You know what?

You know what?

You know what?

You know what? The sugar D I C D A D I E

That's just a title, explaining who I be

Mista l A W N G E

I take a sucker from any phil and injure thee Now that I've spelled it out, and you like the way it sounds

I'm dissing rap music, and rap music on the grounds

You say i'm full of sheep, and for that I give a pound

The sugar dick daddy, Mista Lawnge to break it down

Ladies, step to me for a real neat treat

And if you don't wanna call me Lawnge, you can call me sweet meat

I wear protection, you won't catch claps here Come over later, but first go get a pap smear

Nine point five okay dear? And don't forget clean underwear

'Cause I don't want the funk to flow

After after I'm done, yo, ya, gotta go

'Don't you know ho, don tcha know ho'

Okay, enough is enough, time to get that off my bladder

And dig deep into the subject matter You know what?

You know what? I'm sick and tired of rappers not real

And suckers makin' it with a pop feel

Labels signin' acts with nuff bills

Tax write off, 'cause you have no skills

You go make a demo, get a deal and start to sprout

Gold, platinum, and then start sellin' out You get a Benz and trash the Nova

Double platinum, and start crossin' over

Then you get fall, I won't give examples

Hint, hint, they use the same old samples

But not the sheep, for we are sleek and unique

Top of the peek and others are weak Follow the words that I speak, the situation is bleak

But this is the fly *** that you seek

When the style is dope, Mista Lawnge's a particapator

If you wanna battle, later

'Cause black sheep are certified greater than

But, I said later man 'I can dig it'

You know what?

You know what?

You know what?

You know what? You know what?

You know what?

You know what?

You know what? I turn on the radio, be a prime time to a late night rap show

Here, the same old, same old, and that's on your, new single

Your product, is a product, of no productivity

Can ya, see G? You kick a wack style

And claim to have brains

Take the funky drummer and give him back to James

I'm dope, I'm dope, heh, I can't cope Keep your cordless, 'cause you bore this

You say you're sure, yeah, but I'm the surest

That, black sheep are unique, funk clever brothers that will

Make the church girl freak, out, without a doubt

You have no wins in a '91 bout, so shout, pout,do what you want

But you're out the picture, and I'ma get you sucka

'Cause youse a dumb mothafucka, better off as a tractor trail trucker But movin' right along to the Woodstock

Stop, remember when the band was on rock

Negro music, heh, seperated, it blew up and became rap

And you hated it, that's of course till you see

A motherfucker that, could be in your family

Drop lyrics then you hear it, with glee, then only thing it tells me

Is that you know a good thing, when you see it You run to get a ten, 'cause you cannot be it

So, off the top off my head, I guess I keep it rollin'

Till the rap gets stolen

Like so many other things called theft

And when it's gone what will be left

You sucker, dumb fucker don't turn blue You know what?

Talkin' to you

You know what? Chump

You know what?

You know what?

You know what?