Fu-Gee-La Lyrics

We used to be number ten but now we're permanent one
Wyclef, Preacher's Son, Ichiban, I'm your candy handy man
Me without you is like American without the Band Stand
Cool fellow, dance hall stay mellow

All that gun talk who would have thought you died yellow
Damn, another hero wannabe
Now he sleeps with his friends in the mortuary
Dude, I find it rude, when you intrude

My pistol nozzle hits your nasal, comes out your anal
Just because your buff, don't play tuff
'Cause I'll reverse the earth and turn your flesh back to dust

Ooh, it's the way that we rock
When we're doing our thing
Ooh, it's the natural light that the Refugees bring
Ooh, sweet thing

I stay high off the fu-gee-la
Bust when we rush through you must, know ruckus
Crew got G's like the refu's, so F, who?
Ever want to test, bring me stress

West coast back to east, grab my toast when I reach
Truly curvin', swervin', lifestyle is urban sippin' Bourbon, surviving
We real to keep the word when a boy want fa test this set
Then you get wet-up just a bit to unprepared to to shoot him fair bet

Fake bullets can't scar me, I can smell the weak out like safari
[ Fugees Lyrics are found on www.songlyrics.com ]
Play you out like Atari, sacrifice you Hari Kari and I'm sorry
To every single rapper, Dick and Harry
Saying they want to spar me 'cause how thick my repertoire

And my memoir be reminding me of eating
Calamari in the Khalahari with a band of Rhastafari
You shouldn't diss refugees
And you whole sound set's bootie, and

Ooh, it's the way that we rock
When we're doing our thing
Ooh, it's the natural light that the Refugees bring
Ooh, sweet thing

I sit ninety degrees underneath palm trees
Sitting in the cool breeze in the West Indies
Flea to sea, ship my keys on the Santa Maria
Sip Sangria with senoritas

They keep telling me this and telling me that
They smile in my face then they talk behind my back
But what they lack is the facts about my stats
My rap impact will kill you softly like Roberta Flack

Ayo, what's goin' on?
Armageddon come you know we soon done
Gun by my side just in case I gotta rump
A boy on the side of Babylon
Trying to front like he's down with Mount Zion

We used to be number ten but now we're permanent one
Wyclef, Preacher's Son, Ichiban, I'm your candy handy man
Me without you is like American without the Band Stand