Lyrics

We finna take y'all back for one quick minute, aight? Y'all ready? Uh, uh, yeah, hah, you don't stop, hah Yeah, you don't quit, huh One, two, three (Hah) Well, I'm the cream of the crop The hippity-hop, the drippity-drop Oh, but don't you dare stop the finger pop That makes you get that feeling for that funky flavor My name is Shay and I would like to say to ya The nineteenth alphabet is S, the twentieth is T And last but not least, the W is twenty-three Uh, now what will that be? The R to the E, the B, now manifest the ELS And let the funk cover arrest With rhythm, rhythm It's the rebels of Rhythm, rhythm You know it's got to have Rhythm, rhythm Funk It's definitely got to be the type of funk The type of shit that shake your trunk And when it bumps It's definitely got to be the kind you press The style that Allah has blessed And when it's wild, I speak I get on my knees, I'm ready to eat saliva, bless more inches like these What? With what rhythm? Rhythm Now who's got the rhythm? I got the rhythm, I got the rhythm I got the rhythm is what I have I got the rhythm I got the rhythm running through the paragraph I got the rhythm, the rhythm to rock (Yeah) The rhythm, the rhythm to run (Yeah) The rhythm, the rebels of rhythm And this is where we're coming from, so drop it Well, I'm the three of a third, I'm sorta like an adverb I added some verbs to what you heard a minute ago Jack raps, meet Shaq in a mineral of a style Place it to a mic like water from a pipe Drip, drip, drip, now it's alright To write the recitable and capable But what I meant Why can't a poet kick your table of contents? You got the three, you drop the one, and now that's two You got the quintessential sound from the W You got the A for adding the average which you got You got the K for keeping the keepers of the block You got the E for evolution and the E for ingenuity The N is for the newly way I'm kickin' it alphabetically Theoretically, the twentieth letter must speak Yeah, that's me, so drop style One, two, three, the capital T is the twentieth Rockin' the sun, it's like I begun the day it hit the twenty-fifth Not here to cause no mischief or rescue no damn princess But puttin' out lost work Grippin' the mic and surely rip shit in sections I'm the first of the third, resurrections Stickin' the tongue in three different directions Now how many rhymes it take to get to the middle of that mic? But you wouldn't know, instead of lick, you like to bite Crunch, 'cause you don't know how to kick 'em These niggas don't understand that it's all about rhythm