Road Beaters - People Under The Stairs

With the electric soul shock, body rock and rolling

Take a David T walk to that corner liquor store

And mama wants a new pack of George Benson & Hedges

They mentholated

To all my P fans I’m glad you waited

We graduated from paying dues to sitting on the porch

Brothers playing the blues in search of more pews

To fill up the funk church

The masses massive tabernacle it cracklely wax

To sample the man full of holy drums

(You guys are rolling bums)

With swollen thumbs, we walk through slums

Find some bottle with wood done, ya…

Stand up

Cool with the rhythm

Get down

Stand up

Cool with the rhythm

Get all

Yo, it’s the art of fresh music not that artificial crap

That the people calling rap, yo we getting rid of that

We Rat Packing the beat, till we feel it’s complete

Break beats getting discovered

Some get flipped to outnumber

The weak drum machines, don’t use 'em won’t abuse 'em

Getting funky like drunky

Call us the groove junkies

And we gotta have a fix every minute on the dot

Just the

And we tearing up your block

You can hear it up the street

You can hear it in your sleep

Booming out the record stores while you at the swap meet

Macking to a seven feet

Crunching on a two piece

Said it’ll make your day fucked up people, just trust me

We back on the three dot, booming in your ghetto blaster

Till midnight, feel right and party till you drop

Hip hop live in the flesh, keep it well dressed

Hands pushing up

Now all I wanna see you do is…

Groove to the rhythm, something new to give 'em

I prove the rhythm choose the women like night swimming in a hot tub

And Double K got dubs

We rock clubs like Tiger Woods

Giving up funk for goods

To Howard Robinson and Beverly Wood

Eating cheeseburgers with my pals, going home to lounge

In the styles of my predecessors

The B-Boy, never the less, the S, the western born

That early morn' to that yes yes y’all

Thes rock like a new clock on top of the school hall

Ringing roll call

Professor head shake, monitor the gym hall

Up taking out the fakes

With a twelve string incision

Reinvent the rhythm

The cats that’s living just like us

Now envision a mathematician giving up a calculator

Ayo that’s me without the funk, Double K rock the cross fader

Yo we got the whole world under surgery for funk transplants

Making music not hood so yo we don’t got the look

We got bad memory, a gang of records and fans

Mad plans to keep it live with just the blink of an eye

Yeah we thought that you thought that we wasn’t coming back

We turned around and smacked that clown

(Who told you that?)

We too cool for our britches, putting stitches on your zip disc

Get this, hip hop is the drug and we in rehab

Just be glad, that you don’t live close to us

Then you see most of us

And we be known to bust

With no junior should’ve learned a little sooner

It’s the two forties in the tight ish running to ya

Two villains in the car chase (crash!)

Throw your roadblock of weak beats

Continuing the mission through the streets

Of the angel town

With my Steeley Dan Brown

While I groove with the rhythm, move with the rhythm

Get off with it

I’m about to quit it but before I step off it’s like

«Yeah»

To the break of daylight it’s right

Make y’all

«Ha ha!

Rastafan you son of motherfuck!»