3 Men At Chung King Lyrics - Singles - Chubb Rock

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Verse one: red hot lover lover tone 

The pen hits the paper, ink spills and fills, the lines 

With lyrics that thrills like my dillz 

Take it on the grilled cheese tour, then I drop it 

Don't care about the niggaz cause the girls are gonna jock it 

Take her to my hotel, no speaking, just freaking 

Leave my door open so the niggaz can come peak in 

Rip the nappy dug out niggaz bug out with the hopes 

They can get theirs, but in the meantime they takin notes 

Here comes my kid, here comes my kid (ahhhhh) 

But I caught him in the rubber lid, huh 

Chitty chitty bang bang, gotta go gotta go 

The hoe is in a coma so I tippy tippy toe 

Walkin in the dark (tripped) slipped on my shoe 

(arrrrgh!! ohh shit!!) [tone is that you? ] 

Damn, more fornication 

Puba take the mic 'cause I'm here for the duration 

Verse two: grand puba 

Before I get this wreck I usually start with a 40 

But forties are no more 'cause now I'm drinkin 64's 

Call on grand puba, chubb rock if you want it done 

Hon spread the 411 as if her name was kaity chung 

Into devil bashing, always stay in fashion 

Love maxing and relaxing, hittin skins with a passion 

As a shorty I kept some dice I banked on seven or eleven 

'cause my pops had it hard similar to james evans 

Now shit flipped, I'm on the hip-hop 

To the beat you don't stop, rock on! 

I kick the new type of lingo, hit the spot that'll tingle 

Make the girls wanna jingle, so they run and get the single 

My simple task is to make you shake that ass 

On the quick fast, and to make it last 

It's just three men at chung king getting busy 

We've come a long way since kunta kintizzy 

And you don't stop, rock on 

Chubb rock flip the script 'cause I'm gone 

Verse three: chubb rock 

Yippi-yi-yeah, stay, hooray, yo, hurrah 

I jumped up upon the mic with the chubbster, tone, plus the pu-ba 

Intricately go far 

Chillin in the mansion, nuff fashion (ahhh) 

Relax, and dig into the track and react 

I want a martin luther riff 'cause I don't like to pack my iron 

Watchin kids on the corner buyin, gettin zooted then lyin 

Test and I commence, to firing 

One two three shots and then I tune the black watch 

Reclean my cylinder and then I grab my crotch 

And squeeze, the testes and then I grab my wood and cup it 

Oh there goes the nut I just busted 

Get myself together, 'cause I'm the man 

I knew it, I wanted to do a duet with the grand 

Mystic ruler took the 40 out of the cooler 

Now we're rippin the track, we shoulda did one sooner 

And then we roll up on the groove field assist the team 

And now I'm straighter than 9:15 

Get a little dough for this three man skit 

I'll end the jam with a curse 

Uhh, umm fuck? 

Or is it damn? or what? 

Shit. and slide out of the vocal booth and get a dollar chung king soda 

Grand puba, tone, plus now we're over and we're out