Can't Front On Me

Ah, yeah, yes

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.