Urban Rapsody Lyrics - Singles - James Rick

Rick James featuring Rappin 4-Tay 

Come on, come on, come on with the funk thang 

Come on, come on, come on with the funk thang 

Come on, come on, come on with the funk thang 

Come on, come on, come on with the funk thang 

Urban Rapsody (Yeah) 

Just the sound (Just the sound) 

Sound of the ghetto 

Even if you came through the party with some ass 

Dont need no cash with the VIP pass 

In your pocket or your purse, be my first verse 

Raps an addiction such as Pulp Fiction 

I represent the west, the number one, we be the best 

No walking with no limping, no, I dont do no simpin 

Sticking to my player script suckas keep trippin slippin 

Spread a lot of game, thats what the people want me 

??With the?? 

That you act that player hatin copycat 

Same little trip, you talk down on a player track 

If you wonder how I got the boss game 

Smokin on Mary Jane, listenin to Rick James 

Uh, bring the funk (Bring the funk) 

Urban Rapsody (Yeah) 

Just the sound (Just the sound) 

Sound of the ghetto (What you say) 

Urban Rapsody (Yeah) 

Yeah, just the sound 

Eenie meenie miny moe, no matter what hood 

That you come from, you get out if you just could 

Pimps, players and pushers on the corner block 

You should see all the money that you can clock 

In the ghetto, you can hear a rapsody 

And the melody is written just for you and me 

Call it folk, call it rhythm and blues 

It aint nothin but a feelin that we choose 

Urban Rapsody (Yeah) 

Just the sound (Just the sound) 

Sound of the ghetto (What you say) 

Urban Rapsody (Yeah) 

Yeah, just the sound (Just the sound) 

Sound of the ghetto (Bring it 4-Tay) 

Aint no funk like funk this way in the Bay 

Where all the real players parlay 

Stone City Band, 4-Tay and Rick James 

Late night, clubbin, game recognizin game 

Toast the ass not the glass and we outie 

All day, every day, players keep it cloudy 

Mocha Almond, caramel, chocolate 

One you got em started, man, it really aint no stoppin 

Pimps, players, pushers, aint nothin like the ghetto 

The partys on again, holler at a player, dough 

Just like mafioso, so just bring a toast 

Boss Hogs, shot callers and Im the force 

Passports for a scrapper it goes nation wide 

And about that root of all evil it might just cost your life 

Bring on the funk, Rick, we got the party pack 

With all these freaks and hoes, man, I gots to mack 

I cant stay 4-Tay 

I got to go check out that West Coast thang