Artist: Popa Chief Album: Brain Food Song: Lil' Injinz Typed by: Cno Evil [Intro: Popa Chief] Pass the payodee, the sun, has dipped Behind, the mountains, no longer to be seen, let's do this Come on [Chorus: Popa Chief] One little, two little, three little indians Four little, five little, punk ass indians Seven little, eight little, nine little indians They don't want it with Popa Chief, no [Popa Chief] I'm hot chocolate without the marshmallow, Brooklyn Zu Goodfella From all the glitter raps, may be your umbrella Surround sounds, yo Burnt Biskut, steadily pound you Leave you jonesing, right, where I found you Trial and error, I call it like I see it Nobody does it better than pops, word to mother One of the best ever, let me stop Na-na-na-na-nahh, I think not Shag or rotten, if I ain't planning, I'm plotting Papers are grotting, haters can't believe how far I've gotten I love to live, M-Dub first kid Now I'm all grown, I got kids of my own Think five times before I ask, stay humble, counterattack Never retreat, never repeat Unless it's for the championship... [Chorus: Popa Chief] One little, two little, three little indians Four little, five little, punk ass indians Seven little, eight little, nine little indians They don' want it with Popa Chief, no One little, two little, three little indians Four little, five little, punk ass indians Seven little, eight little, nine little indians They don't really want it with me, no [Popa Chief] The manifestation of one's knowledge says it all I'll take two bean pies and a final call Read the writing on the wall, it clearly states most of ya'll Couldn't make a hit, if this was t-ball I stole from Peter to pay Paul, fistball Beats I'm on, I'm on the case like Ace, When Nature Call Back in the game, like Saddam Hussein Determined like Iron Lung to 'bring the pain' No time to waste, so I keep my raps laced I don't want to be another homeboy in outer space Virtuosity, my steez is low in calories Raising hell like Mickey and Malorie Cut off your oxygen, leave your brain hemorging What I hate worst in this world is lyric hacking So I'm sacking like a line from Spellman, ain't no telling How many MC's gon' need metal backing [Chorus] [Popa Chief] I roll with a bunch of bad apples, the rottenest Rootinest, tooting this, lyrical gun slinging this Niggas, who found your musical eroginist spot I pledge allegience to rap and pot Five Foot, Zu Ninjaz, Buddha Monk and the Manchuz Ol' Dirt McGirt and the original Brooklyn Zu Raised to be sharp, I'm loved by the Wu Sunz of Man, and the Royal Fam to I campaign with the best of them, crimed with the best of them Puffed with the best of them, fuck the rest of them Just to show his pussy is pink, and cotton in heat shrinks And shit sitting in the sun, stinks I fuck you up with a lyric like a stiff drink Quicker than you can blink, quicker than you can think Wear this ass whooping like a mink in the summertime The funk I got that's in your clothes, burns your nose [Chorus 2X]