You know what?   You know what?   You know what?   You know what?      The sugar D I C D A D I E   That's just a title, explaining who I be   Mista l A W N G E   I take a sucker from any phil and injure thee      Now that I've spelled it out, and you like the way it sounds   I'm dissing rap music, and rap music on the grounds   You say i'm full of sheep, and for that I give a pound   The sugar dick daddy, Mista Lawnge to break it down   Ladies, step to me for a real neat treat   And if you don't wanna call me Lawnge, you can call me sweet meat   I wear protection, you won't catch claps here      Come over later, but first go get a pap smear   Nine point five okay dear? And don't forget clean underwear   'Cause I don't want the funk to flow   After after I'm done, yo, ya, gotta go   'Don't you know ho, don tcha know ho'   Okay, enough is enough, time to get that off my bladder   And dig deep into the subject matter      You know what?   You know what?      I'm sick and tired of rappers not real   And suckers makin' it with a pop feel   Labels signin' acts with nuff bills   Tax write off, 'cause you have no skills   You go make a demo, get a deal and start to sprout   Gold, platinum, and then start sellin' out      You get a Benz and trash the Nova   Double platinum, and start crossin' over   Then you get fall, I won't give examples   Hint, hint, they use the same old samples   But not the sheep, for we are sleek and unique   Top of the peek and others are weak      Follow the words that I speak, the situation is bleak   But this is the fly shit that you seek   When the style is dope, Mista Lawnge's a particapator   If you wanna battle, later   'Cause black sheep are certified greater than   But, I said later man      'I can dig it'   You know what?   You know what?   You know what?   You know what?      You know what?   You know what?   You know what?   You know what?      I turn on the radio, be a prime time to a late night rap show   Here, the same old, same old, and that's on your, new single   Your product, is a product, of no productivity   Can ya, see G? You kick a wack style   And claim to have brains   Take the funky drummer and give him back to James   I'm dope, I'm dope, heh, I can't cope      Keep your cordless, 'cause you bore this   You say you're sure, yeah, but I'm the surest   That, black sheep are unique, funk clever brothers that will   Make the church girl freak, out, without a doubt   You have no wins in a '91 bout, so shout, pout,do what you want   But you're out the picture, and I'ma get you sucka   'Cause youse a dumb mothafucka, better off as a tractor trail trucker      But movin' right along to the Woodstock   Stop, remember when the band was on rock   Negro music, heh, seperated, it blew up and became rap   And you hated it, that's of course till you see   A motherfucker that, could be in your family   Drop lyrics then you hear it, with glee, then only thing it tells me   Is that you know a good thing, when you see it      You run to get a ten, 'cause you cannot be it   So, off the top off my head, I guess I keep it rollin'   Till the rap gets stolen   Like so many other things called theft   And when it's gone what will be left   You sucker, dumb fucker don't turn blue      You know what?   Talkin' to you   You know what?      Chump   You know what?   You know what?   You know what?