Yo if this pussy nigga can’t get it live
Get him the FUCK out and let Doc take the job
I guarantee hardcore funk for three months
Warranty within that three months is like pre nups:
I take half of everybody’s sales I don’t give a fuck
You’re rap R&B or folk or country
You could do a duet LP with Billy Dee
I’m the Doc pure water lettin Bay watch the slaughter
I jump off stage and kick him in the fade
I’m lifted like my back carry helicopter blades
Fuck a police raid, this a bumrush
You’ll agree like Siskel and Ebert with your thumbs up
Like Doc is that nigga that’ll freak the funk
Yeah, Doc is that nigga that’ll blaze the skunk
Feel my vibe, give me five on the backhand side
Well alright then, well alright then

Hah yo, I see y’all niggaz tryin to win, dyin to sin
Liquidate my formats then apply it to skin
I put work in, my label should be buyin a Benz
Cause with the chrome I’m swift like the hand on Sharon Stone
C’mon, it’s about the scrilla
Metronomes put holes in bitches silicones then they peel em
I hang with ghetto hoes that, thumbtack they ceiling
Cause when it’s time to throw joints, they the ones illin
I’m way above 90 plus tax, kleptomaniac
Take the change out your blue mousetrap
Lo-Jacks is no match to locate, what I demonstrate
You need two Dr. Dre’s to Phone Tap, me
Capi-tal D.O., yo
I keep a dirty piss when I see P.O., yo
My phone number’s 9-9-FUCK-YOU
My crew swing like Bruce Lee num-chuks do, up to
No good, to make myself clear
Any girl ask for drinks is the biggest chicken in here
Like Run say, “This is the wayyyyyyyy!”

Def Squad lock it like that channel on Superbowl Sunday
Y’all niggaz ain’t ready, for Reggie
I B. Steady, to rob that bank in Philly
Break Cool C out then ask her (?) what the deally?
Pass them the AK so we can get busy!
I’m at 112 with Jacque with my neck up
This chicken scopin, “Who the fuck parkin that Lincoln?”
It’s D-O-C, Def Squad crew
I’m ready to fuck baby, how about you?
Doc is that nigga that’ll freak the funk
Yeah, Doc is that nigga that’ll blaze the skunk
Feel my vibe, give me five on the backhand side
Well alright then, well alright then

Yo yo, yo, yo, yo, y-yo, you ain’t fresh
Still crack a cold Beck’s and keep the hoes in check
Spit a rhyme to make your neck disconnect your chest
This Gilette style be Acura and XX, well it’s
Doc, blow your wife MX
At the hotel Niko, spankin that Coleco
I get you hot if you’re, lookin through the peephole
Niggaz start duckin out, like I work for repo’
Fo’-fo’ italian chrome, bitches yellin, “Champagne!”
I stick the whole Mo’ bottle up inside a hoe
Just cause I can flow, I’m not a sucker
I just love to fuck ya fuck ya fuck ya fuck ya
Doc is that nigga that’ll freak the funk
Yeah, Doc is that nigga that’ll blaze the skunk
Give me five, feel my vibe on the backhand side
Well alright then, well alright then

Yo yo, I said Doc is that nigga that’ll freak the funk
Yeah I blow my fuckin weed if you’re out of skunk
Feel my vibe, give me five on the backhand side
Well alright then, well alright then
Well alright then, well alright then
Yeah

* a ’97 update of Boogie Down Production’s “I’m Still #1″

Ha ha yo yo
My man Keith Murray is down wit us
My nigga Erick Sermon is down wit us
My man Lil’ Jamal is down wit us
My Def Squad click is down wit us
The Pack Pistol Posse is down wit us yo
My L.O.D. click is down wit us
We’re number one!
Ha ha ha ha ha yo yo yo well yo

It’s the Red Moolie yellin for the villain in the movie
I’m like Kentucky, I pack a biscuit and a two-piece
Ya nod thorough, blows like the tri-borough
I die thorough with a metal on my chest sayin Def
Check out the rhythm that I cook up
You too scared to look up, you’re merkin
I Set it Off like La in that big-ass Suburban *errrr*
Bumrush your villa then I’m closin all the curtains, LIGHTS OUT
Who’s next to get stomped? I smash hardcore from Jerz
To the South South Bronx, the bizarre rap non-superstar
Of course, my Actions Affirmative like Nas Escobar
Flip a quarter, heads or tails you’re gettin slaughtered
I blow the S-L boy out of order
My mental disorder is pure water
I hit your wifey doggystyle in the Land
While the CD program’s on ‘Whatever Man’

