Lyrics
PHAT PHUNK
Hook:
This is phat phunk,
Assault ya ears with that rap crunk,
Get stupid, lose a music like a phat skunk,
Shake a, shake a,
Shake a phunky junk,
Pop it, pop it,
Pop it in ya trunk!
Verse 1:
You could be deaf, dumb, blind, and lackin a sense of smell,
But when I’m on a track and rappin I happen to do it well,
The phattest fabulous faggot with a story to tell,
The whackest whackiest maggot who’s spittin’ singles to sell,
Back when I started rappin I seemed a hopeless case,
All the practice made perfect for da TpJ,
Now in a weird way I’ve turned my talent to good,
Makin’ mad music to bounce the neighbourhood,
Check me, check me spittin better than a spitting cobra,
Just to point ya’ll, I’m not tryin’a stop ya,
I do my thing cool like the mafia,
And when I turn school I make it crazy like a partier,
Back then, I used to bemuse ya like a doosra,
Pad and pen to make the shakers and the movers,
Now and again I turn it up and break it down to do ya,
Cos nobody else could give the blessings like a Buddha!
Hook
Verse 2:
Bringin’ the motion to commotion when I’m boastin’ the most,
‘N’ when my lyrics straight roastin’ the track’s coastin’,
Say what? There’s too many biggies that wanna be Fifty,
But nifty, I battle ‘em ‘n’ make ‘em pissy in a jiffy,
If you’re with me then you’re twistin up the volume knob,
Pump it pump it pump it up ‘til ya walls throb,
If the neighbours complaining because they don’t like rap,
Tell ‘em it’s me and they won’t mind that, [so just relax],
If I was a street fighter then my rhymes would be karate,
But instead I’m just a rapper who’s spitting for ya parties,
Phattest phat phunk and dooba-dee doo rap track,
Mighty on the mic cos TpJ never slack,
Gimme the nice beat, check me check it out,
Bringin’ hip-hop back from a talent drought,
Jiggedy Tp on the top salivating on the mic,
The funkiest rhymes ever set alight right!
Hook
Verse 3:
What can I say? I think I fell in love with the beat,
The perfect marriage, funky rhythm and the phattest heat,
The craziness is amazing, call it magnifique,
Sure shortie phat phunk a kinda naughty treat,
We all know who blows the most remarkable flow,
The old school rapper without the Boost afro,
Bouncing everybody for the umpteenth time,
The kid who gets by on the silliest rhyme,
We have one helluva time, the champ goes off,
At the end rewind it cos there’s never enough,
The best in the business way to hit it,
I create so many lyrics, cos I wanna spit it,
Even Osama couldn’t spark this surprise attack,
So from the funkers in the front to the drunkards up the back,
Raise your hands up man, and cheer to that,
Phat phunk, rap crunk, fanatics bump the track!
Hook
