what you're doing You don't really wanna stop Eh eh Verse One: Puff Daddy Yeah yeah, uh-huh, check it out, yeah, c'mon Whether you like it hard or the live guitars
back With the fat tracks, fuck the pop crap I got a mind to cold diss a fool Wack rappers sellin out urge me to pull tools For no reason Pop suckers
Mr. Dynamite James Brown, Brown, Brown Yo, I don't mean to brag, there's the tag Brown got a brand new bag Shining star up to par, bars guitars So far
in the park Any play the sweetest melody the street ever heard Now bitches sucking on my nouns and I'm eating their verbs Get full, and niggaz, niggaz, pop, pop
gonna make a drink? But now I'm all grown and my dream came true Santana champagne, from him to you From the heart of Napa Valley and the guitar king
on the AM radio I like pop and I like soul I like rock but I never liked disco on the AM radio I like pop and I like soul I like rock but I never liked
men and my guitar Hook: I'm stroking these guitar strings and stroking your body, Stroking these guitar strings and stroking your body, Stroking these guitar
na na na na na (2x) Trigger pulled, got the fuel, ready to burn Looking hot, what we've got, we've had to earn (Oh Yeah) Guitar strapped on my back, sugar-pop
We come hot like a gun pop running you jems Can none stop this thing of ours The ladies they fein' and double team in g strings and bras Make 'em scream like electric strings guitars
done wiped you clean like Ant Banks' Benz Sittin' on some three-piece AMG's Better find you a sample, you ain't playin' these Kinda beats, so funky make your fingers pop
guess i'm raps george best with a lot more cess a little more liquor and alot more sex Chorus sometimes we take it too far knocked out, sick on my guitar
funky Tales of the F U N K Y Tales of the funky She said, I know the drummer can you let me in? Tell the guitar player that I brought my friends She
stop what you're doing You don't really wanna stop Eh eh Verse one: puff daddy Yeah yeah, uh-huh, check it out, yeah, c'mon Whether you like it hard or the live guitars
keep spinnin and my trunks on pop my spreewells spinnin,my spreewells spinnin his spreewells keep spinnin and my trunks on pop spreewells spinnin......
{Occasionally, the overwhelming temptation to reach The pinnacle of the pop music genre, will reduce even The most deplorable examples of the underground
Check the status of your apparatus and then go Nowaday, it ain't that clear though I remember when jazz was born in new orleans Mom-and-pop record stores
escape the hella hate, first thing ima do is start rockin, in the casket, pop lockin Dirt dust, chippin away the rust with these freaky moves that I bust Ima pop
I'm the type of guy to bust your eye, you lose your whiteness You comin' butt when you wish upon a star But I could never be butt, so yo, bust the guitar