Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Redman
Vocals
EPMD
Sampled Artist
Hurricane G
Vocals
Isaac Hayes
Sampled Artist
Mary Jane Girls
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Rick James
Songwriter
Jesse Stone
Songwriter
Reggie Noble
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Erick Sermon
Producer
Reggie Noble
Producer
Charlie Marotta
Engineer
Ivan''Doc'' Rodriguez
Mixing Engineer
Ken Wallace
Engineer
Rod Cee
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Mic check, I could get smooth to any groove
Relax the tongue, let my mic take a cruise
Around the planet, pack 'em in like Janet Jackson
She's asking if I could slam it
[Verse 2]
Yo, yo, Redman, man, what the fuck, man?
Get the fuck off that punk smooth shit, man
Get with that rough shit, man, you know how we do
[Verse 3]
Mic check, I walk around the street with a black TEC-9 by the waistline
Kicking the hype shit, I never claimed to be the best type of rapper
But have to show the motherfuckers what I'm after
I'm after the gold and after that the platinum
Beef after that, hurricane G packs the gat, son
Chicka-bang-bang, yo, bust the slang with my name
It's the Redman on the funk thing
Psych, yeah motherfucking right, tonight's da night
To do what I wanna do, to do it like dynamite
The word perfected when the funk been injected
I roughen up the rough draft to like make your head split
Punk, pass the forty and the blunt and don't front
On the block 'cause when you do front, brother, you're getting stomped
I'm not a addict, more like Puff the Magic
Then pass it when I'm through 'cause my crew
(Gots to have it)
I don't claim to be a big rap star
'Cause no matter who you are, you'll still catch a bullet scar
So listen up and take heed to what I'm saying
'Cause tonight's da night, and me and my **** ain't playing
[Verse 4]
I found a MC who talking all that junk
Fat black bitch
Nasty
Bush band booger butt bitch
Nasty, talk to your chick, bitch
With them nasty African
Mr. Bojangles, turn up shoes having ass
Lemming leprechaun haircut motherfucker
[Verse 5]
You wanna see me get cool, please save it for the breeze
'Cause the lyrics and tracks make me funky like cottage cheese
Fuck the smooth shit, I get down with the boom bip
Like Q-Tip, I kick more styles than Bruce shoes kick
But tonight's da night, what I write tonight
This type of funk with the flavor like Mike and Ike's
Hanging out with my ****, my ****
The Pack Pistol Posse, keep they fingers on the triggers
I keep the forty between my lap, cooling, rolling down the highway
Blunt system pumps 'cause it's Friday
Roll over to pick my boys up, we raise a lotta noise 'cause
We can do that black, so Get the Bozack, Jack
Be nimble, I do the type of evil that men do
Like cursing out my window at a bitch and her friend too
So turn the volume up a notch and watch the ba-bump
Ba-bump, make your speakers pop
That's the funk, when it pumps it makes your rump jump
Jump, a jump, jump, jump, jump, jump
But if you wanna see a fly but frantic
Cool romantic, more slicker than my man Rick
You better check the yellow pages under smooth shit
'Cause Red ain't down for the bullshit
**** fucked up by letting me make an album
(How come rudeboy?) To get on the mic and let my fucking style run, motherfuckers
[Verse 6]
You nasty fucking green thumb jelly bean
Tango mango pimpled having ass
Nasty epileptic disease crazy having ass
Johnny Cash afro having
Jack of Spade boots having, Tony Danza shoes wearing ass
[Verse 7]
B-b-b-black by popular demand
I expand my hand to the mic and let my mouth kick the flim-flam
I get sex, I get wrecked, I puff mad blunts
I give vex, I break necks, punch out gold fronts, chump
You, yo, fuck, yo, turn this shit off, man
On the flip, man, turn that shit off
Yo, put a new record on, know what I'm saying?
Written by: Jesse A. Stone, Reggie Noble, Rick James, Robert Noble