Verse One: Mr. Funke
Boom shaka laka yo here comes the Chief Rocka
Rock it down so jump up off the tip you’re not my nucca
For sharper type to battle make the people say ooh ahh
Think I won’t curse I’ll break down and say puta
Now fam a lam I’ll be damned, slam jams the weak
Could it be the skunk weed that makes us oh so funky?
Now hold it let me choose, couldn’t be the booze
No it’s the shoes (the shoes?) It’s gotta be the shoes!
Cause girlies, they clock, they stand around and jock
so I say boom shaka lak, grab the microphone then rock
To think I’m the troop, when on the mic?
I’ll say it, it ain’t the shows kid?
Like drunk and a grump and sound over some uhhhh!?
The Cat in the Hat and the mouse ran up the stairs
“That doesn’t make no sense!” C’mon who cares?
See even without the gift there’s yours so don’t be tryin to knock me
I say what I want to say, as long it sounds funky
Some MC’s wanted to buy me, so they try to take stands
But they don’t understand, I’m the motherfuckin man
I amaze and astound, rhythm up and down
Smack a group of them around, let them know who wears the crown
Who’s-the-tip-of-the-top, the-cream-of-the-crop, the-best-under-the-sun?
I’m the Lord Chief Rocka, number one, Mr. Funke, uhh
*Lord Jazz cuts ‘The Lord Chief Rocka, number one, Chief Rocka’ 8X*