If the Papes Come (Remix) A Tribe Called Quest

[Intro: Q-Tip]
The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away
But not Hip-Hop, yo
And let it be known that we are on some um
Eh ah, uh, a-chicka-uh
Eh ah, uh, a-chicka-uh
And this ain't on the pop tip, yo
Are y'all kids tucked in? (Yeah!)
Here we go...

[Verse 1: Q-Tip]
People in the audience they cry out "ho"
People with a gun, yo they'll cry out "bo!"
I don't like a cop, I don't sell a rock
But still the kanga's clock me after a show
Standing on the stage dripping, pouring with sweat
To people in the crowd I give what they get
Papers make paid, babies make laid
I don't really worry nor do I fret
Waiting for the gimme and boy I got some
Sweet like a peach and tart like a plum
I thought what I think, I rock a bead link
Legally I sip when I turn 21
A letter to the homeboy that freaked the head dome
The army wants me to drop my microphone
Gotta be brief, no orders from a chief
Hot butter on what, say what, the popcorn
On the tour bus we hit the truck stop
A dollar for some chips, a quarter for some pop
We laugh and giggle some, Phife gets the honey buns
Ali Shaheed Muhammad keeps talking that shop
The brothers cruise on as we quest for the check
Calling up Famous to see if it's there yet
Not a bourgeois, hate the seminar
Ignorant flip, hey miss you must jet
Flex for the funkiest, butts start to bounce
Measure hip-hop for weight, by the ounce
Bush on the tush, you're pulling while I push
Play me for the punk then puss, feel the pounce