Verbal Clap Lyrics - De La Soul

"You out there? Louder! 

Well clap your hands to what he's doing 

On tempo Jack" 

Posdonus 

NYC gave you the ball, so how you gonna hate us? 

We creators of them East coast stars 

If you ask me I'll tell you there's no comp 

But I'm still humble, even though I will crumble halls 

Some call 'em songs, I call 'em words from me 

that take long to cook 

So some feel free in sayin that we don't hunger for beats 

Not that we not hungry, just picky in what we eat 

Keep food off the mind and keep weight off the body 

All you gotta do is keep my name out your mouth 

And stop frownin like you hostile 

You know that it's a booger rubbin up against your nostril 

Nigga how you figure you can play this rap game without the backbone? 

It's Maseo, Dave, Wonder Why, givin what you lack holmes 

Related 

The Best Karaoke Songs Ever, Ranked 

Find Your Next Concert With Live Nation's Tour Stop 

Watch Ariana Grande Sing Her Hits On Carpool Karaoke 

Dave 

Aiyyo prepare yo'self for the Neutron, bitch! 

This is eighty-six, let that neo-rap go 

We present these flares to put fire to your ears 

to lay smoke like rusty exhaust pipes 

We run mics, let Sean run the marathon 

Yo raise that money son, we raisin these kids 

Get claps when curtains close, stage left 

Up your stamina baby, bring some breath 

SAT book smart, part ese 

Loc'in like Tone, street niggaz get grown 

Acquire more couth before you get poofed 

Or get some shells sent over to your mic booth 

Excuse, my delivery, but when peace don't work 

see this piece gon' work, cock aim and SHOOT! 

It's my constitutional right to bear arms 

Arms and bare hands on mics, make fans unite 

Woodstock and white folks involved 

Black man get on yo' job! 

Photos 

"Well clap your hands to what he's doing 

On tempo Jack" 

[Chorus 2X: De La Soul] 

Let's go beat for beat, and rhymes for rhymes 

(put, all, the things aside) 

Just bring your beats, and bring your rhymes 

(put, all, the things aside) 

Posdonus 

The heavyweight L.I. brother with no date, of expiration 

On this fate on the mic, them birthday keep comin 

I'm hated on by niggaz I love most 

So what threat could you possibly pose when I'm on your coast? 

So raise your guns or your glasses 

Either way there'll be a toast in the air 

Markin the return of bare minimums you need to learn 

Get your verbs right when you down to clap 

Dave 

See that gun powder calibre rap'll tip hats like gentlemen do 

Smash tenements and skyscrapers 

Bow-tie papers stacked high 

Pay the resident tax or get your street sweeped 

Front row, backstage or the cheap seats 

I +Dodge+ richochets like +Ram+ trucks, you slow poke to pull it 

And I sup-pose you wanna top the Billboard chart 

Man I toast these rhymes and then pop like Pop-Tarts 

[Chorus] 

"Well clap your hands to what he's doing"