Psychedelic
 Uh  come on
 This is what I like
 It's that Pete Rock and C.L. Smooth stuff
 Uh huh  yeah
 Brothers can't understand
 You know I'm about to drop a funky beat on you
 Like this...


 Hit the war drums that vibrate the earth underneath
 Here my people and I come  gotta wake up the chief
 Not a pale frail ghost  C.L.'ll wreck the most
 Cuz the Mecca land never had a Leo Africanos
 The Sudanian, master of the Mediterranean
 And if it's lovely I'm the one you're Skypagin'
 Lower than the Mole Man, R&B, you're silly
 The only male hardcore crusin' through my city
 Rise to the supernova, swami like Bola
 Heavy hitter I consider Ueuker leanin' on my shoulder
 Measure like a yardstick, thick at arithmetic
 You add it up and I roast a high pick flick
 Hit the pitch and then I'm gone as the funk lingers on
 I don't publicize here to keep the black race torn
 But steady at an altitude where you get the mental food
 Not to be rude, here's a fresh pot brewed
 Oh, what a web we weave when we practice to deceive
 Sparkin' off a trick up the sleave
 Pete stocked the bedrock, listen and you'll see
 And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me

 Yo, you can't front
 It's like that, c'mon, yeah
 Yes, you know I got to talk
 You can't front
 I'm tellin' you now
 C.L. Smooth and the Rock, c'mon

 Many consumed what was locked in a tomb
 That I gradually groomed, coming out now smelling like perfume
 So take a whiff when I wrap a gift, play ya like a gospel
 A logical apostle, collosal (whoooweee!)
 Afro, a cut me like a fade with a Braun
 Sport a bald head, but never needed Hair Club for Men
 Drop a SCUD, fully-capable, a form in a eclipse
 Skips to backflips soon as it leaves my lips
 Suave know, I can make the funk turn the habit
 Kick the old 45 and I can boogie on static
 Welcome to the Brahma Don, pilgrimage to Mecca Don
 A prayer for the parish, Soucron Affwaun
 Cuz ain't no misbehavin' when they manage what you're cravin'
 Put the "Anger in the Nation" on your station
 Anvils that fills the whole circumference
 And black people crowd in a mass abundance
 To hear Gabriel's horn, blow it like a Naiji
 What's the flavor unit with the top priority?
 C.L., untouchable with the clip full
 Impossibly, the posse can't front on me

 Don't you dare front
 Don't you dare front
 Not on me
 Cuz I'm the man
 C.L.'s the rhymer
 Right on time
 Right on, my brother
 Come on, kick another verse for me

 You desire the messiah for the entire empire
 Total organizer of the earth, wind, and fire
 C.L. and Pete Rock unlock the hard rock
 Many want to mock and the honey-dips clock
 Intercontinental for the residential
 Never coincidental, rough on a rental
 Count all the bars numeric
 Pro-prosthetic if ya let it resurrect the nongeneric
 The brother on the cover, yes, a rapper not a singer
 If you recognize him, point with your index finger
 Shock another flock when I hit the block
 God or Devil on the set that's level, labeled as a rebel
 In retrospect I detect those incorrect
 And reflect the black power project
 Supreme cuz I chose to never blaspheme
 Going to the extreme, place it on a very high beam
 And drop jewels for five thousand fools who stampede
 Cuz the proper show stopper's what ya need
 So come and get a taste of the dynamic duo
 And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me (Yoooo!)

 You can't front, boy
 Cuz we're the skilled fools (skibooze?)
 We'z are the funk
 The hardcore funk
 We ain't no joke
 Comin' out to note
 Ah, yeah
 With the funk track
 Sing it, P