[Mighty Ha]  Run for the cue    Lisa Lipps  Was a Rolling Stone, huh  Yeah, wherever she slap slob wasn't home  And now she's gone, ain't no sun  Shine meaning she's gone    "Hum-do-a-lah", that means "What up, Shah?"  It's the Mighty Ha drinkin' Mo' at the bar  Bakee after bakee, blunt after blunt  Smoke a bag of buhdah and became bitche's with the skunk  Nat "King" Cole was a merry old soul  Made you move that ab, drop shit from your whole  Grab a budjock and lick shot from the glock  You were told to swing off a tree from a jump  Run up in attics and Elvis, now I'm gone  Back on the streets in the heart of P Long  Man oh man lick shots if I have to  Submit to me as your lord and master  It's the Mighty Ha, I'm a street Bronx, I  Deliver the real like Walter Chronkite  God I'm a destiny, black man  Devil's in the rain receive the backhand    Yesterday, my trouble seems so far away  So help me Wanda, help, help, me Wanda    Be a none beast known and the Y-O-G  Make your moon walk, spin walk grab your ti-ty  Hit you in the head with the broom to the back  Sport a pair of Balley's and a Mighty Ha hat  Comin from the Bronx like KRS-One  Electrify the crowd like they shooting stone guns  Rhythem Blunt Cru, Violator, Def Jam  Known for tricken lyrics and smackin mad hands  Ahh, don't give a uh  Caught for the cause 17 to the shot  It's the Mighty Ha with the mic and the glock  My style's buck naughty what day is it ack?  Type of situation pops from uptown  You can lick balls cause I front to be down  Til I lie rep a dollar kickin the Willies to the Hiedy  Rhythem Blunt Cru, "Baby" Chris Lighty    Ponies never ran before  Rain never fell  Til I met you  And I can't get enough of your love, babe    What!?  Chim, chim, chiminie chim, chim, che-ree  Comin from the top, ah, it's the Migh-ty  Hit you with the felony and a misdemeanor  Hit a hundred push-ups and I got the spray Alenor  Got mad buttocks, ass cheeks, yo stop  Got more charges than a Nicachew pac  I'm the maker, owner, cream of the crop  Felicha you erection to the top  I can't seem to get rid of these fuckin chickenheads  Word to the mother drop dead brest fed  You better duck down when I draw my 8 luger  Scoop that ass quickie, better skin bag of booty    [DJ Footlong]  What goes on ya heard?