This song seemingly tackles the methods of deception those who manipulate others use to get victims to follow their demands, as well as diverting attention away from important issues. They'll also use it as a means to convince people to hate or kill others by pretending acts of terrorism were committed by the enemy when the acts themselves were done by the masters of control to promote discrimination and hate. It also reinforces the idea that these manipulative forces operate in various locations, infiltrating everyday life without detection, and propagate any and everywhere.
In general, it highlights the danger of hidden agendas, manipulation, and distraction, serving as a critique of those who exploit chaos and confusion to control and gain power, depicting a cautionary tale against falling into their traps. It encourages us to question the narratives presented to us and remain vigilant against manipulation in various parts of society.
Mic check, I can get smooth to any groove
Relax the tongue, let my mic take a cruise
Around the planet, pack 'em in like Janet
Jackson, she's askin' if I can slam it
I'm
Yo, yo, Redman, man, what the fuck, man
Get the fuck off that, punk smooth shit, man
Get with that rough shit, man, you know how we do
Mic check, I walk around the streets with a black TEC-9
By the waistline, kickin' the hype shit
I never claimed to be the best type of rapper
But have to show them motherfuckers what I'm after
I'm after the gold, then after that, the platinum
Beef after that, Hurricane G packs the gat, son
Trigger, bang, bang, yo, bust the slang, what my name?
It's the Redman on the funk thing
Psych, you're motherfuckin' right, tonight's the night
To do what I wanna do, to do it like dynamite
Then we'll perfect it when the funk been injected
I roughen up the rough draft to like make your head split
Punk, pass the forty and the blunt and don't front
On the block, 'cause when you do front, brothers are gettin' stomped
I'm not an addict, more like puff than magic
Then pass it when I'm through 'cause my crew
(Gots to have it)
I don't claim to be a big rap star
'Cause no matter who you are, you'll still catch a bullet scar
So listen up and take heed to what I'm sayin'
'Cause tonight's the night and me and my niggas ain't playin'
Fat black bitch, nasty
Bush bear, booger breath, bitch
Nasty, talk to your tits, bitch
With them nasty Africans, Mr. Bojangles
Turned up shoes havin' ass
Lemming leprechaun haircut, motherfucker
You wanna see me get cool, please, save it for the breeze
'Cause the lyrics and tracks, make me funky like cottage cheese
Fuck the smooth shit, I get down wit the boom bip
Like Q-Tip, I kick more styles than Bruce shoes kick
But tonight's the night what I write tonight
This type of funk with the flavor like Mike 'n' Ike's
Hanging out wit my niggas, my niggas
The Pack Pistol Posse keep they fingers on the triggers
I keep the forty between my lap, coolin', rollin' down the highway
Blunt system pumps 'cause it's Friday
Roll over to pick my boys up, we raise a lot of noise
'Cause, we can do that, black, so "Get the Bozack," Jack
Remember, I do the type of evil that men do
Like cursin' out my window at a bitch and her friend too
So turn the volume up a notch
And watch the ba-bump, ba-bump, make ya speakers pop
That's the funk, when it pumps it makes your rump
Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump, jump
But if you want to see a fly but frantic
Cool romantic, more slicker than my man, Rick
You better check the Yellow Pages under smooth shit
'Cause Red ain't down for the bullshit
Niggas fucked up by letting me make an album
(How come, rude boy?)
To get on the mic and let my fuckin' style run
Nasty fuckin' greenthumb Jolly Green niggas
Tango mango, pickin' havin' ass
Nasty epileptic disease crazy havin' ass
Johnny Cash, afro havin'
Jack of Spades, boots havin'
Tony Danza, shoes wearin' ass!
B-b-b-black by popular demand, I expand
My hand to the mic and let my mouth kick the flim flam
I get sex, I get wreck, I puff mad blunts
I get vexed, I break necks, punch out gold fronts, chump
You
Yo, fuck that, yo, turn this shit off, man (yo, yo, yo, turn that shit off)
Turn this shit off, G
Yo put a new record on, know what I'm sayin'?
Relax the tongue, let my mic take a cruise
Around the planet, pack 'em in like Janet
Jackson, she's askin' if I can slam it
I'm
Yo, yo, Redman, man, what the fuck, man
Get the fuck off that, punk smooth shit, man
Get with that rough shit, man, you know how we do
Mic check, I walk around the streets with a black TEC-9
By the waistline, kickin' the hype shit
I never claimed to be the best type of rapper
But have to show them motherfuckers what I'm after
I'm after the gold, then after that, the platinum
Beef after that, Hurricane G packs the gat, son
Trigger, bang, bang, yo, bust the slang, what my name?
It's the Redman on the funk thing
Psych, you're motherfuckin' right, tonight's the night
To do what I wanna do, to do it like dynamite
Then we'll perfect it when the funk been injected
I roughen up the rough draft to like make your head split
Punk, pass the forty and the blunt and don't front
On the block, 'cause when you do front, brothers are gettin' stomped
I'm not an addict, more like puff than magic
Then pass it when I'm through 'cause my crew
(Gots to have it)
I don't claim to be a big rap star
'Cause no matter who you are, you'll still catch a bullet scar
So listen up and take heed to what I'm sayin'
'Cause tonight's the night and me and my niggas ain't playin'
Fat black bitch, nasty
Bush bear, booger breath, bitch
Nasty, talk to your tits, bitch
With them nasty Africans, Mr. Bojangles
Turned up shoes havin' ass
Lemming leprechaun haircut, motherfucker
You wanna see me get cool, please, save it for the breeze
'Cause the lyrics and tracks, make me funky like cottage cheese
Fuck the smooth shit, I get down wit the boom bip
Like Q-Tip, I kick more styles than Bruce shoes kick
But tonight's the night what I write tonight
This type of funk with the flavor like Mike 'n' Ike's
Hanging out wit my niggas, my niggas
The Pack Pistol Posse keep they fingers on the triggers
I keep the forty between my lap, coolin', rollin' down the highway
Blunt system pumps 'cause it's Friday
Roll over to pick my boys up, we raise a lot of noise
'Cause, we can do that, black, so "Get the Bozack," Jack
Remember, I do the type of evil that men do
Like cursin' out my window at a bitch and her friend too
So turn the volume up a notch
And watch the ba-bump, ba-bump, make ya speakers pop
That's the funk, when it pumps it makes your rump
Jump, jump, jump, jump, jump, jump
But if you want to see a fly but frantic
Cool romantic, more slicker than my man, Rick
You better check the Yellow Pages under smooth shit
'Cause Red ain't down for the bullshit
Niggas fucked up by letting me make an album
(How come, rude boy?)
To get on the mic and let my fuckin' style run
Nasty fuckin' greenthumb Jolly Green niggas
Tango mango, pickin' havin' ass
Nasty epileptic disease crazy havin' ass
Johnny Cash, afro havin'
Jack of Spades, boots havin'
Tony Danza, shoes wearin' ass!
B-b-b-black by popular demand, I expand
My hand to the mic and let my mouth kick the flim flam
I get sex, I get wreck, I puff mad blunts
I get vexed, I break necks, punch out gold fronts, chump
You
Yo, fuck that, yo, turn this shit off, man (yo, yo, yo, turn that shit off)
Turn this shit off, G
Yo put a new record on, know what I'm sayin'?
Lyrics submitted by ButNeverOutgunned
Tonight's da Night Lyrics as written by Reggie Noble Rick James
Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing, Hipgnosis Songs Group
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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