My peoples up in Jersey, is down wit us, uhh
My peoples locked down, down wit us, uhh
My peoples in New York, is down wit us
The housing projects, is down wit us
My people who be hustlin is down wit us
Cause makin funky music is a must
I’m number one!
Ha haa! Check it check check check here we go huh huh

Aiyyo, throw yo’ hands up in the motherfuckin air

And wave em, until y’all cash flows hit the pavement
Fuck the B-X, I roll on fours like G-S
Signed truly yours, Funk Doctor Spock, P.S.
Rumble in the Jungle, I bumped into Fugees
On the humble, on the one-deuce, my bundles
Be raw diggy, surprise you like you saw titties
On that, milk chick, watch me damage your acoustics
The Muddy Waters be blowin your tape recorders
Pull out the four niggaz steppin like they on a Nord(ic)
Track, cool out black got no time for scratch
You wanna battle, here’s a lyric with a bomb attached *pssst*
These your peoples, you better call em back before I beat through
His windpipe, with the cordless mic and the cerebral
HAHH, look up in the motharfuckin sky, it’s a
Widow, pushin a fifteen zero zero
With tinted windows, so it’s hard to look through
Chickenhead shotgun, pumpin Erykah Badu
Don’t snooze, you’ll be like damn is it the shoes?
The way I maneuv I could slip a uz in school
I been a raw dog since I brought me an eighth
And Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down like I’m Puffy and Mase

Ha hah, ha ha ha! Ha ha, aiyyo, aiyyo
Fox Boogie Brown, is down wit us
My nigga Meth-Tical, is down wit us
Yo, Thuggish Ruggish Flesh, is down wit us, yo
Yo, my homie Richie Rich, is down wit us, yo
That nigga LL Cool, is down wit us, yo
My dog Warren G, is down wit us
We’re number one!
Ha hah, ha hah, ya-ha-ha, yo yo

Trigger the Gambler, down wit us, yo
My peeps West coast, is down wit us, yo
My peeps who pack toast, is down wit us yo
Atlanta, G-A, is down wit us yo
My peeps in Virginia, is down wit us yo
North Carolina, is down wit us yo
My peeps in D.C., is down wit us yo
My peeps in…

Featuring Def Squad

[Erick Sermon]
Yo Reggie I’mout

[Jamal]
T ree F Squad
Muddy Waters
Don’t get it twisted… nigga

[Redman]
Aiyyo everybody in this motherfucker will get touched
Fuck such and such I roll tight like handcuffs
Rock that ass to sleep with discrete techniques
I beez that freak of the week like I made Knee Deep
Hold up! Rotate around the solar badder than Cobra
Composure never sleeps, my stream pumps Folgers
I’m sauteein MC’s with fried rice up in the wok
Without the MSG and chopped celery
See, I made it, my flavor situated
From the nickel plated mic that’s hot, to leave your brain inflated
Plus, I’m thick like Quakers on papers
Bodacious MC’s get turned to lower cases
Lettering, and the medicine, that I’m swallowin
Get you hollerin, like Marvin Gaye when his father shot him
In the chest, I roll with two stacks of Tecs
And mad niggaz and sess that I roll up in your rest
UHH! Mister Fantastic’s crafted, with no 52nd ass kick
When I’m blasted, my Method magics get drastic
That you can’t see with bifocals
Watchin MC’s go up and down like stock brokers
I leave your brains on tilt, with ill skills that’s milk
That’s rougher than jeans that Gloria Vander-bilt
I’m poppin mad shit, plus I can back it
Your man’ll be like “Yo, get that dust off yo’ jacket”

[Keith Murray]
It ain’t a test or quiz that my Squad can’t win
Those who know the biz, know we wreck kids get biz
Y’all digest, multiple stab wounds to the chest
And I copycat kill the rest, with no Method to my madness
Plus the apparatus with the baddest
Determined to be the last man, standin on the planet
Y’all get attached, like a blood-suckin leech
When you fall into my rhythm of speech
Your hands get embraced with a touch of the bass

