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Boom it and you boom it and you boom it in your jeep
Type of s–t that hit when you pump it in your trunk
Boom it and you boom it and you boom it in your jeep
Babum, babum, make the speakers pop

I’m as bad, bad as Leroy Brown, Brown
I’m a pro p-pro, but not a noun n-noun
If you got beef, beef, you get ground, ground
Cut up in soul, soul by the pound for pound
I’m going downtown like Julie Brown, I’m the brown mound
Not a rebound, but like a hound, I get down
Never wore a leash but I’m a show ya
How loose is my goose, got more soul than combat boots
(I got soul, you got it) That’s why I came
They keep calling me, man, they keep calling me, they call my name
And say, I can’t give it away, give it away now
Or say whiz, say what or say how
Sh, ok, between you and me, man it’s all this white rap
I got the power, hachoo, I’ll just bite snap
Bum ba-bum, bum bum
Think fast, cause I’m the Ramadan
Ahoy-he-hoy-he, I’m Fat Boy
Shibidabibidabee, boom boom, I’ll be the bad boy
Having a party, but I’m not a democrat
Spoiled as a child, but now I’m milk like Similac
Don’t have Cinemax because my cable’s pirated
Bug out with the rhyme, try to swat and I’ll get fly with it
For pest control, I suggest some soul
For a d–k I got it, but I have no breath control
So gimme a T-O, baby like um, Chris Webber
I got myself together
Now I’m straight, are you straight, if you straight, then I’m straight
Rock me tonight, just for old time’s sake


Roll to the rock, rock to the roll
Can’t no A & R tell me that I ain’t got soul
C’mon, can I get a clap, can’t you see I’m trapped
And I’m so confused
News is getting paid but what about the bills
I wanna make some dough yet I wanna show my skills
Do you even know where I’m going
I ain’t scared of you muthaf—ers, though I am of the Omen
I jam like a Cobra, make note, I’m not Caress
Cause I control minds wit rhymes, so FBI don’t test
I got a no. 2 pencil and I’m a scribble all over your face
You see I don’t pack no gat
I didn’t see CB4 ’cause I heard that s–t was wack
Like Chris I rock, i’m strapped like my jock
Peace to NO ID and my n—a YNot, check it


Wopee, look at me, I’m hipper than a hippie
Chicks flyer than the boots, so ill the MC’s say you make me sick
Well go see the doctor, in your car, rock my tune
With the Boom shak lak lak boom
I’ll buy you on a cracker, bayow, watch where the sparks went
Fatter than Dre, a Lover like Ed, super as Clark Kent
So give it away Lois, as I change clothes without a booth
And ride like this, like woof
The roof is on fire, it’s not an LA riot
I got more ho, ho hos than the jolly green giant
Large as the Professor and I’m never faking funk cock
Fat as heavy metal yet I’m harder than punk rock
So take me to a land I know not too far away
I got skills like Tim and I’m coming in a Hardaway
So keep the crossover, common as a b-boy
While you be dragging last, I be kicking like Bruce Lee would
Sho nuff, yo I got the stuff that tops the stove
And I am about to explo-o-o-ode
Who was that masked kid, that’s what’cha ask kid
Free to be stroke, cut throat, Lonnie or rash it
But oh no, this was Common with his soul glow
Coming from Shika- but yo I gotta go- go
The go, check, check the go(ha-ha) the go, check check the go(yea)


The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.