Ayo, bust it right yo. We ain't made a record
In three years. And for some strange reason
It still sound like niggas just puffing blunts
Drinking 40's, running up in the studio
And just saying the first shit that come out they head. Yo. Hahaha

My selectah
My selectah
My collector
My collector
My selectah
My selectah
Yo, yo

Booming din bim ba I came to riff
Shoot my gift, but I don't' have to puff on any spliff
Just the raw talent, you know my shit is gallant
When I tight walk you know I never lose my balance
On the microphone I be freezing kids dome
Like ah, al capone you best to left me alone
Cause wise said you'll be caught in a funeral home
I got the type of style and you know I come from

Straight from the land of t
Is the capability
To wreck the microphone and be a raw mc
Now many brother think they can rip, then follow me
But they can't and I say that they ain't
Cause I
Only went to the first grade I'm brave
Direct the microphone like a runaway slave

They used to call me dave but now they call me culture
I grab the microphone then I grab a freaking boulder
Off your freaking shoulder while the rhythms getting older
Just like I told ya
I'm from south dakota

I used to live and climb on the hills and wash my cloths on a rock
And now all I do is disc jock
I gotta see the crowd jumping
I gotta see the crowd jumping
I gotta see the motherfuckers pumping
Cause if they ain't doing that I feel my shit is wack

So, I must attack
Yo I must attack
So ah, wise intel' please help me
Cause I'm about to slip down a hole and totally lose control
That's why they say, hey hey hey hey hey hey
Hey, hey, hey what's going on?
What the fuck is going on?

What's going on?
What the fuck is going on?
(Come with the lyrics)
I'm just like speedy
I'm greedy with my whole type graffiti
I rap for the needy
I got to get the meaty
Chunks in my soup so I can make a phat loop
Buy my rims...