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Common - Nag Champa Lyrics |
| Submitted by: AUTO-ADD |
| Current Rating: None | [Common]
Yeah baby boy
In the place (for you and yours) to be
Da uh
da uh, we got the uh ya'll
We bout to rock ya'll, we got the uh baby...
Yo yo yo check it
Excite-ting, enlight-ning, invite-ting
I'm writin
shit that I feel
Raps are Black Steel In the Hour of commotion, the motion
of Com
Is like that of a ocean, devotion cuz I'm
The Earth, Wind, and
Fire of hip hop
By Rakim and Short I been inspired
My shit knocks
environ---ments
of cats wit seventeen's tint, time is money
The mind is
funny, how it's spent on gettin it
It's sittin wit descendants of Abraham
Who say the jam is "Money, Cash, Hoes"
I went from bashful to asshole to
international
Lover-self, word to the mother on my last record cover it's
felt
Now deal wit it
Chorus: Bilal
I wanna get into it
Let's do this
I wanna see you move it
So move it
So let's just
get into it
Let's do this
Can you feel the music?
The music oh ah,
can you feel the music, the music
[Common]
Yo check it yo
In
this never-ending battle to please
Niggas, magazine writers, MC's
Who
request hot shit, I freeze
And tell em where I was rose, we always said cold
Hold your Horses and ya Carriages, this never-went-gold nigga
Rocks
shows care-less
You not gon' respect self, at least respect the heritage
Affect the lives, the spread of wealth and the merit is
I realize what I
portray day to day, I gotta carry this
And beats, rhymes and life is where
the marriage is
Had Dreams of Fuckin R&B broads, it came true
Journalist I wreck, shared the same view
Picked up a fallen angel on the
path that I MC
Familiar voice, come to find out the angel was me
Some
say "You changin, Rashid"
Times are, we still close
I rhyme far, away
away away
From what you accustomed to hearin everyday, uh-ah
You know
the dope-choppin, gun-poppin, homies dyin
I'm amongst it, save the war
stories for Private Ryan, INI
Chorus
[Common]
Yo check it yo
Women cry, children laugh, men dance
I refuse to lose self and try to
win fans over
Weight on my shoulder fluctuates like Oprah's
My
refrigerator poetry's magnetic like ultra
You couldn't hang if you was a
poster
Posin like a bitch for exposure
It's rumors of gay MC's, just
don't come around me wit it
You still rockin hickies, don't let me find out
he did it
Got My Eyes on the Tiger, Eyes on the Prize
Eyes on the thighs
of Mary J. Blige, imagin on how good the cat must be
Stop eatin meat, lost
weight, but I still rap husky
My verse depth is that of a baby's first step
Or the old lady who died and the nurse wept
I flow like cursive writing,
invitin you and yours to my openess
Shows allow me to cop Range/range like a
vocalist
But man does not live on bread alone
What good is a Range/range
when it's time to head home?
Chorus 2x
[Common] *during chorus
on the second time*
We be that, we be that
Afrodisiac, disiac
We be
that, we be that
Afrodisiac, disiac
We be that, we be that
Afrodisiac, disiac
We be that, we be that
Afrodisiac, disiac
We
be that, we be that
Afrodisiac, disiac
We be that, we be that
Afrodisiac, disiac yeah
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