Ron Burgundy

Lyrics

[Intro: Tyrone Briggs] I'll give this lil' cookie an hour before we're doing the no pants dance Time to musk up Yep, it's made with bits of real panther So you know it's good It's quite pungent Uh Sexy It's a formidable scent Let's go [Verse 1: Tyrone Briggs & Will Smith] Ron Burgundy, uh, how I tell a vision (Right?) Before Bob could lay down the drums, this shit was finished (Right?) Lyrically Fei Long, it's fire when I kick it Don't share my moves with no one, no Ryu to my Kinship (You feel me, Lord?) It ain't nothing to rap to be Nothing wack, or average, it's either heat or a masterpiece (Yeah) Sample choppеd by Fresh, he through the pass to mе With slaps hard enough to get us banned from an academy Keep my wife's name out your fucking mouth Daylight savings, you'll see the rise when sun come out Can outlap 'em without passing the baton This shit is remote learning, I'm in a class on my own (Right) Don't compare me to dudes that wear a thousand dollar belts But won't invest a hundred dollars in they self (Nah) And wonder why they fan base in they hometown is often doing awful Nigga, nobody gonna support you until you support you Stupid It's what I'm talking 'bout, man [Interlude] Stings the nostrils In a good way (Yep) Brian, I'm gonna be honest with you, that smells like pure gasoline Studies and sixty percent of the time Every time [Verse 2: Flukey] Like we always do about this time Flukey the illest These dudes beginners The rest of them just pretenders, dude They couldn't fit my tennis shoes (Uh) I run with niggas, they in the room, then you hid your jewels We different dudes, if we said we did it, we did it too Nigga, Flu too cool for you dudes to ridicule Tell the truth, admit it, y'all niggas pick and choose And fabricate your truth when you spit it, so you can fit in crews (Ooh) Than your whole diction a contradiction, dude Somebody tell Bobby this beat a body Body slamming rappers, running my city, Jesse The Body All these rappers claiming they king, but I see no body First rapper screaming my name, then I see a body We'll see about it, but see, I thought I told 'em not to fuck with me I thought I told you niggas we spit buck fifties (Ah) On the low, I know all y'all niggas look up to me That's not your dude if he said that you could keep up with me [Interlude] Excuse me, [?] Mm, what is it, [?]? I would like to extend to you an invitation to the pants party Excuse me? The party, the pants, with pants Party with pants Rick, are you saying that there's a party in your pants and that I'm invited? That's it [Verse 3: Goldie Cobain] I said what I said I saw crunch time (Yup), he said it's crunch time He took a little sabbatical, let his funds climb I remember it vividly ducking one time (I remember) Now we trapping immaculate on the front line Don't bother Miss Carter, she mad The head good, she ski free 'cause she bad (Bad) Pop tags and drop bags and we brag No gun flashing, freeze tag 'cause we dads I see y'all copping the shit that we had (I see y'all) I hear ya popping shit like he mad (Tight) I'm on a thousand, I brought the pounds in A kilo is a thousand grams, provide the housing (Real) Look, brother, that's word to Lu's mother (Swear) I've been inside of the Poom poom and you love her Door banging like boom boom, it's who other None other, Cobain, I brung butter [Interlude] It's a really impossible turn of profit if it serve real chicken Yeah, we use mainly bats But the, the good quality of it That's the most horrible thing I've ever heard Yeah, you gotta do what you gotta do, right? So what you gotta do is serve fried bats? Yup Do you know what they call bats? Bats, chicken of the cave No one calls the chicken of the cave [Verse 4: Squeegie O] Niggas be at these shows rockin' they sister's clothes thinking they next up You call this shit local? I call it check cuts Bitch, I'll sign your pity on the runny kind Sada tay Pull a Chester bean screaming help police Twisted on Harbor Day Black Jesus on the platform Last of the Mohegans 'Cause real nigga season is rare From the era of the schemers Jean shorts on like I'm the black John cena You niggas ain't seeing the flesh There's no way you could connect to the spirit Shut down the play with a pass interference Son, I got love for Tyrone Briggs But that ugly motherfucker owes me bread 'Cause I wrote half of Tyrone shit On my Reggie, I'll be that My nickname is "Fuck You, Bitch" 'Cause all the hoes know that he ain't shit Turn you album to a weed tray My shit spins on shade 45 like I got nudes blackmailing the DJs