Right after the blunt's done and the licks is thru Here come the bodeans (woop woop!) right on cue All bright lights and threats But all they ever seem to find is a lingering odor Fingertips slick with residue Nevertheless, they make him hit the deck And stand barefoot in the mud while they check his shoes Type petty shit they love to do (you know how they do) But I'm an African, feet tough like meat for stew My beeper alert, the show improve Goes off at the precise moment It behooves to forget the names of crew Like, "pshh, I don't know them dudes" All smiles and no clues Smelling like skunk and brews In a circle of hooves, grinning like "Yes sir, I do think I'm pretty smoove" Parker Lewis Can't Lose I'm the guy in the '86 Buick That scraped your brand new candy Land Cruise And left a note Like if you want a fund terror, sell coke Or buy my first album My first verse was Malcolm after Hajj Now a nigga straight Laid up in the Texas Book Depository like it's Virginia Beach Muttering that Lord Willin' These Clipse will hit his chillen Don't look now but We Got It 4 Cheap Part two, blue trees blown in bashments Bubble hash is shark food Errybody coming for a pull These fake-me-out tan boots was half price, so I got two But that ain't the reason I kick it twice as hard as you Still, I understand why they think 'It Must Be The Shoes' My technique is a Swoosh sewed on some Payless Middle school with the fake Guess Niggas need to fake less Stop looking for a treasure chest in this pool of cess Getting gassed up at Hess But who am I to talk? I plan to be next