Spin da Boddle - down south, Bobbito, The Funkaholic

Aw shucks, who let the fizz out the bottle?

The fizz is what it is, and yo, the fizz is in the fuzzle

(?) because I’m fillin in that puzzle

The fizz man’s a Soda Man which comes in a can, man

But keep that bottle spinnin, you know we got a crowd of critics

That keep grinnin for nine full innings

I did a hoe a hoe, the hoe was a see, I see

First she saw, now she don’t see-a me

One bops to my funky sound of my jukebox

First off the (?), second I watch draws drop

Then again you bought that from the (?)

Two tits and two butt cheeks, two for one, like Noah

And if you wonder, Dog Wonder didn’t do it

Didn’t wanna puruse it, didn’t drop no soda fluid

So I was Spaaaaaaace — Ghost

Spin the jug, do what the thug representin Funkaholic

On the real with Soda Fizz and then my nuts lightly salted

Altered states for a spare to hit my back at home

Just above the Mason-Dixon, sticks and stones can break my bones

But words can take your girl, so I suggest you watch her closely

I’m low-key when I do the hokey-pokey, hung like Smokey

(?) Southern Comfort, Unforgettable as Nat King Cole

Swing soul, the fat King Creole

Stolen goods from Robin Hoods, Woodstock type of fellow

Burn your lodge, jump in my car, smoke some lye, bring out the jello

Freaky as a sideshow, (?) homemade funk

Yes stinkin, Shawn J. filled it till it stunk

With he vittles on my criddle, little cribs (?)

Far as mom’s cookin but the city’s still scary

So don’t funk around, Down South, Funkaholic

Spin the jug, I likes to chug my 40 ounces out the toilet

Plug me in so that the juices can come

I was waitin by the waters, but now summoned by the drum

That old southern fried funk drove my taste buds looney

Original stinky flavors concentratin in the boonies

I say, say, say like Michael Jackson

There ain’t no holdin me back (?) for the action

No freaky deaky duo far out like Little Anne

I carve a spoon (?) and left the groove heads buzzin

(?) the funk wizard swing with Art Blakey

Rhymes are great but never corny nor flakey

Virginia Finally like CeCe but not too (?)

I bring the bottom on the glass so I can stick it in your

I be toe to toe with an out-Stretched Strong-Arm

Peace but no cease when we begin to drop bombs

Back to the ranch, short stay in the city

Funk bottles everywhere, broken glass ain’t too pretty

Spin the bottle with my

(?) who’d figured

That we’d be hip-hoppin on TV

While the lama kicks drama syndicate, that’s my mama

I’m a not a hooker average girl looker

Cook my collards in a cooker like Superfly Jimmy Snuka

I float like a (?) steel boat down your river

Drop the cargo, COD UPS delivers

I’m supportin, I guess there won’t be no abortin

Now I wanna see the warden

Crisco (?) in this picnic

KFC chicken and some bisquits

Andy Duncan and my man from Dunkin Donuts eatin Trisquits

(?) Nabisco, visit San Francisco

Then I’ma relax down south with Donna Summers at the disco

Prefer down-to-earth shorties, no swingin hoardie-tordies

Not too often I drink beer but pass the 40

Bobbito is ah… isms get bisms

When I shoot my verbal jisms

I grip hips when I chase 'em, I won’t slip

Purr lips when I dip, dive low in the —

Much tip, flip scripts to make ya moms wanna itch her clitoris

It’s just that your moms is an incredible horny

Didn’t mean to jolt your moms

But when we said spin the bottle she couldn’t stay calm

She took the bottle full throttle and stuck it in her poo-poo

Pulled it out slow, oo-ooh, and now I’m cuckoo

I went down south and I discovered a crew

Plus the Funkaholics awarded me peace, so Honolulu