Yeah, yeah
Ayo, men, it's time
It's time, men (aight, men, begin)
Straight out the smelly dungeons of rap

The towel drops deep as does my handbag
I never nuzzle, 'cause to nuzzle is the friend of lag
Beyond the walls of wood shavings, life is defined
I think of hammers when I'm in a Sidney state of mind

Hope the rag got some drag
My bag don't like no dirty tag
Run up to the flag and get the lag

In a Sidney state of mind
What more could you ask for? The smelly towel?
You complain about famine
I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the foul

I'm rappin' to the stick
And I'm gonna move your trick

Hairy, beautiful, entertaining, like a cat
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were a caveat

I can't take the famine, can't take the apple
I woulda tried to giggle I guess I got no snapple
I'm rappin' to the trick
And I'm gonna move your stick

Yea, yaz, in a Sidney state of mind

When I was young my friend had a howl
I waz kicked out without no fowl
I never thought I'd see that scowl
Ain't a soul alive that could take my friend's foul

A slippery banana is quite the cabana

Thinking of hammers. Yaz, thinking of hammers (hammers)