Ah, yeah, yes, psychedelic   Uh, come on, this is what I like   It's that Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth stuff   Uh huh, yeah, brothers can't understand   You know I'm about to drop a funky beat on you like this      Hit the war drums that vibrate the earth underneath   Here my people and I come, gotta wake up the chief   Not a pale frail ghost, C.L.'ll wreck the most   'Cuz the Mecca land never had a Leo Africanos      The Sudanian, master of the Mediterranean   And if it's lovely I'm the one you're Skypagin'   Lower than the Mole Man, R and B, you're silly   The only male hardcore crusin' through my city      Rise to the supernova, Swami like Bola   Heavy hitter I consider Ueuker leanin' on my shoulder   Measure like a yardstick, thick at arithmetic   You add it up and I roast a high pick flick      Hit the pitch and then I'm gone as the funk lingers on   I don't publicize here to keep the black race torn   But steady at an altitude where you get the mental food   Not to be rude, here's a fresh pot brewed      Oh, what a web we weave when we practice to deceive   Sparkin' off a trick up the sleave   Pete stocked the bedrock, listen and you'll see   And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me      Yo, you can't front   It's like that, c'mon, yeah   Yes, you know I got to talk   You can't front   I'm tellin' you now   C.L. Smooth and the Rock, c'mon      Many consumed what was locked in a tomb   That I gradually groomed, coming out now smelling like perfume   So take a whiff when I wrap a gift, play ya like a gospel   A logical apostle, collosal      Afro, a cut me like a fade with a Braun   Sport a bald head, but never needed Hair Club for Men   Drop a SCUD, fully-capable, a form in a eclipse   Skips to backflips soon as it leaves my lips      Suave know, I can make the funk turn the habit   Kick the old 45 and I can boogie on static   Welcome to the Brahma Don, pilgrimage to Mecca Don   A prayer for the parish, Soucron Affwaun      'Cuz ain't no misbehavin' when they manage what you're cravin'   Put the "Anger in the Nation" on your station   Anvils that fills the whole circumference   And black people crowd in a mass abundance      To hear Gabriel's horn, blow it like a Naiji   What's the flavor unit with the top priority?   C.L., untouchable with the clip full   Impossibly, the posse can't front on me      Don't you dare front   Don't you dare front   Not on me   'Cuz I'm the man   C.L.'s the rhymer   Right on time   Right on, my brother   Come on, kick another verse for me      You desire the messiah for the entire empire   Total organizer of the earth, wind, and fire   C.L. and Pete Rock unlock the hard rock   Many want to mock and the honey-dips clock      Intercontinental for the residential   Never coincidental, rough on a rental   Count all the bars numeric   Pro-prosthetic if ya let it resurrect the nongeneric      The brother on the cover, yes, a rapper not a singer   If you recognize him, point with your index finger   Shock another flock when I hit the block   God or Devil on the set that's level, labeled as a rebel      In retrospect I detect those incorrect   And reflect the black power project   Supreme 'cuz I chose to never blaspheme   Going to the extreme, place it on a very high beam      And drop jewels for five thousand fools who stampede   'Cuz the proper show stopper's what ya need   So come and get a taste of the dynamic duo   And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me      You can't front, boy   'Cuz we're the skilled fools   We'z are the funk   The hardcore funk   We ain't no joke   Comin' out to note   Ah, yeah, with the funk track   Sing it, P.