"Ba**y" Bob Brockmann - Machine Gun Funk lyrics

[Verse 1] So you wanna be hardcore With your hat to the back Talking about the gats in your raps But I can't feel that hardcore Appeal that you're screaming Maybe I'm dreaming This ain't Christopher Williams, still some MC's got to feel one Caps, I got to peel some To let n***as know That if you f** with big-and-heavy I get up in that a** like a wedgie Says who - says me, the lyrical n***as saying: "Biggie off the street, it's a miracle!" Left the d** alone, took the thugs along with me Just for n***as acting shifty Sticks and stones break bones, but the gat'll k** you quicker Especially when I'm drunk off the liquor Smoking funk by the boxes, packing Glocks It's natural to eat you n***as like chocolates The funk, baby [Hook] "I live for the funk, I'll die for the funk" [Verse 2] All I want is b**hes, big-booty b**hes Used to sell crack, so I could stack my riches Now I pack gats to stop all the snitches From staying in my business, what is this, relentless Approach to know if I'm broke or not Just cause I joke and smoke a lot Don't mean I don't tote the Glock 16 shots for my n***as in the pen Until we motherf**ing meet again I'm doing rhymes now, f** the crimes now Come on the ave, I'm real hard to find now Cause I'm knee-deep in the beats In the Land Cruiser Jeep with the MAC-10 by the seats For the jackers, the jealous-a** crackers in the *blue suits* I'll make you prove that it's bulletproof Hold your head, cause when you hit the bricks I got gin, mad blunts, and b**hes s**ing dick The funk, baby [Hook] [Verse 3] So I guess you know the story, the rap-side, crack-side How I smoked funk, smacked b**hes on the backside Bed-Stuy: the place where my head rests 50-shot clip if a n***a want test The rocket launcher, Biggie stomped ya High as a motherf**ing helicopter That's why I pack a Nina, f** a misdeameanor Beating motherf**ers like Ike beat Tina "What's love got to do"? When I'm ripping all through your whole crew Strapped like Bamboo but I don't sling guns I got bags of funk and it's selling by the tons n***as want to know how I live the mack life Making money, smoking mics like crack pipes It's type simple and plain to maintain I add a little funk to the brain The funk, baby