Dub-C is Red Hot

Wake up prayin' that a game's on
maybe it's the Runnin' Rebs, maybe it's the Knicks.
Maybe it's a re-run of an old TV show
like Hawaii 5-0 or karate flicks.

Maybe if the phone rings Butterfly will take wings
speakin' on some cool things frontin' like I cope.

Born under flat ground, now I'm chillin' shaky ground.
Reachin' for Pacific Heights, Sunday is my rope. Dig it.

Sunday's to relax.
Sunday's to relax.
Some Sunday morning drama is calling up my mama.

The hot line is in, I guess you know the deal,
vibin' off the jams from the crews on Sugarhill.

Lay around and think, ain't nothin' to do,
checkin' out some Frommes, some Satre, Camus

Mingus' Ah Um, damn Roach can drum.
The DPs are life; There they go, here they come.

It's time to grab some loot, put on the Timber boots,
checkin' out some dollies like Tasha and Kamali.

The Creek is a museum with its posters and graffiti.
If you're in the Dub-C on Sunday
come check me, get with me.



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