Crown Ones - People Under The Stairs

Dig the underground sound like an approaching earthquake

Golden State’s plate vibrate eights you chumps shake

We rock Crown City;

the sound get down with it

Swing the scepter’s soul the jesters know they bit it

I see them smile through argyle and good humor

But them ice cream 16 bars are rap tumors

But yo yo?

Ruminate cause things are getting great now

Hop the lake jump a train just to checkmate

How we make a pawn take a long pause and ain’t no moving back

One square at a time dropping dimes on the white and black

And we stay the course on this high horse moving in big «L"s

She may have a one track mind but she’s selling sea shells

Big power like «D» cells we retail the unexpected;

a little this, little that

Recipe’s perfected so if you see the hat then get set, Double-K,

rap breathing down your neck

It’s the «P», the funky lone-star strangers

Go for your buds;

we in the house, there’s danger

Tell the DJ to screw it, slow your body on down

Party on to the last word I mention the tension

All hip-hop, in back is the bass, droppin'

Under the street light coppin'

The funk now tell me what’s up

We on the mixtape, and do it for a fixed rate

Getting straight to it, no foreplay, just floor-play

So take your shoes off and thank your new boss, the workout gym

The brother ain’t slim, but I’m the thin line between funking and fronting

Come to your jam, eat the chips, grab the mic Double splitting and rip.

(heh heh, yeah, right)

«There ain’t no half-stepping,» that’s what I told Big Daddy Kane

And I’ll bet you somewhere, it’s still stuck in his brain

You can’t forget it, it’s a given, and we’re taking it back

Like Pack Jam, you’ll be like, «That jam was pumping.»

Old ladies be like, «That boy’s soul hold’s something.»

Latin brothers say, «Oído le, and let the jam play.»

It’s a down one, so when you see me walk up

And crown one, you can crown one (you can crown one)

You can’t take the crown.

Maybe from someone else, but not me.

(x2)

Can’t mess with these heavyweights, twisted for the track and late

Youth Explosion back cover made the funk levitate

You were posing like, «It's cool.»

Dude, we went and rocked your school

Master tools like Mr. K le catery the parlez-vous

Money making microphone, Maaco paints the Plymouth

Catch a vibe like Earl Scheib spray them till we finish it

Body shop and body rock and block party characters

Those seeming scared of the «P» are non-perilous

Cause he’s the terrible terrorist tearing through your cannabis

And Thes old man handled those grandstanding Los Angeles

Producers.

They’re superconductors with bumper crops

Grow them like I5 high-fives, brothers call them «?

props.»

Talk a lot but check to this like RCA puppies

We rock it for you ghetto fresh, we rock it for you yuppies

You talk a lot but check to this like RCA puppies… (we rock it)

That’s right, dog

(huh, check it out)

It’s the return of the one nation under a groover.

(mm hmm)

The young girl soother

The baby bad ?.

(alright)

I’m down with the maneuver, do it right to left

The hero in stereo, some call me Imperial

The baller without a 64 Impala

I can take the picture on a dollar, flip it, turn it make it holler back

Young and microphone thugging, come off that rap

You’re a BG tripping, and we them OGs bugging

Loving every minute of it, wouldn’t put nothing above it

Put them folks upstairs so they can feel the bass boom

Give the ladies waist room, wind up your boom-boom

Brought the funk out the tomb for the «Resurrection.»

Thes One and Double K of the 808 section

We arrange and conduct, you get the finished product

Jumping off the shelves, be the jam of the year

The «People Under the», stand clear it’s a world premiere

(Uh!)

You can’t take the crown.

Maybe from someone else, but not me.

(x4)