Food for Funk Common

[Intro]
What, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo yo yo, yo, yo, yo, yo
Check it, yo
You say a one for the trouble, two for the time
Come on y'all, let's rock that, uh

[Chorus]
I can feel the funk

[Verse 1]
I come to grips with mics
I come to grips that a lot of mic users is dikes
I come to grips with the likes of Fred Hampton
Cold, so I'm lampin, with no need for spotlight
When I got light like an intersection, you talk
But you came to my town with protection
Election year, had the block hot
I scream "fuck the world" but having a baby girl sorta cock-blocked
I write rhymes like I come from the Windy City
With my crew, I click like simply, stand midi with reality
Casually, I walk through these war games
Some claim saved but then they take on whore names
If that's the way your sex drives, stay in your lane
If you're a man, I can't tell like if the door rang now