Can't Front on Me

Ah, yeah, yes

Psychedelic (Uh, come on)

This is what I like

It's that Pete Rock and CL Smooth stuff

Uh-huh, yeah

Brothers can't understand

You know I'm 'bout to drop a funky beat on you

Like this

Hit the war drums and vibrate the earth underneath

Hear my people and I come, gotta wake up the chief

Not a pale, frail ghost, CL'll wreck the most

'Cause the Mecca land never had a Leo Africanos

The Sudanian, master of the Mediterranean

If it's lovely, I'm the one you're Skypagin'

Lower than the Mole Man, R&B, you silly

The only male hardcore cruisin' 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 pitcher, then I'm gone as the funk lingers on

I don't publicize hate 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 sleeve

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, come on, yeah

Yes, you know I got to talk

You can't front

I'm tellin' you now

CL Smooth and the Rock, come on

Many consumed what was locked in the tomb

That I gradually groomed, coming out now smelling like perfume

So take a whiff when I wrap a gift

Play you like the gospel

A logical apostle, colossal (Whoo-wee!)

Afro or cut me like a fade with a Braun

Sport a bald head, but never needed Hair Club for Men

Drop a SCUD, fully capable of formin' an 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 Ramadan, pilgrimage to Mecca Don

A prayer for repair, Shukran, Afwan!

'Cause 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?

CL, 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

'Cause I'm the man

CL'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

CL and Pete Rock unlock the hard rock

Many wanna mock and the honey-dips clock

Intercontinental for the residential

Never coincidental, rough on a rental

Count all the bars numeric

Pro-prosthetic if you let it resurrect the non-generic

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 'cause 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

'Cause the proper showstopper's what you need

So come and get a taste of the dynamic duo

And I'm sure you will agree you can't front on me (Yo!)

You can't front, boy

'Cause we're the skilled fools

We are the funk

The hardcore funk

We ain't no joke

Comin' out to note

Ah, yeah

With the funk track

Sing it, P