Martial Law (Single Version)

(album: Hey, Man, Smell My Finger - 1993)

And the flag was still there
Waving on while we dance...

Boosting the bass volume to a deaf range
Cracking a bottle of champagne
They exchanged lyrical gratifications verbalized in the form of a toast

It's gonna take Martial Law
Curfew ain't gonna get it
It's gonna take Martial Law
We're used to funking after hours...

Funk is dead is what they said
While sitting 'round cheating at pool—smooth
Bags bagging and they weren't bragging
To tell the truth, they were looking real cool
They were choked up tight in their white-on-white
Cocoa brown fronts were down
They wore candy-striped ties hanging down to their flies
Sported gold dust crowns

It's gonna take Martial Law
Curfew ain't gonna get it
It's gonna take Martial Law
We're used to funking after hours...

Before I shrivel up and die
Let me tell you a little story 'bout the FBI
The CIA, LAPD of the USA
Ask 'em why I list 'em
Talking 'bout that system
Let us take a look and see what's up today
They're taking away the rights from the people, that's wrong
What did King say, "Can't we get along?"
Beat down by the man whose check he paid
Stacey Koons was just a drop
In the bucket full of wicked cops
No fire hose could wash that blood away

It was the fifteenth frame of a straight pool game
And they all stood digging the play
With an idle shrug, they suddenly dug a strange cat moving their way
He was a medium-built cat with a funny type hat
Looked about five years old
He wore a messed up vibe, he needed a shine
He shivered as if he was cold
Ah, but to all the other guys, they surmised
The dude was a motherfunking flunky
But the well-trained eyes of how the mothership flies
You could tell the sucker was funky
Homeboy grinned as the dude moved in
Asking had they seen the doc
They said they hadn't seen him but heard he was fiending
He had went to the studio to cop
Ah, but if you got eyes copping size
I can cop the P, I'm in the flow
LP's, CD's, cassettes and 8-tracks
All good to go
But you got to post bail, my man's wholesale
He's the only connect I know
"Flash me some bread," the brother said
"Freeze here while I go score"
"Well I got the bread but I'm leary," he said
"I'm playing with the big band you know"
Homey had plans to burn the man
To take his money and blow
But then he hesitated
Ah, cuz he had underestimated
Now he's got to do the real show (Ho!)
He said, "I can cop a piece on a small-time lease
You don't have to put up no ends
Find you a stump to fit your rump
I'll show back in ten"
Ah, but as the brother stepped off up crept another brother
"Yo, grab yourself a stick"
Said the little man, "I'm not a throw off, worse yet I'm a show-off"
As he chalked and broke the balls with his dick
Running the three, the five, the seven, and twelve
Blood said "Yo mama" and the fifteen fell
With combinations of English and banking
He cued up to break rack three (Yo!)
Looking over his bridge past the ball to the figure near the wall
Stroking his stick, saying, "Hold my thing while I go P"

It's gonna take Martial Law
Curfew ain't gonna get it
It's gonna take Martial Law
We're used to funking after hours...

Taking the cue from the man in view
He followed him into out of sight
Whereupon he paused or rather he stopped
Pressing the rewind then play on the beatbox
The funk was a phony, a fake, and a fraud
Bootleg copies to boot
Not funk with a P on it but funk with a 3 on it
Now comes the time to salute
He says, "Here's to begging, duplicating, and bootlegging
Here's to the funk on which I'm high"
The man made a pass, flashed a gold-colored badge
And said, "Here's to I'm the FBI"
Homeboy grinned as he said, "My friend
You want to make an example out of me?
Cuz I stole a little funk and I sold a little bunk funk
Some pervert rapes your daughter and goes free"
The man said with a grin, "That's not why you lose and I win
If you're gonna steal the funk, steal the motherfunking P!"

It's gonna take Martial Law
Curfew ain't gonna get it
It's gonna take Martial Law
We're used to funking after hours...