"Dead On It" lyrics
Riding in my Thunderbird on the freeway
I turned on my radio to hear some music play
I got a silly rapper talking silly shit instead
And the only good rapper is one that's dead... on it
Uh. Dead... on it
Shall we go back? (Yeah!)
Let's go
Negroes from Brooklyn play the bass pretty good
But the ones from Minneapolis play it like it oughta should
A magnum fro is better when you got a poof on it
And the to and fro is funky when the grease is dead on it (Funky dead on it)
Uh, dead... (On it) on it
Shall we go back? Let's go
They dead... on it, wow
See, the rapper's problem usually stem from being tone deaf
Pack the house, then try to sing, there won't be no one left (Ha ha) (On it)
Parking lot's on fire, brothers peeling out of the town
They say in disgust, they singing their guts
"Rapping done let us down" (Down down)
You got to be dead... on it
Dead... on it (Dead)
All the sisters like it when you lick them on the knees
Don't believe me? (No) Do it once then stop
They'll be begging please, please, please (Please, please, please)
Shoo be doo wa, dead... on it
What does that have to do with the funk?
Nothing, but who's paying the bills?
If you don't want to lick my knees, sho', your mama will
Uh, because we, because we, because we dead... on it
De, de- de- de- de- de- de, dead... on it, on it
Na na na-na
Ne-na na-na ne-na na-na
Na na na-na
My bed's a coffin, Dracula ain't got shit on me
My nickname's Hell's-a-Poppin', I'm badder than the Wicked Witch-a
I got a gold tooth, cost more than your house
I got a diamond ring on four fingers, each one the size of a mouse
They dead, they dead... on it, on it
Na na na-na
Ne-na na-na ne-na na-na
Na na na-na
Na na na-na
Ne-na na-na ne-na na-na
Na na na-na
Wait now, hang up, dial tone on the three
You know, you know, I'm busy, too scizzy
Can't nobody fuck with me
Because I'm dead... (On it, on it, on it)
Shoo be doo wa wa, dead on it
Dead... on it, on it, on it
Dang, dang, dang, dang, (Dead on it) shoo be dang, dang, dang, dead on it
Dead, dead... on it
I turned on my radio to hear some music play
I got a silly rapper talking silly shit instead
And the only good rapper is one that's dead... on it
Uh. Dead... on it
Shall we go back? (Yeah!)
Let's go
Negroes from Brooklyn play the bass pretty good
But the ones from Minneapolis play it like it oughta should
A magnum fro is better when you got a poof on it
And the to and fro is funky when the grease is dead on it (Funky dead on it)
Uh, dead... (On it) on it
Shall we go back? Let's go
They dead... on it, wow
See, the rapper's problem usually stem from being tone deaf
Pack the house, then try to sing, there won't be no one left (Ha ha) (On it)
Parking lot's on fire, brothers peeling out of the town
They say in disgust, they singing their guts
"Rapping done let us down" (Down down)
You got to be dead... on it
Dead... on it (Dead)
All the sisters like it when you lick them on the knees
Don't believe me? (No) Do it once then stop
They'll be begging please, please, please (Please, please, please)
Shoo be doo wa, dead... on it
What does that have to do with the funk?
Nothing, but who's paying the bills?
If you don't want to lick my knees, sho', your mama will
Uh, because we, because we, because we dead... on it
De, de- de- de- de- de- de, dead... on it, on it
Na na na-na
Ne-na na-na ne-na na-na
Na na na-na
My bed's a coffin, Dracula ain't got shit on me
My nickname's Hell's-a-Poppin', I'm badder than the Wicked Witch-a
I got a gold tooth, cost more than your house
I got a diamond ring on four fingers, each one the size of a mouse
They dead, they dead... on it, on it
Na na na-na
Ne-na na-na ne-na na-na
Na na na-na
Na na na-na
Ne-na na-na ne-na na-na
Na na na-na
Wait now, hang up, dial tone on the three
You know, you know, I'm busy, too scizzy
Can't nobody fuck with me
Because I'm dead... (On it, on it, on it)
Shoo be doo wa wa, dead on it
Dead... on it, on it, on it
Dang, dang, dang, dang, (Dead on it) shoo be dang, dang, dang, dead on it
Dead, dead... on it
