Late at night I'm writing got a lot on my mind Exchanging midnight beats for sleep 'cause time's hard to find Spent the whole day hiking through the
let me tell you we're comin' out the cellar [repeated endlessly] So get me on the mic I'll be the ill-funk fella Here comes the fingers on the ill-funk
on the way just like the days of cloudy weather In the autumn fill the bottom with funky bass-string plucks And Talbott will keep it tight like Hollywood butt-tucks The Five Fingers of Funk
can't knock it Getting paid to light the mic up like a bulb in a socket Flip the switch tonight I saw it in their eyes The Fingers kept it live the energy
Kids are caught going the wrong way Mindstraights tapping you Worried in a flurry about the clout and kids capping you Only thirteen another dream seems
Speak upon an issue strain your brain tissue But you don't raise your voice 'cause you're afraid someone will diss you Words are needing saying so you
Tell me what you're worth 'cause in a burst of flames Blood stains could frame your body leaving your name in vain Now tell me what you did you live
Funky fresh tracks I'm strapped with a pack Pump the real rap false crap to the back I stay true to the vibe and the flavor the old school Gave you what
Look at where you at look look at where you're going Listen to the rhyme check the way I'm flowing Got to come correct when I select words for wreck
fourth deadly venom (Nigga, yaknowhatI'msayin? Fuck that! I told you, we takin over, yo 'Pac.) Verse Five: 2Pac Five deadly venomz verse five be the
Hill, and the Funk Doctor Spock You wish you could hang, like I hang Dwells in the C-P-T, the hood thing G, the trigga finger, I'ma get you Hit you, the
fuck would steal 4 dead bodies anyway? Details at 11." [Violent J] Dead bodies, dead bodies all over the street Fifty-five, sixty-five bodies at least
Willaby Rags Prepare for your first stop, the Dead Body Man! Ahahaha! Dead bodies, dead bodies all over the street Fifty-five, sixty-five bodies atleast
single and I tell em hell no They ask who im fuckin I say whoever wanna know And I can fuck whoever I like (Gudda Gudda) Got my 2 fingers out the roof
Because money changes everything [ ROUND 1: Donald D ] Once again comin at you hyper Donald D the Syndicate Sniper Boston Strangler, Charles Manson No matter what killer I mention, keep dancin _Five Fingers
I spent too much time Straight talk with the catch to etch my line walk Never fetchin' for crime, halt, who goes there? Yo, it's the squeeze of five fingers
Da bullshit, IC-Don motherfucker, da bullshit Funk Doc, motherfucker, push whips, motherfucker Na, na, chill out, who got the weed in this motherfucker
Erick Sermon and Keith Murray A lot of beer, a lot of girls and a lot of cursin' Forty five automatic on my person Ya, got my hand in my pocket and my finger
