Artist: Compton's Most Wanted Album: Remixes and B-Sides Song: Rhymes Too Funky Typed by: dy_face@yahoo.com * Original Extended Version included two more verses than were in the previous release [Opening Skit: Dialogue] Who's playing all that damn loud-ass music out there? Hear my jam with the funky piano.. ---> Chuck D Turn that shit down, man Don't you know I'm trying to get some sleep here? Hear my jam with the funky piano.. ---> Chuck D Huh! What you say? I'll go upside your goddamn head, man If you don't put that goddamn music down, man Hear my jam with the funky piano.. ---> Chuck D Woman, call 911 to get these niggaz off this goddamn street Hear my jam with the funky piano.. ---> Chuck D I got to sleep now Compton is in the house, Yeah! -------> Arabian Prince [Verse One: MC Eiht] Yeah, killing off suckers, it's me You're stupid trying to take me for some punk MC? I'm here to tax dollars, raps not cheap Compton's Most Wanted punk, rolling four deep Gats that I'm packing, sucker better put it back I'm slapping dumb girls cause my rhymes on hit Punk on the smooth tip, kicking that butt Had too much St. Ides, and started throwing it up Super lyricist, yeah, cold in fact I'm spraying all you faggot fake MC jacks Boy, I smack and rack and pack and stack To smash all the sucker MC's in a war-like attack So Chill (What's up?) Tell these punk fools that they ran out of luck (Aiyyo Eiht) What's up? (Boy, I think you said enough) Chill, I ain't said shit, until I call a punk's bluff Put you on to punishment, Eiht is like your father Wanna beg? Sucker, don't bother Last-place MC's, think you can handle this? (1-2-3) Sock this fool through the canvas It's time to start pumping, know what I'm saying? Yeah, I got the picture, I commence the spraying [Verse Two: Tha Chill] Boy, hold up, Tha Chill is on the stage C.M.W. is like a Hub City army brigade Give no slack to no black or no punk new jack Get racked like that because your rhymes are whack So hit me with your best shot, and boy, you see How Tha Chill and the Eiht drop punk MC's But credits never due to you suckers that be faking it Call it a jack, but yo, I'm just taking it Your money, your gold, your fortune, and your fame So hang it up, because you got no game So just let up, I'm getting fed up You're talking trash, punk just shut up Leave it to Tha Chill, yeah, I take care of business (That's bet, cause Eiht is the witness) A super hype mellow Compton cold chilling lyricist Like a scary movie suckers play fearing this In fact you're a pole caught in thick asphalt But dis my down posse, yo, I'm dropping the dogs So just chill as Tha Chill explains When it comes to getting over, I know all the game So suckers don't jock me like a backstreet junkie Cause C.M.W. is cold running it, rhymes too funky [Skit 2#: The same Dialogue Continued] C.M.W. is that you, man? (Yeah!) Keep on playing that shit man, I like that shit, man Woman, cancel that 911 call they ain't coming anyway, this is Compton Man, that shit was gonna sound good in my T-Bird, man Keep on playing man, play louder, Fuck! my neighbors man I wanna hear some shit man, play it loud, get loud man [Verse Three: MC Eiht] Now let me come back my saying, I'ma show them Fresh funky rhythm, is how my lines flowing Educated at a high degree, diploma of the streets as a down MC I get kind of low, wide pressure wises I start to unload, with all kind of surprises On them unusual, sort of creative Punks want beef, it's your automotive Not responsible punk for what happens to you later Eiht'll get crazy kill like the terminator I'm coming to you deadly, not too hyper Spot you in the crowd, take you out like a sniper So leave it to Eiht cause it has to be done Never feel save without my nine eight gun Not a soldier nor a trooper claiming a name of a jerk Just a hard Compton lyricist, who putting in work So all you sucking niggaz, MC punk biters All you sorry soft jacks, who call yourself riders Eiht knows the deal, got the scope on your raps So sucker hang it up because you gots no haps I stand in one position, my start releasing Fresh dope rhymes, brothers start pleasing [Verse Four: Tha Chill] Hardcore brothers, static not a cutey Gave you punks a chance (Damn!) you blew it Rhymes never thought up, cause I got rhythm Lyrical madness is what I'm here to give them The nine that I pack got it especial for me Protecting out jacks, that runs the lip Yours is only money, dope rhymes hitting Eiht starts to tagging, and pumping no kidding His posse is in effect, suckers here to trouble you Eiht, Chill, Cool DJ Ant, C.M.W Wiping out rookies, pardon new booties Stop hyping for the record boy, don't be choosey Wipe you in a second, is how Tha Chill's living I get more skees cause girls keep giving Gossip on the ropes, start to one, two-ing Try to claim champ, but cards start drew in It's pretty obvious, Tha Chill got the mack To grab you in my ??, start them vicious attack Suckers get hype, but Chill stays cooler I've seen better rhymes written by Preschooler I'm a teacher; schooling all punks that's stepping At the student; you suppose to listen to the lesson While I'm bumping [Outro:] [Tha Chill] Yeah, I would like to say what's up to my homie MC Ren out there And DJ Slip up there, you know what I mean? [MC Eiht] Yeah, this is the down MC Eiht I would like to say what's up to all homeboys from Compton that kicking it Compton is in the house -------> Arabian Prince You know what I'm saying? Oh! gyeah [Tha Chill] What's happening man [MC Eiht] Let's tap out of here Compton is in the house -------> Arabian Prince