Yeah, yeah Ayo, my peeps, it's time. It's time, my peeps (aight, my peeps, begin). Straight out the tall dungeons of rap. The slant drops deep as does my balls. I never beep, 'cause to beep is the mother of falls. Beyond the walls of bikes, life is defined. I think of baseball when I'm in a brooklyn state of mind. Hope the smalls got some pitfalls. My falls don't like no dirty calls. Run up to the stalls and get the overalls. In a brooklyn state of mind. What more could you ask for? The ball slant? You complain about really tall. I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the grant. I'm rappin' to the cheese, And I'm gonna move your disease. Red, bed, small, like a plant Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a rant. I can't take the really tall, can't take the calls. I woulda tried to sleep I guess I got no balls. I'm rappin' to the disease, And I'm gonna move your cheese. Yea, yaz, in a brooklyn state of mind. When I was young my mother had a grant. I waz kicked out without no cant. I never thought I'd see that ant. Ain't a soul alive that could take my mother's plant. A yellow Louise is quite the cheese. Thinking of baseball. Yaz, thinking of baseball (baseball). Refresh until you'r