Head get wrapped up neck get thrown in a neck brace
Rough rhyme mechanical, lyrical at it who?
Will ironically chronically murder you and your crew
My directive, through where I live, is kinda primitive
See I get to the bottom of the problem, and make shit give
Step in the jam, hooded and high, plastered the master
Cast to the masses grabs the mic
Ten dollar rappers, is what L.O.D. goes after
To my Squad, there’s no matches, we bashes
Do photo flashes on all flavor S-classes
Bomb attack on wax, lyrical mini mac to your back
Tie you up, throw you in the act
A public figure, who walks around with a gin of jigger
Cause I gives a fuck about another nigga, word up

[Jamal]
Muddy Waters, yo this is the way that my intro should go
Drunk slow funk flow for Reggie Noble
Fuck with me doe, Mally G doe it’s not logic
Playin that big shit get broke down microscopic
Freak it back keep the track ringin, with the bassline
It’s major when you savor my flavor, can you taste mine
Face the nine I lace your spine with short fat pace
Around and round, avoidin the time to put it down
Now’s the time here yeah

[Erick Sermon]
Clown where, pick a spot
Neutral grounds or not, we give a fuck, lick a shot

[Jamal]
Gangsta, so called killin, cap peelin
Playalistic, I mean is all that shit realistic
Play your cards God, black keep your hand held tight
Night fall might call your life, shit is trife
On these evil streets after dark
Niggaz gettin sparked left and outlined in chalk
New day, this whole shit’s twisted (is it man)
It’s me bombin on these niggaz shitlist and Mally G
Open your eyes to see, recognize who be a G
Hopin to ride in the, industry with E
The villain’s had it cause ahead (word up yeah)
Killin my psychosomatic pattern mad (yeah)

[Erick Sermon]
Y’all know, uhh, yeah, Muddy Waters
We out for nine-seven, word up, peace

Verse 1 Redman (Reggie Noble) talking to himself:

Yo yo yo check this out
Yo yo we gon go back to the old school right now
Yo yo Red
Yo what’s up G?
Yo yo yo check this out
I believe there’s no nigga out there as funky as you
True
So what we’re gonna do is we’re gonna go back to the old P
Funkadelic
Get the fuck outta here word?
Remember that old cut you did?
Yeah yeah
That ol’ P funk cut?
Yeah, make my funk the P funk
Yeah, yeah, that’s it
Well, what we gonna do is we gonna reminisce on that ol’ shit
Word?
We gon go right back to the old school, but before we do
I wanna know is my niggaz in the house?
Hell yeah!
I said is my motherfuckin niggaz in the house?
Hell yeah!
So everybody just light your spliffs up
Yeah
Get your skunk weed and light that shit up
And let the funk be your guiding light
You heard it comin from the lungs of the funkadelic brother himself
More funk than a bag of skunk
Twice the funk that James Brown’s socks
Hit me
Hittin you straight across your notch
Wit a tune
Yo, Redman, drop it

Chorus:

Make my funk, the P funk

I wants to get funked up

Verse 1:

Make my funk the P funk, we thump
Lyrics that bounce the brain, make emcees jump
Sky high
Can’t touch the level so why try?
Fall Guy compare me status to fly guy
Rough and rugged, and brother it takes ten to conquer
That’s why I’m on probation
Ever since three, I cut throats of emcees
Mediocre lyricist who burnt with degrees
Of two-ten
Not from an oven, but mac ten
A mac twenty maybe if I didn’t subtract ten
My background straight from a black mans culture
Want more, buy the video or Redman sculpture
For your mantle, damn you
Too hard to handle
E Double slam once, and Redman slam two
Break hooks, earthquake shook the state of NJ
Okay, bust the big gate
For microphones that have swollen mic cords
PE fights for power
Redman fights for soul power
Funk is strong as a tree trunk
Ask me the flavor
Make mines the P funk

Chorus, Repeat 2X

Verse 2:

I’m back with the funk, chump
You want funk, how many lumps?
I got spunk
I’m well known like Donald Trump
I’m not…