"The Rhythm" 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