Now
once upon a time not long ago
There was an archer kickin
rhymes up in
Atlanta
Rock and roll,
he's not a rocker just a stoner on a roll
Going all out on the road and
tryna make the honor roll
See I've been all up in the dojo,
practicing my braggadocio
Learned it to my own hornblow,
my saxophone and my oboe
Soprano, alto, baritone,
master my high and low notes
A quick jazz cigarette,
then I'm taking my solo
If you ain't heard about it, ask around
On any given
Sunday, bet we turn the party out
Get love on every corner,
walking through outlaw town
Yeah, you that lucky when the price is right
So you better come on down to the
Inner
West, come and visit the turf
You'll see my crew be runnin'
Sydney like the city to surf
From the pretty beach sides to
the sticks and the burps
They say that dude's
Smooth
Nicholas, he's slick with them words
I was rollin' with my bros, so
Fanny
Turner said to me
Only you been goin'
in since we was only 17
I said I ain't one to blow my own,
but I tend to agree
If
I, you know what
I, you know what I mean, what I mean
Now the punters say they love
the way I spit it on the beat
Put the roof over my head and put
the kicks up on my feet
Nothing changed, still a couple snakes,
we cut them blades of green
If
I, you know what
I, you know what I mean
The sort of shit that they let fly,
I could do with my eyes closed
But I'm taking a high road,
tryna scale heights, never fall off
Cause I climb slow, see my signs go, as in
G dot
O dot
A dot
T
Make my way from
A to
B, while spelling out
what's plain to see
My man with shotgun in the
Yoda, looked over and said to me
Homie you been going in
since we was only 17
When we rock up to your
house party rollin' 20
D
Turnin' off your black eyed
peas and throwin' on some
B .D .P.
R .B .G.,
R .O .C.,
M &M or
D .R .E.
R .S .C.,
B &E or suffer pressure and debris
For the moment probably be that
O .V .O. or
T .D .E.
But homie this that
O .N .E. that
D .A .Y. that
E .N .T.
Nowadays we got our names up
on the list and drinks are free
It's like something I think I
saw in a vision or a dream
I'm trying to paint the kind of picture
that make you picture the scene
If
I, you know what
I, you know what I mean
I was rolling with my bros, so
Fanny
Turner said to me
Homie, you been going
in since we was only 17
I said I ain't one to blow my own,
but I tend to agree
If
I, you know what
I, you know what I mean, what I mean
Now the punters say they love
the way I spit it on the beat
Put the roof over my head and put
the kicks up on my feet
Nothin' changed, still a couple snakes,
we cut them blades of green
If I you know what
I, you know what I mean
Don't wanna blow my own trumpet,
don't wanna toot my own horn
Don't wanna beat my own drum kit,
don't wanna write my own score
But they like it, they love it,
they buy it, they bump it, recite it
Turn it up and then they
bump it some more
Don't wanna blow my own trumpet,
don't wanna toot my own horn
Don't wanna be my own drumkit
Don't wanna ride my own score
But they like it, they love it,
they buy it
They bump it, recite it, turn it up
And then they bump it some more