The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Now I'm so high, and I'm so fly
My kids on deck, and my beard ain't grow yet
I'm so on point; I'm so on one
This is how we do here in philaphornia
Young scoe Mack, toe back
The one ya'll love to blow back
I'll got five fingers, it ain't no riddle
By the only one showing is the one in the middle
Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the dog
Going at it over kittle out in the back yard
I drink yak hard, ya'll ack hard
Now I gotta touch up like a Mack card
Everybody packing a strap or spark
But don't everybody wanna strap or spawl
I'm ol' school with it, no tool with it
Head up til we feed up that's all
Smooth sailin'
You know you got me moving
I'll know you feel my music
I'll show my gs in fluids, All I do is spits fluids
I'm rolling, dipping, smashing
I'm throwing young assassin
I'm growing up will fast and
All I know is flow and rappin'
They call me young roscoe the Philly fanatic
Silly sporadic, dippin in traffic, grippin the matic
Sharp as a guillotine, still a teen
The California sun just beaming as I lean
Pull out my cigarettes feigning for nicotine
Straight of the Philly scene, Made for the silver screen
And I beam, my foot on the gasoline
Tell me I ain't the fliest M.C's you seen
And it's all smooth sailin'
Y. A. I Blaze
Step to us you get five days
I got four homies ain't none of them simple
Scold dizzle, known to make the microphone sizzle
Too many women after the Mack
I'm ma just kick one (What's Up)
We smash in my momma 'lac
Accurate with a maculate bash, The cake masher
Def Jeff let me borrow the keys
The great master
Young and I'm buck wild label as a luck child
Running them up wild laying hell of cuts now
I get the clubs shut down with this thug style
I puff clouds and touch crowds what now
Sick rhymes strict nines running thru my bloodline
Pedal to the metal with one time behind (Yeah)
My head spinning like a windmill
Rollin down the 101 counting dead bugs on my windshield
Smooth Sailin'
My kids on deck, and my beard ain't grow yet
I'm so on point; I'm so on one
This is how we do here in philaphornia
Young scoe Mack, toe back
The one ya'll love to blow back
I'll got five fingers, it ain't no riddle
By the only one showing is the one in the middle
Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the dog
Going at it over kittle out in the back yard
I drink yak hard, ya'll ack hard
Now I gotta touch up like a Mack card
Everybody packing a strap or spark
But don't everybody wanna strap or spawl
I'm ol' school with it, no tool with it
Head up til we feed up that's all
Smooth sailin'
You know you got me moving
I'll know you feel my music
I'll show my gs in fluids, All I do is spits fluids
I'm rolling, dipping, smashing
I'm throwing young assassin
I'm growing up will fast and
All I know is flow and rappin'
They call me young roscoe the Philly fanatic
Silly sporadic, dippin in traffic, grippin the matic
Sharp as a guillotine, still a teen
The California sun just beaming as I lean
Pull out my cigarettes feigning for nicotine
Straight of the Philly scene, Made for the silver screen
And I beam, my foot on the gasoline
Tell me I ain't the fliest M.C's you seen
And it's all smooth sailin'
Y. A. I Blaze
Step to us you get five days
I got four homies ain't none of them simple
Scold dizzle, known to make the microphone sizzle
Too many women after the Mack
I'm ma just kick one (What's Up)
We smash in my momma 'lac
Accurate with a maculate bash, The cake masher
Def Jeff let me borrow the keys
The great master
Young and I'm buck wild label as a luck child
Running them up wild laying hell of cuts now
I get the clubs shut down with this thug style
I puff clouds and touch crowds what now
Sick rhymes strict nines running thru my bloodline
Pedal to the metal with one time behind (Yeah)
My head spinning like a windmill
Rollin down the 101 counting dead bugs on my windshield
Smooth Sailin'
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