My Fantasy

Lyrics

Relax your mind... and take your time.... Relax your mind... and take your time.... Relax your mind... and take your time.... [Verse 1: Aceyalone] Would you like to be a part of my fantasy? Fantasy, insanity, vanity, family, Kennedy, can it be? It'll be great, we can break all laws of gravity Make room, or fly to the moon on a broom We can let it get, better get, etiquette, adequate That'll get sloppy Ten-four, you copy? Big jalopy, a poppy seed, pop a floppy Teenybopper, hoppy, hype, my squad's the gods of the mic So play vanilla, hammer, shamma-lamma-ding-dong Killer, slammer, plan a pop song, cut But I like breakbeats and beatin' on the wall in the bathroom The b-boy, b-boy, forever Yo, punk- what's your function? Robotics, planets, products, annex, got it Mechanics or sonics, organic, exotic, narcotic Bought it, forgot it I jot it down 'til I'm hooked on phonics So much to do with a touch of double dutch Of dodge ball, the Taj Mahaj's right below us Slow us down and show us the forest Or a Brontosaurus I'm a Taurus, poorest one of all Born in back of the pool hall, a joker My Pappy's a penny ante poker player Who's a loser, screwser, boozer Livin' a life of anger Had one, two, one too many Harvey Wall Bangers So bungee jump off a bridge and soar With the rubber baby elastic plastic band around your ankle Fasten up, next stop: Banana Republic For what? Hip hop drops (Who's the man with the master plan?) (Who's the man with the master plan?) [Verse 2: Aceyalone] Every rapper in the house shut the funk up Every rapper in the house shut the funk up Every rapper in the house shut the funk up Every rapper in the house die Now every rapper in the house shut the funk up You're wack, you're wack, you're wack, you're wack You're succotash, you're mow mow(?) In a room, i wonder, might you, might you My yeah right, your mic, mic, might be a slight slow My mic, my mic will blow you right Outta sight, wanna fight Kill ya, I'mma rip you if you're tight I'll grease the pipe You're right, my type, you're wack You're white, you're black You're blue, you're yellow belly helly do jelly can't jam Hunky see, hunky do Don't get kickin' a funky chicken He can't hit, can't hit, can't hit Can it be any identity crisis Come in slices and devices What the price is for the nicest spices Every rapper in the house shut the funk up Every rapper in the house shut the funk up Every rapper in the house shut the funk up Every rapper in the house die Drop [J-Sumbi] Aww yeah, give it up, give it up Yes that was a little snippet from Aceyalone's own Private rhyme garden, live and direct from the Sunshine Shack I'm the J-Sumb, and, uh, before we go Let's end with a final verse [Verse 3: Aceyalone] Hydroplaning, while I was explaining And maintaining, gaining altitude And longitude, latitude, attitude Formatical, fratical?, latical?, radical dude Spitball, pitfall Hole in the wall is all I see Eight ball, wait y'all Aceyalone has found the key Free-style Fellowship This fellow gets beat while He moans and groans and throws a fit Aryans are carryin' out sin Buryin', marryin' men Black men, black men, black men [Sample] Where's the music coming from? Freestyle Fellowship Freestyle Fellowship Freestyle Fellowship The Freestyle Fellow...