The funk ignited, hands are writing, brains dividing I'm coming out in sighting Like I'm Blackula, a better man that Dracula Spectacular and not irregular In fact you are speaking impopular Rhymes are moved and you can't be stop wit the Beat as it goes to the rhyme that flows Like a coke in a straw burning up in your nose That's a bad habit, stepping out on stage one Drop the mic, come and turn to page one Look at the master, my range is higher My lyrical burns, your brain's on fire Poppa Large, big shot on the east coast [x8] Aus Songtexte Mania