Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Fugees
Fugees
Performer
Wyclef Jean
Wyclef Jean
Vocals
Prakazrel
Prakazrel
Vocals
Lauryn
Lauryn
Vocals
Khalis Bayyan
Khalis Bayyan
Keyboards
DJ Boy Wonder
DJ Boy Wonder
Scratches
Rashad "Hazebanga" Muhammad
Rashad "Hazebanga" Muhammad
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
N. Jean
N. Jean
Composer
S. Michel
S. Michel
Composer
L. Hill
L. Hill
Composer
Wyclef Jean
Wyclef Jean
Arranger
Prakazrel
Prakazrel
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Wyclef Jean
Wyclef Jean
Producer
Prakazrel
Prakazrel
Producer
Alvin Lewis
Alvin Lewis
Assistant Engineer
Warren Riker
Warren Riker
Mixing Engineer
Paul Higgins
Paul Higgins
Mixing Engineer
Joe "The Butcher" Nicolo
Joe "The Butcher" Nicolo
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

You got the vocab, I got the vocab You got the vocab, you know I got the vocab You got the vocab, I got the vocab Hey yo, pass the mic, so I can tell 'em I got the gift of gab Monkey see, monkey what? Monkey, monkey be yourself Monkey see, monkey what? Monkey, monkey be yourself Monkey see, monkey what? Monkey, monkey be yourself Hey yo, catch me when I'm sober, but now I drink for the belt So pass the root straight to the right-hand side Make no mistake that the buzz is a natural high I said it's big emergency mind your busy body He hit me, I broke his nose, the referee is Mr. Fuji So, I head to the Blue Jay, mocking bird don't mock The last bird who mocked he got caught in my roughneck chicken pot So Mr. Rooster gave me a crooked-croo at 6 a.m He looked at me a laughin', said my music would make F.M station You're Haitian, you'll never get nowhere But I sweared on my grandmother grave, we'd be here So now when I back track I back track for rhythm to make a nigga run and leave his tongue back You think I'm cool, I think you're cruel, so here's a shell cap On your gluteus maximus and leave ya handicapped Rat-at-at-at, you got the vocab, I got the vocab You got the vocab, you know I got the vocab You got the vocab, I got the vocab Hey yo, pass the mic, so I can tell 'em I got the gift of gab Yo, hobop-so-bop leave the boat for the pope, ya Hobop-so-bop, I leave the boat for the pope, yo Hobop-so-bop, leave the boat for the pope Boat people here we go hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-ho, yeah Some quest for the truth, some bust-a-loop And search for some knowledge that come runnin' in the woods And if I shoulda choose to be one, then I will be a Thinkaholic with books and look to kill My proof is in my puddin' If I chill in the hood, would you be sayin' that I'm hoodin'? Now, let me exercise a new style that will brutalize MCs into a warpath genocide Nobody move, nobody get hurt, it's a homocide So jump, jump punks ready to get snuck Evel Knievel was my man, someone for the stunts I'm mostly fillies, I'm just straight up front, ha But ya tryin' to light up, you get blast like nitrogen Runnin' for mercy, runnin' for oxygen Bad LA meat, you're better off comittin' suicide I shoot the lip so high I strip you of your carbon dioxide 'Rock-a-bye' is the lullaby he be singin' 'oh my' Boof baff another son a go die What's the matter with the black man? (Black man) What's the matter with the black man? (Black man) Now a statistic, so dreams of her become realistic Bombastic he's mystic, you don't believe you checked the psychic Emancipate your mind, don't set the limit, reach the summit Free your spirit 'cause you're blunted from the lyrics, I just stuttered 'Live off the streets' says the brother with the machete 'Live off the lady' says the brother with the Glock in patrol I live logically, no weak slave to poverty 'cause You see, it's very easy to slip between the asphalt sheet Brothers from my way, they used to get mad plays 'Til they caught us bustin' doughnuts 'til the break of day Brother, my brother, you played me undercover She wouldn't be your lover, so now you tried to dis her The sister, you missed her but ask yourself a question Can I make a suggestion? I need a true confession Is she skins? 'Cause the skin that she's in makes you sin? Do ya hit her just to get her integrate another sister? Mister, I asked him for a hanky, he asked if he could spank me So why'd you disrespect me, sir? Were you thinking I'm misguided or were you tryin' to hide it That you had no father figure Which, check out your wackiness, it won't distrust my blackness I woulda for a smack, but don't think that it would help this What's the matter with the black man (black man) All original gunman dem original goat (baa) All original gunman dem original goat (baa) Come jackin' it up and I bad and me fell in ma booby trap With a rappin' up for the eight track, play back, laid back, sit back And I'll trade you for - riddin' his act, as a matter a fact Comes trappin' 'em back like a cool six-pack, now bring it back, yo Woah! United we stand, divided we crumble What's the flavor? More Babylon, more Babylon, more Babylon fall United we stand, divided we crumble What's the flavor? More Babylon, more Babylon, more Babylon fall These days every man want to be a god Lay down the gun every man on the floor But the real gunman, him not play Hollywood role Because he pull out his gun and slayed another boy down Watch your speed, another gunman go bleed Watch your speed, if I U-turn Watch your speed, me up fi comin' ready Watch us bleed, watch us for original translator crew Oh, eh, every time we come, we come correct, see We out
Writer(s): Lauryn Hill, Wyclef Jean, Pras Michel Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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