Me, plug three, the one they call baby Huey
The one that gets all the money (all the money)
Yeah, that's right
A fat, funky fruit with a whole lot of tang, a little something called doing our own thang
Breaking the beat others worse they broke, bass line so dope that you just might choke
Don't bite off something that you can't chew, and don't trail behind when I'm coming through
Fronting the feel that you really can't feel 'cause you're trying to feel what's on my reel to reel
A tree is growing, can't you see what I see? A white blue fruit to boot
We count to ten before we pass the crews, now that's family
Equipped with the brothers and the sisters, and the sisters and the brothers
And all others
With the funky flairs, the bugged-out hairs
It's the life of Riley, I'm really ready
Gazing at the dollar fill of rap, the cool June bugs, the wicks, the wacks
Praise the rhythms for what it beez, and praise the lord for the J. B's
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
Isn't it cool when you cut your hand and the blood is red instead of sellout green?
This is not the music for an R&B mind, this is flower intertwined with a vine
(In other words, this is rose) you see what I mean? Or see what grandpa Bam saw
The funk we transmit is unstable, one condition if I am able to say
(Yes, you may) well hey, let's get on with it
Vocal confetti is thrown, sometimes spitted, out the vents of hecklers and fans
Either which way they all hop on the van, the band, the band, here comes the band
The tribe of fingers all on one hand, me, myself, and I is dark
Monie love the mouthpiece, it's now yours to spark
Sister Monie, the only one here who missed a plane back to London
Residing with my brothers and I learned a lot from them
About the group, how to be smooth and play funky
And sometimes rated, it's kind of funky, but it's cool
For we are beyond the stereotypes, coordination crazy, but still it sounds hype
Rocking on and off beat, and I do believe I'm right (you're right)
Am I wrong? (Yeah, son)
Don't be mad, be glad I missed the plane, I'm staying
With the brothers' Jungle, soul, and the tribe I'm saying
Funky-funky rhymes that always stay in swing
I believe we doing our own thing
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
We're doin' our own dang (we're doin' our own dang)
Well, my family sets all the trends, from soul to soul, large to lose ends
And I'm inside groups like kill? ('Cause that's where the money's at)
Yeah, the industry's filled with copycats, R&B mixed with sloppy raps
Tribes like us always open doors, but what for? So you can get yours?
You ain't in to it, all you want is profit, so I ask you please to stop it
Leave me alone, get off my bone 'cause I'm doing my own thang
A new seed, a new breed, a new man you to feed the greed
A new pair of boots for a new piece of butt
Sweet daddy, are you there? (Sammy B is on the cut!)
Spinning back for a rap that's laid back, ready to kick back, those get no slack
I may rock a rhyme, or I may start to sing, but still, I'm doing my own thing
In comes the mood of jungle and daisies, play the same and let the vibes grace me
All hold hands and let's walk about, and form a circle and talk about
Don't follow the path that we're stepping, truth to the soul is what I'm cramming
Reasons for this is that the family's strong, and like Bob Marley said, "We're jammin'"
Seeing is believing, so see and believe, and let the groove of the new proceed
A whole bunch of love, peace signs, and fun, so let's do what's got to be done, you know?
And personally I feel, you know, we're doing our own thing, you know
No stereotype or anything like that, and I believe that's a healthy thing to do, what do you think?
But now I feel like...