Woorden: Kid Capri. You Know My Style.

Yo! Your mom's so poor, she went in Kentucky, fried chicken
And licked everybody else's fingers
Yo, Biz, man you know that ain't my style
Tchk, yo man what is your style Capri?
You know my style

Give me the mic, Lords of Funk is in full flight
I keep you goin' and flowin', all day and night
So let's proceed with the sounds that you really need
The Kid is funky and my DJ got a lot of speed

Silver D and Money Mark, is blowin' up
Don't think we won't be at a battle cause we're showin' up
And if you ever try to diss you're gonna get stomped
I'm gonna make it plain and simple, there's no comp

Yeah, I said it, so whatcha gonna do about it?
The Kid Capri is super dope, I just gotta shout it
The Lords of Funk will rock a party for a while
Now I can tell you that, but you know my style
You know my style

Now my country 'tis of thee, let me tell you what it means to me
I really love it when them crowds scream for me
It gets me hyped, makes me wanna rock right
From tonight, all the way until tomorrow night

You know the flavor, so now, do me a favor
Please respond to the sounds Kid Capri gave ya
I worked hard, to do what I do for people
I'm not conceited, cause everybody is my equal

I had a problem, with suckers, that tried to diss
I overlooked 'em but they still wanted to persist
I had to blow up, and blow up on 'em very large
'Cause chaos, and war, and sabotage

They made me mad, even though they didn't harm me
They stepped off when I went and got my army
Money Mark, Silver D and Troopa Love
Poppa Duke chillin with the man above

You couldn't diss me, no matter, how much you paid
You made the record, but I'm the one that gets it played
Red Alert, he's blazin' on my radio
And I'm the man, that's blazin' in your auto

I go cameo, you think that you use a super hoe?
You get sprayed and played like a afro
So go ahead Hobbes, I make fingers pop
And you could never, get what the Kid Capri got

Before I blow up, my man you better show up
'Cause once I'm finished with you, you're gonna throw up
I get respect, I teach 'em, and then correct
You're out of order out of style like a mock neck

I'm gettin papers, while you suck now or laters
I wear a silk Guess denim and alligators
So go ahead chump, I'm not the one son
I grab the mic and wax that booty like a shotgun
I'm not frontin, or fakin, or 'fessin to ya
I'm Kid Capri, so let that be a lesson to ya

Punk, you know my style
Don't ever try to front Kid
'Cause you know my style
On the down low, you know my style

Oh, man there go my main man Spud Luva for the Troopa Love crew
He got it goin' on there, go Shabar
She, she got a little flavor right there
Money Mark, Silver D, Lords of Funk, Kool V in the house

Knahmsayin, pushin' Kid Capri
My main man the brother [unverified] Bizz Markie
My man Kool V in the house
That's my man Grand Daddy I U

Knahmsayin, Diamond Shell, Dapper Jay, they got it goin' on
My main man the chief rockin' starchild
He in the house, he got it goin on
My man the world famous Busy Bee

He kickin' flavor, knahmsayin?
Everybody doino' this for the do
Puttin' flavor where it's supposed to be
The Kid Capri is outta here like last year

And I'm gone, See ya
'Cause you know my style
You know my style, uhh, c'mon, woo
'Cause you know my style