De La Soul - Chanel No. Fever Lyrics
Chorus:It's in the back y'allIt's on the wall y'allIt's in your head, but it's not the feverNow with the b-i double l billWe bill the par territories placing flags on terrainsNow i said it was yours so snatch the world back from wayneWe did, universally sparked the lidNow these ladies love how we liveGot'em caught, shit you already know looking so flyThat the dog that played spiderweb your up aliasing hereSucker cats don't try to steerNear this, wish you could bring it this wayCompliments of wonder y and my nigga david jSo the do, re, mi, fa, sol, laMany reach to devour the stage, put the guts out the venueAh, shut up in your face no need to continueI've been there, done thatReceived it, won thatYo stunned that, that's how you like to sun frozedKeep my shit in harvest like farmer john grows cropsHops, you'll need the whole ceiling to topsI saw the empire, set your liquid to fireBim blam set a flame to your fannyDavis the surname like davis the sammyA grammy, my concern is to earn for a little ageNext time, next rhyme, next phaseChorus 2xNow put your hand on your hipNow put your hand on your hipAnd let your backbone slipAnd let your backbone slideNow put your hand up on your hipNow put your hand up on your hipAnd let your backbone slip for the feverHey, ladies and gents reintroducing to youShootin' shit like hot asses at the sip of bean stewSuper fat come the visitor zooPeace to my homewood niggas and my man tofuI'm through evil that man doGet some ass on the side so my love can shine throughPull a cigar with crew, lean back and let it soakYour holdin' on to my twelve dollar smokeMan, it was mase who laced the beat from up out the earthLeaving brothers hipnotized like ootney fonsworthBut i'm hip but no tized than that, clap to the break of dawnDada, wonder why it's hotter than hotWhy not knee, my steve got niggas on the dickThey want to join the clickI hope that ass get a record dealSo they can feel what i feelTo overstand that ring ring, how you do is realYou must be from italy 'cause all you do is roamMicrophone to microphone, lookin' for homeI write a poem to make the publicists flock the prone copChina on stage so i don't need a spotlightShould be tight like tupperwear supperwear, drawers of socksSippin' on gray pot yo scratch the pork chopsCause nothin' here dropsWe're goin' up, up, up, up, up, up, upChorus 3xHuh (11x)It's the fever
