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letra de ain't it funky - clay cockrell

[intro: james brown]
when i count to four
i want everybody to lay off
let the drummer go
when i count to four
i want you to come back in
one, two, three, four
get it

[verse 1: clay c-ckrell]
just hop in the booth in preparation
ready to make make it
f-ck them and their presentation
clay’s elation over this station
aiming to grace the entire nation with information
stop this delegation and pay attention to my ascension, i’ve come to a decision
i ain’t stopping ’til i’m popping, ’til i’m charting, ’til i’m starting
to feel like i just filled this void
to feel like i just filled my veins full of steroids
i’m paranoid of being anointed
i’ll carry the torch for forty mornings
h-ll, forty years, 56 still spitting sh-t
ripping and gripping words and vocabulary and breaking ’em down
making my mama proud
repping the town, perfecting my sound
i can’t really freestyle, didn’t grow up on 8 mile
but i’m tryna craft my own style, while y’all’s old and senile
see now, i’m real foul, in this cl-ss i’m renowned
as the best spitter around, still out here tryna get found
writing my mind down, and posting it up on soundcloud
writtens like books, spinning like shaol’
the way i be spitting be representing that get down

[chorus: james brown & clay c-ckrell]
ain’t it funky, when i flip my wordplay
ain’t it funky, when i flip my words
ain’t it funky, when you hear the name clay
ain’t it funky, make you fear the worst

[verse 2: clay c-ckrell]
i’m dispersing my verses so perfect, i’m working on hurting and murdering every wordsmith
lyrically pop four clips and force ’em to forfeit
chopping like a butcher, take the beat and torch it
got foreign accounts fuller than the forbes list
looking to spit quicker than tecca nina and twist
and have ’em putting me on, as bright as the sun
lightening fast, and i’m already gone
spying on the scheme, it’s an espionage, be alarmed
girl called me and said, “murder the vag’,—
—eat the corsage” her man shot at me after i gave a m-ssage
like pulp fiction, the pope getting too lit off two fifths
defecating on this beat like “holy sh-t!”

[verse 3: clay c-ckrell]
my haters die on these beats, see
so big can’t see they shoe strings
b-tches wining, dionysus
sweet writing like diabetes
watch my timing, check the gucci
known for the watch, david h-sselhoff, your girl a thot
told me to turn my head and cough
on her knees looking shocked with the jaw dropped, the night popped off
she was fiending for the s-m-n
when i see these jack-offs, man, i don’t even see men
like a failed attempt at pc, hues? i don’t even see them
too smooth with the moves you couldn’t prove i was a human
it’s a conspiracy theory, i’m a cold blooded murderer
i’ll further a agenda -sserting a certain stigma
sure of the words, discerning the perfect enigma
that being i, the puzzle piece befuddling the—
—public becoming the number one enemy
f-ck a beat
i’ll spit it a capella
a couple bars, a few measure
your hands shaking like i never met ya
in antic-p-tion of my partic-p-tion
within this game, particularly this fumigation
man, f-ck these pests
21, uzi, and x: that’s this generations best?
anyone choose to test they’ll catch the tommys and the techs
leave their intestines festering at they mama’s doorstep, respect?!
c-c

- clay cockrell

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