My Fantasy - Freestyle Fellowship

Relax your mind… and take your time…

Relax your mind… and take your time…

Relax your mind… and take your time…

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 jollopy, 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 and a poker player

Who’s a loser, screwser, booser

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?)

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 sucatash, 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 your 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

Aww yeaah, 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

Hydroplaning, while I was explaining

And maintaining, gaining altitude

An longitude, latitude, attitude

Formatical, fratical?, latical?, radical dude

Spit ball, 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

Burryin', marryin' men

Black men, black men, black men

Where’s the music coming from

Freestyle Fellowship

Freestyle Fellowship

Freestyle Fellowship

The Freestyle Fellow…