Tonight's Da Night

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?